Read It!!

WE PRAYED FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

MISS MOVING ON 16. mission = completed

warnings › profanity, lil sappy at the start, heeyn BACK TOGETHER, the use of a b0mb, friend grps colliding, happiness finally

previous masterlist next

a/n › double update bc i felt bad AND these next 4 chapters are going to feed everyone from the heeyn i tore away from u HEHE, pls like n reblogs always luvies

taglist 1 (and perma tl) › @leeechin @chobunz @st1llm0nster @belovedhoon @suneng @wensurr @vmpivory @xxxnrigi @17ericas @coqhee @cylovesmg @fairqves @selleprotection @hoonieyun @silquids @nyxvrse @vveebee @jayparked @aewon @mitmit01 @mariahxrrera @cherrybeomm @livelaughluvryanreynolds @ami-soph @beatrizmel-472 @yeehawnana @t1iqaa @heelariously @blockbusterhee @justalittle-hee @thedemonriot @luvyou2ooo @squiishymeow @miffyhoon @heartheejake @jayhoonvroom @ourhees @hyunnies-world @bubblytaetae @jjongsaengzz @kiss4noo @dimplewonie @milanco @eneiyri @firstclassjaylee @jaerisdiction @sunghoonsperfume @mamuljji @wintertxt

pls lmk if i forgot ur tag !! — bold cannot be tagged

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oh gosh,, the fact that there are people with such a mentality is very worrying. if you share the same thought process as anon i would avoid interacting with this blog !!

look, im not saying that you dont deserve the ‘escapism’ of the real world, but sahar hasnt shared anything to do with palestine under skz tags other than basic reminders and how we can help?? there are no images or anything to do with death statistics so i cant really see this being a large discomfort. i would say this is a minor incovenience at best.

if seeing posts about a person raising awareness and promoting a stayblr focused fundraiser bothers you THAT much then maybe block people who post about it? or scroll past that sort of content? there are so many easy solutions to this discomfort of yours. as much as i appreciate this is your way of ‘escapism’ i believe that raising awareness over a genocide that is quite literally killing and ruining/ruined the lives of tens of thousans of people is much more important.

Hey, sorry for the anonymous message, but I would like you to please reconsider using SKZ tags to spread the Palestin fundraiser. I know you mentioned you're trying to reach as many people as posible and it's a noble goal, however I warn against doing so in this way because many people, including myself, go on tumblr and look under fanfic or K-Pop tags to find a form of escapism from the real world and placing a reminder about one of the worst things going on the world right now is incredibly unpleasant and quite jarring. I already aviod the "For You" tab due to some K-Pop fanfic accounts I follow posting about it, but when I'm looking at tags specifically, I'd like to not have the same problem.

Again, I'd like to reiterate that I admire your desire to spread the fundraiser. I just want to ask you to consider going about it in a cautious way. I'd like to clarify this in no way is an attack against you or your goal, I know anonymous messages can be a little threatening sounding and I really don't want you to take this as a slight. You're an excellent writer, and you've written several fics I've quite enjoyed, I'd just prefer you didn't go about spreading the fundraiser in this way.

hello, im wondering how else would i spread the fundraiser to stays if i did not use the tags that stays specifically view?

tumblr operates with tags and that’s why I’m using them to get a wider reach within stayblr, because this is a stayblr fundraiser. it isn’t a tumblr wide fundraiser, it is organized, shared and raised by stays, that again, i was able to reach through tags.

i understand the sentiment, but i’m not sharing news about the genocide, i’m not sharing ground developments, i’m not sharing statistics or graphic images. i’m not even using the tags to share palestinian gofundme’s. i’ve only used the tags to 1) share info about the fundraiser. 2) gauge whether it had reached as many stays as possible, or not.

again, this fundraiser did not come out of the blue. i started it a month ago when skz was heavily associated with two zionists that worked on their latest single, and at a time when zionists proliferated within our fandom and felt very comfortable sharing their hateful ideology. zionism has already infiltrated kpop and we can’t turn a blind eye to it, but that’s another discussion

again, i’m not placing a « reminder » in the tags, i’m sharing updates about an important initiative that many stays are partaking in, and have helped spread by rebloging as well. i want to reiterate that this is a fundraiser BY STAYS and the only way to reach them in this platform is through tags.

so, i say this as respectfully as possible too, if you can’t just scroll past two of my posts, please block me. because i won’t stop using the tags for this specific fundraiser. in less than a day, we’ve already gotten 5 new supporters when we’ve been stuck at the same number of supporters for two weeks now. and that is precisely the goal yesterday’s post.

thank you.

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SOMEBODY RESTRAIN MEEEE OMDS THIS FIC WAS ACTUALLY INSANEEEE DURING THE WAREHOUSE SCENE I ACTUALLY FELT SO UNSETTLES WITH LIKE THE WHOLDEXPERIMENTS THING AND I LOVED THE END SCENE IT WAS SO CUTE AND EMOTIONAL GENUINLEY I WAS ABT TO CRY!!!I LOVE THE WHOLE ENEMIES BUT NOT REALLY ENEMIES TO LOVERS IT WAS SO CUTE AHHHHHHHH I LOVED THIS FIC SM

lhs - under the covers.

AN E2L UNDERCOVER COPS FAKE MARRIAGE AU | FULL FIC

"If this is fake, then why are you begging?"

summary: you’ve never liked lee heeseung. he’s cold, unreadable, and way too good at his job—so of course, the captain decides to partner you with him for an undercover op that requires you to be married.

the rules are simple: go undercover. pretend to be in love. don’t actually fall for him.

except now he’s pinning you against a wall, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that low, amused drawl, and touching you like he means it.

…so, yeah. this might be a problem.

genre: slow burn | enemies to lovers | undercover cops | fake marriage | SUGGESTIVE CONTENT word count: ~around 20K release date: TBA ⚠️ warnings 18+ MDNI: guns, violence, smut, tension, heeseung being annoyingly attractive while pretending not to care, reader being an absolute menace back, dangerous men doing dangerous thingshate sex but it turns into something desperate & messy, heeseung has a gun AND a filthy mouth (both are dangerous), "you need to stay quiet" but he makes it impossible, heeseung likes pushing you against walls (sometimes to protect you, sometimes not), explicit descriptions of tension: prolonged eye contact, teasing touches, and not-so-fake kisses that turn heated way too fast, sex as a distraction? sex as an argument? sex as a mistake? sex as an act? all of the above., one bed trope but make it fully unhinged (heeseung smirking when you wake up wrapped around him), heeseung is smug, teasing, and cocky in the streets but a menace in the sheets, "you said this was just for the mission. so why do you keep touching me when no one’s looking?", breathplay, lets keep it rough, ppl like it that way

The precinct is chaos, like always. Phones ringing, boots scuffing against tile, someone muttering curses over a jammed printer, another officer shoving a box of evidence onto their desk like it personally offended them. The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air—a tragic crime in itself. Nothing about today should feel different. And yet, something does.Maybe it's the way your phone buzzed with a single-line message from Captain Jung. Maybe it's the fact that he never calls you in without details. "Briefing. My office. Now." You know better than to expect good news.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor—Captain Jung's office. As the doors start to close, a voice cuts through the noise—smooth, measured, annoyingly familiar. 

"Hold it." 

You debate letting the doors shut. But before you can make a decision that would undoubtedly lead to more paperwork, a hand slides between them, forcing them back open. Lee Heeseung steps in.

He barely looks at you as he presses the same button you just did—as if it wasn't already lit up. "Oh, fantastic," you mutter, shifting your weight against the railing. "Just the person I wanted to suffer with."

Heeseung doesn't react immediately, but you see it—the slightest twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers flex before settling against his side. "I'd say the same," he finally says, adjusting the strap of his shoulder holster, voice flat. "But I don't waste my energy lying."

"Right," you say, crossing your arms. "Because you save all your energy for being insufferable instead." 

His lips twitch slightly, but he suppresses it so fast you almost miss it. "And yet, you're still here," he says, shrugging. "Tragic, isn't it?"

The elevator shudders slightly as it begins moving. You glance at the numbers ticking up above the doors, feeling the weight of the silence settle in. Heeseung is annoyingly calm, as always. Hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders squared, face unreadable. He's built his reputation on being calculated, sharp, impossible to crack. But you know him too well. You catch it—the slight clench of his fingers, the way his jaw sets just a little tighter than usual.

"You got the same message?" you ask, watching him from the corner of your eye. "Captain's office. No details."

"Sounds like your fault," you say automatically. He actually exhales a short breath through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. "You always assume the worst of me," he muses. "And I'm never wrong," you point out. He doesn't bother denying it.

For a moment, the only sound is the low hum of the elevator. You feel it then—that unspoken shift, the tension settling in a little heavier than before. Not the usual kind, not the sharp-edged annoyance that defined your partnership, but something else. Something uncertain. Neither of you say it, but you're both thinking the same thing. This feels different.

"Whatever this is," Heeseung mutters, glancing at the doors as they begin to slide open, "let's just get it over with." 

"No promises," you reply. 

The hallway stretches out in front of you, the frosted glass of Captain Jung's office glowing dimly under the overhead lights. You step out first, heels clicking against the tile. Heeseung follows. And just like that—everything changes.

The precinct's Briefing Room B is dimly lit, the glow from the projector casting grainy surveillance footage across the whiteboard. Lakeshore Estates looks picturesque—wide streets, manicured lawns, quiet affluence. Too perfect. A neighborhood like this shouldn't have $32 million unaccounted for in wire transfers. But it does. And that's why you're here.

Captain Jung flips the case file open, his voice sharp, clipped. "Two informants inside Lakeshore have already turned up dead in the last six months. One of our undercover agents—Detective Choi—has been missing since January." A photograph slides across the table, face-down. You don't pick it up immediately, but the silence that follows is heavy. You don't have to see it to know what it means.

"This isn't just money laundering anymore," Jung continues. "It's organized, it's layered, and it's operating under complete anonymity. We're out of assets, and we're out of time. The only option left is deep cover."

You inhale slowly, tapping your pen against your notepad. Beside you, Heeseung doesn't move. His posture is too still, his fingers interlaced, his jaw locked. You know that look. He already hates where this is going.

Jung continues, flipping to the next page. "You two will be moving into 345 Willow Crest Lane. Newlywed couple. Standard deep cover ops—new financial records, new employment history, full fabricated background. You're both taking on the last name Park."

You blink. "You're sending us in together?"

"Yes."

Heeseung lets out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back. "Sir, with all due respect, we can't be the only two detectives available for this assignment." Jung doesn't even look up. "You're not. You're just the best."

You feel a headache creeping in already. The best is one way to put it. Another way to put it would be "the most dysfunctional pairing in the history of law enforcement."

"You're both experienced in financial forensics, undercover ops, and organized crime infiltration," Jung continues. "That makes you the only option for this."

Heeseung exhales sharply through his nose. "This is a mistake." "I agree," you mutter, arms crossed.

Jung ignores both of you, flipping through another file before pushing it across the table. "The target is Chairman Kang," he continues, flipping the case file open. "You already know his reputation—drug trafficking, illegal arms deals, organized crime. What we didn't know until recently was that he operates out of a secure location hidden in plain sight—his family estate, nestled inside an exclusive gated neighborhood where law enforcement hasn't been able to get close.."

Heeseung is scanning the documents as fast as you are. You know he's already building a profile in his head, breaking down entry points, psychological patterns, risk levels. It's what he's good at.

Jung continues. "You'll be expected to integrate into the social structure, establish trust, and secure financial access through internal sources. Your marriage needs to be believable. That means attending community events, country club meetings, PTA fundraisers, and neighborhood get-togethers. You'll play the role, you'll blend in, and you'll do it convincingly."

The moment he says it, Heeseung lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You want us to be convincing?" Heeseung shakes his head, leaning back. "We can't even stand each other for five minutes."

"Then figure it out," Jung says, already done with the argument. "Because for the next few months, you will hold hands, you will smile, and you will act like you love each other."

Your stomach twists violently. Of all the assignments you've been given—undercover drug operations, arms deals, high-risk surveillance—this might actually be the most painful.

Heeseung exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "And what happens if we get exposed?" "Then you're dead."

Silence.

Jung closes the folder, leaning forward. "Make no mistake—this is dangerous. You're stepping into something where people have already been killed. If you get caught, we won't be able to pull you out in time. This operation is blacklisted outside of this room. Your only protection is your cover. That's it."

The weight of it settles like cement. For the first time since the meeting started, Heeseung looks at you. It's brief—half a second, barely noticeable—but it's enough. You both understand the stakes now. The banter, the irritation, the competitive tension that has fueled your partnership for years—none of it matters when the risk is death.

Captain Jung exhales, sliding the final document across the table. "Your flight leaves at 0600. Your new house is already secured, and your covers are set."

You inhale deeply, pushing down the nausea creeping into your throat. You've worked with Heeseung for years. You've survived operations together. You can do this. Maybe.

"Fine," you say finally, shoving the file into your bag. "But if you call me 'baby' even once, I'm shooting you."

Heeseung smirks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Looking forward to it, sweetheart."

The house at 345 Willow Crest Lane looks exactly how it did in the surveillance photos—pristine, oversized, and painfully curated. It's the kind of place where the neighborhood watch patrols more aggressively than actual law enforcement and where the biggest crime on record is probably a hedge growing two inches past regulation. It's also your new home.

A deep, uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you step out of the car, staring up at the two-story house with its perfectly symmetrical windows and fresh coat of off-white paint. It's unsettling, the way everything is already set up, lived-in but not actually lived-in, waiting for you to assume your roles.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Heeseung eyeing the property with the same reluctant scrutiny. His jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets, the subtle weight of reality finally setting in for both of you. "So this is home now," he mutters, his tone flat. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your duffel bag as you exhale slowly, not bothering to look at him. "Unfortunately."

Neither of you move for a moment, standing side by side in silence. The weight of the assignment hangs heavy between you. This isn't like other cases—it's not just an operation, not just surveillance, not just information retrieval. This is long-term infiltration, the kind that requires complete immersion. The kind that demands disappearing into a role so deeply that the lines blur.

You don't let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you push forward, stepping up to the door and unlocking it with the key provided in your briefing file. The lock clicks smoothly, and as you push the door open, the overwhelmingly staged nature of the house hits you all at once.

The living room is immaculate, decorated in neutral colors, accented with expensive but unassuming furniture. The air smells like fresh paint and manufactured warmth, like it's been lived in just enough to seem real, but not enough to actually feel it. But none of that is what makes you stop short. It's the photos. They're everywhere.

Framed pictures are perched along the fireplace mantle, the entryway table, the staircase wall leading to the second floor. You blink, stomach twisting at the sight of you and Heeseung staring back from glossy prints—your arms around each other, smiles bright, a wedding that never happened perfectly captured in high-definition detail.

You step closer, your breath catching as you scan them. One is of you in a white wedding gown, a delicate veil framing your face, standing beside Heeseung in a sharp black tux. He's looking down at you with an expression so soft and intimate that it feels wrong. Another shows his arm around your waist, hand resting a little too low on your back, his head tilted toward yours like he's whispering something.

But the worst one—the crown jewel of this horror show—is mounted directly above the fireplace. A massive canvas print. Foreheads touching. Eyes closed. Two people deeply, irrevocably in love. The kind of picture that doesn't just capture a moment—it tells a story.

The back of your neck prickles. A slow, deep exhale sounds behind you. "Jesus Christ," Heeseung mutters, stepping in behind you. His voice carries the same reluctant horror you feel twisting in your stomach. "That's nauseating."

You swallow down your discomfort and force your expression to remain neutral. "You think I like this any more than you do?" His gaze flickers to the wedding photo again before he exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly. "Could've fooled me. That dress looks expensive. You must've had a great time."

Your fingers flex at your sides as you slowly turn to face him. "I will throw you through that window." A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You'd have to catch me first, sweetheart."

You exhale through your nose, dragging a hand over your face before looking away, gaze sweeping over the carefully constructed life someone had built for you. The furniture, the decorations, the photos—all of it carefully crafted to make this cover airtight. There is no room for error.

From across the room, Heeseung exhales heavily, shifting his stance slightly. "Bedroom's upstairs, right?" You hesitate for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. About that—there's one bed." He stills. The air between you sharpens. His head turns slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. His voice is flat, resigned. "That's a joke." You wish it was. "Check for yourself."

You watch as he stares at you for a beat longer before turning on his heel and heading upstairs. You brace yourself. Exactly three seconds later, a sharp, disbelieving laugh echoes down the hall. "Fucking fantastic."

You sigh, rubbing your temples before following him upstairs. When you reach the bedroom, Heeseung is standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight. His gaze is fixed on the king-sized mattress, the pristine white sheets tucked in so perfectly it looks like a hotel ad.

"There's a couch downstairs," you offer, your voice deliberately neutral. He doesn't look away from the bed. "There's a front lawn, too. Should I sleep there instead?" "If you want me to sleep better, I won't stop you."

Heeseung finally turns to face you, his expression blank but the subtle clench of his jaw betraying his irritation. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not sleeping on the couch for months." "Then I hope you're good at sleeping with one eye open," you say, already moving past him to grab your bag. "You snore, don't you?" His voice is slow, assessing, like he's already regretting his entire existence.

"Only when I'm comfortable," you reply smoothly. "So that won't be a problem with you around." Heeseung huffs out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly as he drags a hand through his hair. "This is going to be a disaster."

You don't disagree. But there's nothing either of you can do about it now. "Just stay on your side of the bed," you say as you toss your bag onto the mattress, "and I won't kick you off it." "No promises," he mutters, already walking toward the closet.

You inhale slowly, releasing the breath through your nose as you turn away. This is your life now. Sharing a house. Sleeping in the same room. Pretending to be in love. You can handle criminals, undercover operations, high-stakes investigations. But pretending to be married to Lee Heeseung? That might actually be the thing that kills you.

The neighborhood BBQ is exactly what you expected—too loud, too friendly, and entirely too interested in you and Heeseung. It's hosted at the home of Kim Taesung—the HOA President and primary suspect in the money laundering operation. His house is the biggest on the block, the kind that screams old money but tries to be humble about it.

The cul-de-sac is packed with families, couples, and retirees. The tables are covered in checkered tablecloths, an overwhelming spread of food from every possible cuisine, and an alarming number of matching casserole dishes.The entire neighborhood is here.

You and Heeseung walk up the driveway together, forced into immediate proximity by the number of eyes on you. His arm slides around your waist—a practiced, effortless motion—but you catch the slight hesitation in it. The briefest pause before his palm settles against your hip. To anyone else, it looks completely natural. To you, it feels like a challenge.

"This is my nightmare," Heeseung mutters under his breath. "Welcome to marriage," you reply, keeping your voice light as you plaster on your best 'newlywed glow' smile.

The first neighbor to approach is Mrs. Patel, an older Indian woman in a vibrant floral dress and a no-nonsense expression. She's one of the HOA's longest-standing members, which means she's also one of the most influential. "You must be the newlyweds!" she exclaims, adjusting the gold bangles on her wrist. "We've all been wondering when we'd finally meet you two!"

You grip Heeseung's forearm just a little tighter, just enough to make sure he doesn't say anything stupid. "It's wonderful to finally be here," you say smoothly. Mrs. Patel gives you a long, assessing look before nodding approvingly. "And such a beautiful couple, too! How long have you been married?"

Before you can answer, Heeseung beats you to it. "Two years," he says without hesitation. You blink. Mrs. Patel beams. "Two years! How lovely!"

You don't react immediately, still trying to process the absolute lie that just left Heeseung's mouth. Heeseung catches your delayed response and smirks, clearly entertained by your hesitation. "Yes," you say, smoothing over the moment. "Two wonderful, peaceful, not at all stressful years." You pinch his side discreetly. Heeseung doesn't even flinch.

Mrs. Patel sighs, clasping her hands together. "Young love is such a beautiful thing. How did you two meet?"

You feel Heeseung tense for half a second. You take advantage of it. "Oh, it was love at first sight," you say with a sweetness that is absolutely dripping in venom. "He looked at me like I was the only person in the world."

Heeseung recovers quickly, but you know you caught him off guard. "How could I not?" he murmurs, voice light but dangerously smooth. You hate how easy that sounded.

Mrs. Patel looks utterly delighted. "Oh, I love a good love story! And now look at you—happily settled in! Do you two have children?"

Heeseung freezes. You barely suppress the urge to laugh. From somewhere behind you, there is the unmistakable sound of Sunoo, your intel handler, choking on his drink. You place a gentle, affectionate hand on Heeseung's chest—only to dig your nails in slightly. "We're just enjoying each other for now," you answer smoothly.

Mrs. Patel nods approvingly. "That's very wise. But don't wait too long, dear. Time moves fast, and children are a blessing!" You smile politely, feeling your soul physically exit your body.

Before she can ask any more intrusive questions, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-pressed polo shirt approaches with a broad grin. "You must be the Parks!" he says, clapping Heeseung on the shoulder in a way that is just slightly too firm.

You recognize him from the briefing. David Hernandez, a retired FBI agent and Taesung's closest friend. "You're both even better-looking than the photos," he jokes. You keep your smile in place as your mind races. The photos. What photos?

"Thank you," you say, glancing at Heeseung briefly. "We were surprised by how much effort went into preparing everything." David chuckles, sipping his beer. "You'd be amazed how much we know about you two already. You're practically celebrities!"

You don't let the unease show on your face. There's a hint of something beneath his words, something that makes you want to dig deeper, to ask more questions, to find out exactly how much they know about this version of you.Instead, you laugh lightly, leaning into Heeseung just slightly. "Well, I hope we live up to expectations."

David nods approvingly, but his gaze lingers on Heeseung for just a second too long. "We'll be watching," he says, voice too casual. You nod politely, pretending not to read into it. But when he walks away, you feel Heeseung's grip on your waist tighten slightly. "That was interesting," he murmurs.

You don't react immediately, just keep smiling and greeting more neighbors, acting like nothing is wrong. Because if David Hernandez was already watching you this closely, then this mission is going to be even harder than you thought.

The argument starts the moment you step into the house. The second the front door swings shut behind you, you drop the polite neighborhood act, spin on your heel, and glare at Heeseung.

"Two years?" Your voice is low but sharp, edged with disbelief. "Are you insane?"

Heeseung lets out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair as he shrugs off his jacket. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you have a better number?"

"Literally any number other than the one that makes us look suspiciously established!"

Heeseung scoffs, tossing his jacket over the arm of the couch before leaning against it, arms crossed. "What, you wanted me to say six months? Give them a reason to think we're still in the honeymoon phase?"

You grit your teeth, stepping closer as you jab a finger against his chest. "You could've at least consulted me first."

His brows lift slightly, like he's amused by your irritation, which only pisses you off more. "Didn't know I needed permission," he muses, voice slow, calculated.

"You always do," you snap back.

The air between you thickens—not with tension, not with attraction, but with pure, exasperated irritation. Your pulse hammers as you step closer, your glare locking onto his with the force of every argument you've ever had.

Heeseung's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing at his sides. "You know what? Maybe next time, you should lead. Since you clearly have so much faith in your own bullshit."

"Oh, so you admit you're bad at lying?"

"No, sweetheart," he drawls, voice dripping in sarcasm. "I'm just saying you're so much worse."

Your eyes narrow. "Don't call me sweetheart."

"Then stop acting like my wife," he fires back.

"You first," you hiss.

The air crackles. And then—Three sharp knocks on the front door. Your head snaps toward it. So does his. Silence. Then, in perfect unison, you both lunge for each other.

You reach for his shirt, yanking him toward you as he grips your waist, spinning you both until your back is pressed against the door. You barely have time to register the full-body impact, the warmth of him, the way his hand flattens against your lower back before—The door swings open.

And standing there, wide-eyed and utterly delighted, is Mrs. Patel, Mrs. Lee, and Bianca Santiago—the neighborhood's most dedicated suburban gossip queens.

For a split second, the entire world stops. Then—"Oh!" Mrs. Lee gasps, covering her mouth with both hands. Bianca tilts her head, biting back a knowing smirk. "Bad timing?"

You are going to die. Your brain barely has time to process the sheer level of mortification that is about to follow.Because from the outside, this looks bad. Really bad. Heeseung is practically pressed against you, his grip on your waist still firm. Your hand is clutching his shirt like you were in the middle of something completely different.

And of course—of course—this would happen the second you actually get into an argument.

Mrs. Patel bursts into laughter, fanning herself with one hand. "Oh, newlyweds," she sighs dramatically. "Still in the phase where you can't keep your hands off each other!"

"Very healthy," Mrs. Lee nods approvingly. "Very passionate!" "Very inappropriate for the front door," Bianca adds, smirking.

Heeseung recovers before you do. Instead of stepping away like a normal person, he has the audacity to smirk, tilting his head slightly as he looks down at you. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, playing it up, "should we invite them in, or do you want to finish what we started?"

You barely resist the urge to murder him on the spot. Instead, you smile brightly—the kind of fake, saccharine sweet expression that makes his smirk widen. "Darling," you say, voice equally saccharine, "if we're done, then you clearly weren't trying hard enough."

Mrs. Patel laughs again, delighted. Bianca snorts, shaking her head. "Christ, you two are fun." You finally push Heeseung off you, straightening your shirt as you school your expression into something neutral. "What can we do for you, ladies?"

"We just wanted to drop off some welcome gifts!" Mrs. Lee beams, holding up a wicker basket wrapped in cellophane. "Just a few things to make you feel more at home."

You nod politely, glancing at Heeseung, who finally manages to wipe the amusement off his face. "That's very thoughtful," he says smoothly. "Thank you."

Mrs. Patel waves a hand. "Oh, don't thank us yet! We also came to invite you both to the Lakeshore Annual Couple's Dinner!"

You blink. "The what?"

"It's a tradition!" Bianca chimes in. "All the couples in the neighborhood get together for a formal dinner—drinks, conversation, and a few fun activities. You're expected to attend."

Expected. You barely suppress a groan. But before you can politely decline, Heeseung throws an arm around your shoulders and smiles. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."

You stiffen immediately, turning to glare at him. Bianca catches it. She smirks. "Oh, this will be good."

Mrs. Patel claps her hands. "Wonderful! We'll see you both next Saturday!"

And just like that, the three women take their leave, stepping off the porch and disappearing down the street—leaving you and Heeseung standing in the doorway, still reeling.

The second they're out of sight, you spin to face him. "What," you demand, "was that?"

Heeseung shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Fake marriage, sweetheart. Thought you wanted me to play the role."

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You are insufferable." "And you married me," he deadpans.

The worst part? You don't actually have a comeback for that.

The second the front door clicks shut, silence falls between you and Heeseung. Not the comfortable kind. Not even the tense, slow-burning kind you've grown accustomed to with him. No, this is the heavy, mortifying kind. The kind that sits in the air, stretching out unbearably long, as you both stand frozen in place, the weight of what just happened crashing down on you in full force.

You barely survived the neighborhood BBQ. And now, not even an hour later, the entire neighborhood thinks you and Heeseung were caught mid-makeout session against your own damn front door.

You can already hear the whispers. The amused speculation, the fake modesty, the 'oh, young love, how exciting!' nonsense that is going to follow you for weeks. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. There's no way to fix this. No way to explain to a group of nosy suburbanites that no, you were actually in the middle of an argument, not about to rip each other's clothes off. No way to undo the delighted expressions on the faces of Mrs. Patel, Mrs. Lee, and Bianca Santiago as they practically gushed over the passionate display of 'newlywed' affection.

A slow exhale sounds behind you. And then—Heeseung laughs. Not just a quiet chuckle. Not just an amused exhale. A full-bodied, unrestrained, genuine laugh.

Your eyes snap toward him, burning with disbelief. "Are you seriously laughing right now?"

Heeseung doesn't even try to hide his amusement. He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head as he leans against the door like his knees are barely holding him up. "You—" he wheezes, catching his breath. "You should have seen your face."

"My face?" you repeat, incredulous. "Do you realize what just happened?"

He grins, bright and shameless. "Yeah. Our nosy-ass neighbors think we're so in love we can't keep our hands off each other. It's hilarious."

"No, Heeseung, it's a disaster," you snap, stepping forward, your pulse still hammering from the sheer embarrassment of it all. You shouldn't have let him pull you toward him. Shouldn't have played into the moment, instinctively pressing closer to make it look real. But you did. And now, the damage is done.

"They're going to talk about this for weeks," you continue, frustration bubbling over. "And you just made it worse by encouraging them!"

His grin doesn't falter. "I didn't encourage them."

"Oh, really?" you scoff, throwing your arms up. "Then what the hell was 'should we invite them in or do you want to finish what we started?'"

Heeseung snickers. "That was me committing to the bit."

You let out a long, suffering breath, pressing your fingers against your temples as you try to compose yourself. Heeseung, meanwhile, looks like he’s enjoying this entire thing way too much.

"Relax," he says, shaking his head. "What’s the worst that can happen? They think we’re passionate newlyweds. That’s kind of the point of all this, isn’t it?"

"Not like that!" you snap, pacing the living room. "We were supposed to ease into this whole picture-perfect marriage thing, not throw ourselves into the deep end of ‘we can’t keep our hands off each other.’"

Heeseung exhales, stepping toward you. "It’s not like we had a choice. You saw their faces. There was no talking our way out of that."

You stop pacing, turning to face him, fully ready to argue more—

But then, you actually look at him.

The way he’s standing—too relaxed, too entertained, too damn smug.

He’s enjoying this.

He thrives off your irritation, drinks it like it’s his personal fuel.

And the realization makes something snap.

"You know what?" you say suddenly, tilting your head as your expression shifts. "You’re right."

Heeseung blinks, surprised. "I am?"

"Yup," you say, walking up to him slowly. "We should lean into this. If they think we’re all over each other, then let’s make sure they really believe it."

You see it happen—the moment the amusement fades just slightly from his face, the moment he realizes he’s about to be on the receiving end of whatever you’re planning.

Heeseung narrows his eyes slightly. "What are you doing?"

You hum innocently. "Oh, nothing."

Then, before he can react, you step onto your toes, grip his collar lightly, and press a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Heeseung freezes.

Completely.

His entire body goes still, his breathing halts for a fraction of a second, and when you pull back, his eyes are locked onto yours with something sharp and unreadable.

You smile sweetly. "Just practicing, babe."

Heeseung exhales slowly, his jaw ticking slightly.

Then—he smirks.

A warning.

A challenge.

You barely have time to react before his hands find your waist, his grip firm but not forceful, and he leans in—just close enough that you feel the heat of him, just close enough that your breath catches in your throat.

"You sure you wanna play this game, baby?" he murmurs, voice low.

Your stomach flips.

But you refuse to back down.

"You started it, husband," you say, tilting your chin up slightly. "I’m just making sure you keep up."

Heeseung chuckles under his breath, his thumb brushing lightly against your side before he finally—finally—lets go and steps back.

"Don’t worry," he murmurs, smirking as he turns toward the stairs. "I always keep up."

You watch as he disappears upstairs, leaving you standing in the middle of the living room, still trying to process whatever the hell just happened.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

Your pulse is too loud in your ears.

And the worst part?

For the first time since this mission started—

You’re not sure if you won or lost.

-

The  Lakeshore Annual Couple's Dinner  is  practically a neighborhood-wide spectacle —an event where couples gather to  passively flex their marriages , drink expensive wine, and pretend they're  happier than they actually are.  For you and Heeseung? It's an  improvisation nightmare. 

From the moment you enter the candlelit banquet hall, you can  feel the weight of the neighborhood's attention pressing down on you.  Soft lighting. Elegant tables. The hum of polite conversation. And every time you glance around,  there's always someone watching. 

Heeseung, of course,  is eating it up.  His hand lingers on the small of your back as he guides you toward your table— a perfectly executed display of possessiveness that makes your stomach tighten against your will. 

"Relax, babe," he murmurs near your ear, voice laced with amusement.

You grit your teeth.  "Husband, I swear to—" 

"Shh," he interrupts smoothly, squeezing your hip as you sit down. "Wouldn't want to ruin our reputation, would we?"

His smirk is  too smug, too self-satisfied.  You  want to wipe it off his face.  Preferably with your mouth. …Wait. What? You  shake off the thought immediately. 

It starts innocently enough. A few  casual  questions, meant to make the dinner feel more… intimate.  How did you meet? 

"Work," Heeseung answers smoothly. "We were partnered on a case five years ago."

You  nod, forcing a small, pleasant smile.  "And I've regretted it every day since." The table laughs. Someone sighs about  'enemies to lovers' stories.  You  ignore the way Heeseung's fingers tap idly against your thigh under the table. 

"She's lying," he adds, voice low but  measured.  "She was obsessed with me."

Your  head snaps toward him, jaw clenching.  "I—"

"Couldn't stay away," he finishes smoothly. Your nails dig into the  napkin on your lap. 

And then— the questions get worse. What was your first date like?  You  open your mouth.  Heeseung  beats you to it. 

"Our first date?" he repeats, tilting his head like he's  reliving something fond.  "She got sick halfway through." The table  awws.  You  want to scream. 

"Food poisoning," he explains, shaking his head. "Worst seafood of our lives." You  stare at him, stunned.  Where the  hell  is he going with this?

"I had to carry her to the car," he continues, eyes dark with  subtle amusement.  "And she told me—direct quote—'if you ever bring me back here, I will burn this restaurant to the ground.'" Another  round of laughter.  But Heeseung  isn't done.  He exhales, shaking his head. "That was the night I knew."

Your stomach  flutters— No. Twists. It twists. 

"The night you knew what?" you ask dryly,  refusing to let him win this. 

Heeseung turns his head toward you  slowly , lips curling slightly at the edges. "The night I knew I wanted you."

A breath  catches in your throat.  The conversation  moves forward , the moment swallowed by more laughter, more small talk—but you  can't move past it.  The way he  said it.  Like it wasn't a lie. Like it wasn't  just for show.  The air in the room  shifts.  Something  tighter. Heavier. 

David Hernandez—retired FBI agent and Kang's closest friend—steps forward with a microphone, smiling. "Alright, everyone," he announces, "time for the annual Couples' Game." Groans and laughter  ripple through the room.  But you don't react. Because from the far side of the hall, you  see him.  A man in a  dark suit , too polished for this kind of gathering. And he's  watching you. 

You shift, fingers pressing against your napkin. Heeseung  notices.  His hand—casual, easy, practiced—rests on your thigh. A gesture  for the audience.  A warning  for you.  Stay still. Stay focused.

And then  the first question. "What's your spouse's biggest fear?"  Laughter. Playful groans. The couples  around you answer easily.  But when it's your turn, silence. And then, Heeseung says,  "Losing control." 

The air in your lungs  vanishes.  Your head turns. Your eyes meet his. Heeseung doesn't  smirk.  Doesn't tease. He just  watches.  And for the first time all night— you feel exposed.  Like he's  seeing something you didn't mean to show.  Your pulse  hammers. 

And then—David Hernandez  claps his hands together, moving on to the next question.  The moment  snaps.  But your body  doesn't relax.  Because across the room—the man in the dark suit  still hasn't looked away. 

The dinner was supposed to be over. The interrogation, the intrusive questions, the suffocating weight of being watched— you survived all of it.  But now, just as you're about to slip under the radar,  David Hernandez picks up the microphone again. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, "a final toast to our wonderful couples. And what's a toast without a little romance?" You freeze. The guests laugh, already  anticipating whatever's coming next. 

"Let's see a real kiss," he continues smoothly. "Show us what young love looks like." Your stomach  drops. No. Absolutely not. 

A slow  ripple of excitement  spreads through the room. People  lean in, whispering, waiting.  And then— every eye turns to you and Heeseung.  Because of course they do. Because after tonight— after every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every slow, lingering moment that made it look like you were the most in-love couple in the room—this is the next step. 

You feel  the weight of their expectations pressing in.  You feel  the tension in the air shift, tighten.  And worst of all— you feel Heeseung looking at you.  Your pulse  skips.  You don't move.  Don't breathe. 

And then—a warm, steady hand  cups your jaw.  Your body  goes completely still.  Your breath  catches.  Heeseung is already leaning in, already  committing to the role before you can even think of a way out.  And suddenly,  you're out of options. 

If you hesitate— if you pull back now—it'll look suspicious.  So you  don't.  You  tilt your chin up.  You  let him close the space.  And then—his lips  meet yours. 

The first thing you notice is that  he's warm.  Soft.  Steady.  Too much of both. It's  slow at first. Careful.  A kiss meant to  sell a story, to satisfy an audience.  But then—then it changes.

Because the second your fingers  tighten in the fabric of his jacket , the second  your lips part just slightly beneath his—it's over.  The  shift is instant.  The kiss  deepens, sharpens, spirals into something dangerous. 

Heeseung's grip on your jaw  tightens.  His other hand  curves around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him.  Your  stomach twists.  Your pulse  pounds.  You're supposed to be  acting.  But you can't remember how.

Because his fingers  slip just slightly into your hair.  Because he exhales sharply— low, wrecked—against your lips before tilting your head back and kissing you deeper.  Because when you break apart  just enough for air , he doesn't  move away.  His forehead  rests against yours.  His breath  fans across your skin. 

And the worst part? For just a second—for just  one, fleeting second—you forget that it's not real.  You forget that you  hate him.  You forget that the only reason this is happening is because you're being watched.

And then—the room  erupts in applause.  Reality  slams back into you like a train.  You jerk back  so fast it makes your head spin.  Heeseung  lets you go instantly.  Your lips still  burn.  Your skin still  tingles.  And the look in his eyes— dark, unreadable, something you can't name—  is enough to make your stomach  drop. 

Across the room, the man in the dark suit  finally smirks.  Like he  just got the confirmation he needed.  Like he  knows something you don't.  And suddenly— you're not sure who the real target of this mission is anymore. 

-

The second the front door clicks shut, you round on him. "You—" You don't even have the words. Your whole body is buzzing, your breath too shallow, your lips still tingling from that goddamn kiss. "What the fuck was that?"

Heeseung barely reacts. He shrugs off his jacket, loosening the first few buttons of his shirt like he isn't the problem, like he's not the reason your head is spinning and your pulse is in your throat.

"A kiss," he says smoothly, like it's obvious. "Wasn't that what they wanted?"

Your stomach twists. His voice is calm. Too calm. Like that kiss meant nothing to him. Like you're the only one who's still feeling it.

You grit your teeth. "That wasn't a kiss."

His brows lift. "Oh? Then what was it?"

"You—" You step closer, voice sharp, accusing. "You were all over me."

Heeseung tilts his head, lazily, infuriatingly amused. "You're the one who pulled me closer, sweetheart."

Your jaw clenches. "Because I had to sell it."

He smirks. And something inside you snaps. "You enjoyed it," you accuse, stepping even closer. "You fucking enjoyed it."

His smirk doesn't fade. "Don't flatter yourself, babe," he murmurs.

Your fingers twitch. Heeseung sees it, sees the way you're barely holding yourself together, the way your chest is rising and falling a little too fast. And he leans in. Not touching you, not quite, just close enough to make your breath catch. "Why?" he murmurs. "Did you?"

Your throat goes dry. You don't answer. Which is a mistake. Because Heeseung takes that exact moment to reach up, his fingers ghosting over your jaw, his touch just barely there. Your pulse stutters.

"You got quiet," he muses, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, like he's still thinking about the kiss.

You hate it. You hate him. And worst of all? You hate yourself for not pulling away. So you do the next best thing. You grab his wrist. Tight. And then you shove him back against the wall.

The sound echoes. His smirk flickers, just barely. But then, instead of being annoyed, instead of pushing you off, he laughs. Low. Amused. So fucking infuriating.

"That all you got, baby?"

Your whole body burns. And suddenly, you don't know if you want to slap him or kiss him again. Because he's watching you. Like he knows exactly what you're thinking. Like he's waiting for you to cross that line first. Your fingers tighten in his shirt.

"You push me one more time," you warn, voice trembling with something you can't even name, "and I swear to god—"

"What?" Heeseung leans in, voice dropping, his breath hot against your lips. "You gonna hate-fuck me, sweetheart?"

Your lungs stop working. Heat pools in your stomach. And worst of all, he sees it. He fucking sees it. His smirk returns, sharper than ever.

"You can, if you want," he murmurs. "We are married, after all."

Your grip on his shirt tightens. And for a moment, just a moment, you almost do it. You almost give in. Almost. But then you shove him back one last time and step away.

"You're not worth it," you grit out, voice barely steady.

Heeseung laughs again, low and slow, dragging a hand through his hair. "No?" he hums. "Then why do you look like you want to prove me wrong?"

You storm past him. Because if you don't, you might.

-

It was supposed to be temporary. A necessity. Because of appearances, because of the case, because if anyone in the neighborhood suspected that you and Heeseung weren't actually the perfect couple you were pretending to be, it would all fall apart.

So you agreed. Fine. One bed. One room. Just for show.

But now, in the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains, the reality of it hits you all at once.Heeseung is too close. Not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that you can hear his breathing, slow, steady, maddening. Close enough that you should roll over, create distance, shut this down before it turns into something else.

But you don't. You can't. Because your body betrays you. You stay.

And then Heeseung moves.

You should be asleep. Should be facing the other direction, should be pretending none of this is happening. But Heeseung shifts beside you, his body brushing against yours, his warmth sinking into your skin, and suddenly, you can't breathe.

His breath is slow, heavy. You don't know if he's asleep or just waiting. And then he moves again. Rolls over. Turns toward you. And when his hand lands on your hip, you don't stop him.

You should. You don't. Instead, you let him pull you closer. Slow. Measured. Testing.

Your breath catches. Your fingers tighten in the sheets. And then, Heeseung whispers against your skin, "You're awake."

A statement. Not a question.

You swallow. His fingers curl around your waist. "Say it."

Your stomach tightens. "I'm awake," you murmur.

His grip tightens. And then he kisses you.

This time, there's no audience. No reason. No excuse. Just you, pressed against him. His hands gripping your waist. His lips parting against yours. Just your body arching into his, your fingers tangling in his hair, your thighs pressing together because you need more. Because this isn't enough. Because you don't hate him as much as you should.

Heeseung groans softly, deep and low, like he's been waiting for this. Like he's been holding back. His fingers slip under your shirt. His palm presses against your stomach, warm, steady, deliberate. Your hips shift instinctively.

Heeseung notices. His lips curve against yours. "You're desperate," he murmurs.

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "So are you, husband."

His breathing stutters. His next kiss is rougher. Hungrier. His tongue slides against yours, deep and slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it. You whimper—actually whimper—and Heeseung curses under his breath. His hands move, sliding over your bare skin, gripping your thighs, pressing you against him like he can't get enough.

And then you hear it.

A shift of movement outside. A footstep. Someone is standing there. Listening. Watching.

You feel Heeseung tense beside you. His fingers twitch against the sheets, his muscles flexing like he's ready to strike.But then, he turns his head, his lips brushing your ear.

"Don't stop."

Your pulse spikes. "They're listening," you whisper, barely parting your lips.

His fingers tighten on your hip. "I know," he murmurs, his voice so dark and smooth it makes your stomach tighten.He pauses for half a second. Then he shifts, rolling over, pressing his body against yours. His chest is warm, firm, solid against yours, his thigh sliding between yours beneath the sheets.

And then, he speaks. Loud enough for whoever is outside to hear.

"Kiss me, baby. Please."

Your stomach flips. Your breath catches. His fingers press into your hip, just enough for you to feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric. "Kiss me," he breathes again, even louder. His tone dripping with something dangerous.Something that isn't fake at all. The words roll off his tongue like he's begging. Like he wants it. Like he needs it.

You barely have time to react before his lips crash onto yours.

It's not careful. Not slow. Not fake. His hand grips your jaw, his thumb tilting your face up, forcing you to take it. His lips move hungrily, deeply, thoroughly, like he's been starving for this. Like he's craving you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Your legs shift beneath him, parting slightly, allowing him to slot between them. The kiss is messy. Hot. Desperate.

And outside, there's silence. Then a muttered voice.

"They really are together."

Another pause. "Shit. That's… intense."

The gravel crunches. The presence outside shifts. But Heeseung doesn't stop.

His lips move down your jaw, his breath hot, heavy, controlled. His tongue flicks against your pulse, teasing, testing."You like this," he murmurs, so quiet it's almost just for you.

Your thighs tighten around his waist. His smirk presses against your throat. "Admit it, baby," he whispers. "You love letting them hear how good I make you feel."

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "You're disgusting," you hiss, but it comes out shaky.

His teeth graze your skin. "You're wet," he whispers against your throat. "And I haven't even touched you properly."

You almost bite your lip to stop the sound that threatens to escape. Almost. Because then his hips roll against yours, slow, deep, teasing.

And you moan.

Loud enough for the whole damn street to hear.

The figure outside finally moves. The voices fade. The footsteps retreat. They're gone.

But Heeseung doesn't move. Neither do you.

His lips hover just over yours, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. His hands are still on you. His body is still pinning you down.

And now, there's no excuse. No reason. No one left to perform for. Nothing stopping you from pushing him away. Nothing stopping him from letting you go. But neither of you do.

Instead, his fingers brush the corner of your mouth. His lips part like he's about to say something, but he doesn't.

Because now, you both know. This wasn't just for them. It wasn't just for the mission. Not really. Not when your body still aches for him. Not when his hands are still lingering. Not when he doesn't pull away first. And definitely not when you don't want him to.

The kitchen is too quiet.

The coffee smells rich and strong, filling the room, but it does nothing to cut through the thick tension that lingers from last night. From the moment you woke up tangled in the sheets with Heeseung's hand still gripping your waist. From the way he refused to be the first one to let go.

Now, as you stir your coffee, pretending everything is normal, pretending your thighs aren't still aching from how tightly they had clenched around his waist last night, pretending you aren't hyper-aware of him standing across from you, it's a losing game.

Heeseung leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. You refuse to look at him. The silence stretches.

And then he speaks. "You gonna talk about what happened last night, baby?"

You still. Your fingers tighten around the mug. But you don't answer.

Heeseung tilts his head, studying you. Waiting. And when you still don't say anything, he exhales sharply. "Fine. I'll start."

Your stomach tightens as he sets his cup down and pushes off the counter. "Who the hell were those people watching us?" he says, his voice losing the teasing edge from earlier. "Because that wasn't some nosy old lady peeking through the fence. Those were professionals."

You exhale slowly, finally lifting your gaze. "I don't know yet."

His brows lift. "Yet?"

You roll your shoulders back, forcing yourself into work mode. You need to focus. "Could be rival traffickers," you say evenly, setting your mug down. "Could be clients who don't trust our cover yet."

Heeseung nods slowly, his smirk from earlier finally gone. You almost miss it. Almost.

"So we're being watched," he states.

"Yes."

His jaw tightens. "And we just played right into their hands last night."

You look away. It's not a question. But you still feel obligated to answer. "Yes."

Heeseung sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck."

You exhale sharply, straightening. "It's not a bad thing," you say. "If they think we're real, they won't question us as much. It gives us credibility."

His eyes flicker over you. "You sure that's what you were thinking last night?" he murmurs.

You freeze. Your pulse spikes.

And the worst part? You don't know the answer.

You clear your throat, ignoring the way his gaze darkens just slightly at your hesitation. "You're deflecting," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "We need to figure out how much they know."

Heeseung sighs, rolling his shoulders. "They had too much access to our house. That means one of two things—"

You nod, already following his train of thought. "Either they're locals who have the ability to move around unnoticed—"

"—or they've paid off someone in our network to let them get close," he finishes grimly.

Your stomach twists. Because both options are bad.

Heeseung pushes a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing slightly under his t-shirt. It's distracting. You grit your teeth. Focus.

"So what's the move, baby?" he says, casual, easy, like he didn't just call you that on purpose.

Your eye twitches. "We run surveillance on the street," you say tightly. "We watch who's watching us."

Heeseung hums, nodding. "Okay."

"And in the meantime," you continue, voice calm, measured, totally not affected by him at all, "we keep playing the perfect couple."

Heeseung pauses. Then, his lips twitch. "Perfect?"

You regret your word choice immediately. His smirk slowly returns. "You think we're perfect, sweetheart?"

Your teeth clench. "That's not—"

"You said it, baby," he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice warm, teasing.

Your pulse spikes. "You just said," he continues, his fingers brushing the edge of the counter, "that you and I—"

"Heeseung."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "—are perfect together."

-

The air-conditioning in the store is a stark contrast to the heat outside, but it does nothing to cool down the tension simmering between you and Heeseung. It's been lingering ever since the conversation this morning. Ever since he pinned you with that smug smirk, acting like he had the upper hand, like you were the one struggling more.

You are not struggling. You refuse to struggle.

So when Heeseung grabs a cart and effortlessly rests one hand on the handle while the other slides into his pocket, looking far too comfortable in this fake domesticity, you ignore him. Instead, you focus on the list in your hands, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck, ignoring the way your pulse still isn't normal.

This is just an errand. Nothing more.

It starts small. A casual "Babe, what do we need?" that earns him a sharp glare. A lazy arm draped over your shoulders as you stand in the produce aisle, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair. A low "Want me to pick the best ones for you, baby?" as he grabs apples, grinning when you glare at him like you want to shove him into the fruit display.

You try to stay neutral. You fail.

By the time you reach the dairy section, Heeseung has pushed the cart so close to you that your hip brushes against it every time you move. And when you reach for a bottle of milk, he leans in—completely unnecessary, completely on purpose—his chest pressing against your back as his arm reaches over yours.

His breath is warm against your ear. "Need help, sweetheart?"

Your entire body locks up.

Heeseung hums, voice lower. "Or do you just like having me this close?"

Your fingers tighten around the milk bottle. You inhale sharply. Then, before you can stop yourself, you turn around too fast. The cart shifts. Your hip bumps into it. And somehow—somehow—you end up pinned between the handle and Heeseung, trapped in a space that is entirely too small for your liking.

His lips curve into a slow, satisfied smirk. "Close quarters," he murmurs, eyes dark and amused. "Feels familiar, doesn't it?"

Your stomach flips. You refuse to react. "Stop playing games," you bite out, your voice lower than intended.

Heeseung tilts his head, pretending to think. "But we're having so much fun."

You narrow your eyes. "You're having fun."

His smirk deepens. "And you're pretending you're not."

Your teeth clench. You're about to shove him away—about to remind him that this is a public place—when someone clears their throat behind you.

You go still. Heeseung's smirk vanishes instantly. Your stomach drops. Because when you turn around, you see him. A man in a dark polo, watching the two of you carefully.

You don't know him. But you know exactly what he is. One of them. And now, he's waiting. Watching. Testing.

Your heart pounds. And then Heeseung moves. So smoothly, so effortlessly, that if you weren't already hyper-aware of his every move, you might not have noticed the subtle shift. He steps closer. Not tense. Not nervous. Just…easy. Like this is normal. Like this is real.

It's different from last night. Worse. Because last night, there had been shadows and secrets and something unspoken.But here? Now? In broad daylight, in front of someone watching, in the middle of a damn grocery store, there's no hiding. There's nothing to mistake this for.

His lips move against yours slowly. Deliberately. Like he's savoring it. Like he's telling this man—telling you—that he's not afraid of being seen like this. His hand slides to your waist, his grip gentle, unhurried. Your fingers fist into his shirt, barely thinking.

Because the worst part? You melt into it. Not because of the act. Not because of the mission. Not because of the audience. But because he feels good. Because he knows exactly how to kiss you.

And when he pulls back, when he lingers for a second too long, when his breath is still warm against your lips, your stomach sinks. Because he's looking at you like he already knows. Like he can see straight through you. Like he knows you want more. And maybe maybe you do.

But then, from behind, the man clears his throat again. And Heeseung? He doesn't even glance back. He just smirks against your mouth. His thumb strokes over your cheek. And then, loud enough for the other man to hear, he murmurs—

"See, baby? I don't mind putting on a show."

Your entire body burns. Your stomach twists. Because for a second, just a second, you forget who this is for. You forget this is fake. You forget everything. And the worst part? You think Heeseung does too.

The car ride is silent. Too silent. The air between you and Heeseung is thick, charged, suffocating. You can still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. You can still hear his voice—low, teasing, smug as hell—whispering against your mouth in that damn grocery store. "See, baby? I don't mind putting on a show."

Your entire body still burns. You should be furious. You should be telling him to keep his damn hands to himself next time. But instead, you're gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. Instead, you can't stop thinking about the way his thumb brushed your cheek, the way he kissed you like he had nothing to prove, like he was just… enjoying it.Like he was just kissing you because he wanted to. Not because someone was watching. Not because the mission required it. Not because he had to. And that, that's the part that's making you lose your mind.

It happens fast. One second, you're keeping your eyes locked on the road, willing yourself not to glance at him. The next, Heeseung exhales sharply and shifts in his seat, tilting his head toward you. And then he speaks.

"So," he starts, too casual, too dangerous. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

Your jaw tightens. You know exactly what he's referring to. But you pretend not to. "Talk about what?" you ask, voice calm, steady. Too steady.

Heeseung sees through it immediately. He shifts again, his smirk audible even before you look at him. "The fact that you liked it," he murmurs.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. You refuse to react. "You kissed me," you say simply. "Not the other way around."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Yeah," he muses. "And you kissed me back."

Your stomach twists. "You were playing your part," you say, forcing nonchalance into your voice.

Heeseung laughs. Low. Dark. Amused. "And you weren't?"

Your breath hitches. You don't answer. Because you don't have an answer. Because he's right. Because you were too into it. Because it felt too good. And now you don't know what to do with that.

The silence stretches again. But this time, it's different. This time, it's thick with something neither of you want to name. And then, Heeseung speaks again. Voice low. Casual. Like he's not about to completely ruin your life.

"So, what if we just lean into it?"

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, shifting in his seat, like he's not suggesting something completely insane. "Think about it, sweetheart," he says, his voice silk-smooth, dangerous. "We have to keep playing this part, right?"

You don't answer. Because he's right. Because you do. Because whoever was watching you last night, whoever was following you today, they still need to believe it.

Heeseung tilts his head, watching you closely. "We keep up the act. But we make it more… convincing."

Your stomach drops. "And by that, you mean—"

Heeseung smirks, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Sex, baby."

Your entire body tenses. Your hands clench around the steering wheel. Your heart pounds so violently you swear he can hear it. "You're insane," you say flatly.

He laughs. "Am I?" he muses. "Or am I just thinking ahead?"

You grit your teeth. "This isn't necessary."

Heeseung shrugs. "Maybe not. But it'll help."

"Help?" you echo.

He nods, completely unbothered. "You really think whoever's watching us won't be looking for signs of intimacy?" he says. "We have to sell it."

Your stomach flips. You hate that he has a point. And worse? He knows he does.

"You don't trust yourself," he says suddenly.

Your head snaps toward him. "Excuse me?"

Heeseung just smirks. "You don't trust yourself," he repeats, voice low, knowing. "You think if we start fucking, you'll catch feelings."

Your breath catches. Because that's not it. Is it?

Heeseung leans closer, voice dangerously soft. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I won't fall in love with you."

Your chest tightens. Your throat feels too dry. You should tell him no. You should shut this down.

But instead, your fingers loosen around the steering wheel. And when you speak, your voice is quiet. "You're so confident," you murmur. "But what if you're the one who falls first?"

The smirk on his lips flickers. Just barely. But you catch it. And that's all it takes. Because now? Now you know. This is going to be a disaster. And you're about to let it happen anyway.

The tension doesn't ease when you get home. It only gets worse. Because now, there's no one watching. No mission excuse. No reason to keep pretending—except for the one you both just created.

The deal was simple. Use each other. Keep the cover. Nothing more. But the moment you step inside, the moment the front door clicks shut, locking you in with him, you realize something. You're not thinking about the mission anymore. And neither is he.

You don't know who moves first. One second, you're standing there, the next, Heeseung is on you. The kiss is a collision.Hard, hot, devastating. His hands grab at your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crash into yours, all tongue and heat and pure fucking need. There's nothing slow about it. No hesitation. No pretending.

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer, forcing your body to mold against his. You feel every inch of him—hard muscle, sharp edges, the unmistakable heat of him pressing against your stomach. Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling hard, dragging him deeper.

He groans and suddenly, you're moving. He's walking you backward. Fast. Desperate. You barely register the path through the house, until your back hits the nearest surface. The dining table.

Heeseung's hands are on your thighs instantly, lifting, gripping. "Up," he mutters against your mouth.

You don't hesitate. You hop up onto the table, legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him into you. Heeseung groans, his hands gripping your ass, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "You're already making this too easy," he rasps, his teeth grazing your jaw.

You should shove him away for that. Instead, you tilt your head back, baring your throat. His lips are on your neck in an instant. Biting. Sucking. Marking. Your breath shudders.

"Heeseung—"

"Yeah?" he murmurs against your skin, his smirk audible.

You should say something. Tell him to slow down. To stop making this feel like more than it is. But then his fingers slip beneath your shirt. And suddenly, you don't care anymore.

Heeseung rips your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His lips trail down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. You shiver, arching into him as his hands slide up your back, unclasping your bra in one smooth motion.

Your stomach clenches. "You've done this before," you mutter.

Heeseung laughs, low and dangerous. "You sound jealous."

Before you can retort, his mouth is on you. You gasp, your head tilting back as his lips close around your nipple, his tongue flicking, sucking, teasing. Your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him there, your back arching as heat pulses through you.

"Fuck," you breathe.

Heeseung hums against your skin. "That's it, baby," he murmurs, his teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm."Knew you'd sound so pretty for me."

Your stomach tightens. You should hate him. But you don't. Not when he finally moves lower, kissing down your stomach, his fingers sliding beneath your waistband.

He glances up at you, his eyes dark, heated. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs.

Your breath catches. You don't. Heeseung smirks. "That's what I thought."

The fabric of your shorts is gone in seconds. Your thighs part instinctively, inviting, desperate. Heeseung groans as he presses forward, grinding against you through his jeans. "Feel that?" he murmurs, voice wrecked. "That's all you, baby."

Your stomach flutters violently. He moves fast—too fast, like he's losing control, like he can't hold back, like he doesn't want to. Your nails dig into his back as he pushes his jeans down just enough, his cock sliding against your soaked entrance.

Your breath shudders. "Heeseung—"

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmurs, his tip teasing your clit. He grins when your hips buck instinctively. "Needy," he muses, pressing a kiss to your throat. "You want it that bad?"

Your fingers tighten around his arms. "Shut up," you mutter.

Heeseung just laughs—before finally pushing in.

Your breath breaks. Your fingers clench, nails raking down his back as he fills you, stretching you, giving you no time to adjust. "Fuck," Heeseung groans, his forehead dropping against yours. "You're so fucking tight."

You pant, shivering. Heeseung's lips brush yours, teasing. "Think you can take it?" he whispers.

You clench around him in response. His smirk drops. "Shit," he breathes.

Then he moves. And it's not slow. It's not soft. It's desperate. Relentless. Rough. His hips snap into yours, deep, punishing thrusts that make your breath catch, your body tighten, your fingers claw at his back.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, his breath hot against your neck. "You feel so fucking good—so wet for me."

You can't think. You can't do anything except take it. Your back hits the table, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. Heeseung groans, gripping your hips, holding you there.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice wrecked. "Letting me use you like this."

Your stomach clenches violently. "Shut up," you whisper, barely able to breathe.

Heeseung laughs, deep and dark. "Yeah?" he murmurs, tilting his head. "Make me." His thrusts deepen, slowing, grinding, dragging pleasure through you like fire.

Your breath catches. You're so close. Heeseung notices immediately. He smirks, his hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. Your body shakes.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction. "That's my girl."

You snap. The pleasure hits too fast, too hard. Your body tightens around him, your nails raking down his back as you fall apart, trembling, panting, gasping. Heeseung groans, burying himself deep, grinding through your high until he follows. His breath shudders. His hands tighten. And then, he spills into you, shaking, wrecked, completely gone.

The room is quiet. The only sound is both of you breathing. Heeseung doesn't move right away. Neither do you. But eventually, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. And then, he smirks.

"See, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, teasing. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Your stomach sinks. Because you already know. This was the worst idea of your life. And you want to do it again.

The morning comes too soon. Your body aches in places you don't want to acknowledge, your skin still buzzing from last night, from Heeseung, from the way he had completely ruined you on that table.

It was supposed to be for the mission. It was supposed to be nothing. But then he had kissed you like he meant it.Then he had whispered filthy things against your skin, dragging pleasure through you like it was his only goal in life. And worst of all? Then you had let him.

And now? You're in trouble. Because instead of getting up, getting dressed, and pretending it never happened, you're still in bed with him. Still naked. Still pressed against his warm, solid body, his arm thrown lazily over your waist.

And worse? He's awake. You feel it in the way his fingers start to move slowly, absently, tracing circles against your bare hip. You freeze. Because you already know. You already know exactly where this is going. And you're going to let it happen anyway.

Heeseung doesn't speak at first. He just moves. His hand slides lower, slipping between your thighs, his fingers brushing against where you're already slick and warm. You suck in a sharp breath.

"You still wet from last night, baby?" he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky, slow, teasing. Your thighs clench around his wrist. Heeseung chuckles. "Yeah," he muses, his fingers pressing deeper, finding your clit, stroking slow circles that make your breath catch. "That's what I thought."

Your hips shift instinctively, chasing his touch. His breath shudders against your neck. "So needy for me already," he hums. "I should've known you wouldn't be satisfied with just one round."

You should shove him away. You should stop this before it spirals even more. But then he presses his cock against your ass, already hard, already throbbing, already so fucking desperate for you. And suddenly, you don't care anymore.

You don't know how much time passes. All you know is Heeseung is inside you again. All you know is his hands are gripping your thighs, pulling you apart, his cock dragging deep, hitting all the right spots, making you tremble. All you know is you're gasping his name, your nails raking down his back, your body arching into him, needing more, more, more.

"Fuck, baby," Heeseung groans against your throat. "You feel so fucking good—"

Then the doorbell rings.

You both freeze. Your body locks up. Heeseung stiffens. For a second, silence. Then it rings again. You gasp softly, your breath shaky, still reeling from the pleasure he had been dragging you toward.

Heeseung grits his teeth, lifting his head, glaring at the door like he's debating whether to murder whoever is standing outside. Then a voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lee?"

Your blood runs cold. Because you know that voice. Heeseung knows it too. You both whip your heads toward each other. Because standing outside your house, waiting for you to answer, is one of the targets. And you're still naked, sweating, tangled in each other, caught in the middle of something that is definitely not mission-related.

You panic first. Heeseung groans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. "Fucking hell," he mutters. Then another knock.

The knock at the door is too sharp. Too deliberate. Heeseung barely has time to pull on his shirt properly before you're both stumbling toward the front door—faces flushed, breaths still uneven, bodies still humming with the remnants of what just happened in the bedroom.

The last thing you expect when you open it is Park Jae Hoon. Your primary target’s right hand man.

Chairman Kang’s Assistant.

A man whose connections run deep, whose operations are too well-hidden, whose wealth has made him untouchable for years.

Right now? He's standing at your doorstep, looking straight at you with a pleasant smile. And then he says it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lee?"

Your stomach drops. Your breath catches for half a second—just long enough for it to be a mistake. Behind you, Heeseung doesn't move. You feel his entire body tense, his presence turning sharp, rigid—so fast it makes your skin prickle. But he covers it in an instant.

Heeseung tilts his head, a fraction of a second too slow, like he's calculating. "Park," he says smoothly, his voice dangerously calm.

Jaehoon smiles wider, his gaze flickering between the two of you, watching, assessing. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," he continues, the casual tone doing little to mask the underlying weight of his words.

He knows. Maybe not everything. But something. Your mind races through possibilities. Was it a slip? A baited trap? A misdirect? Was he testing your reaction? Did he say Lee just to see how you'd respond? Your fingers twitch at your side.

Heeseung speaks before you can, so smoothly it makes your head spin. "That's funny," he muses, his lips curling into a smirk.

Jaehoon raises an eyebrow. "What is?"

Heeseung's hand settles on your waist, casual, possessive, like he's done it a million times before. "That's the second time this week someone's called us Lee," he hums, shaking his head with an amused scoff. "Wonder where that's coming from."

Jaehoon laughs lightly, like he's not the one who just said it. "Must be a mix-up," he says smoothly. "I'm terrible with names, my apologies."

Liar. You know it. He knows it. And Heeseung? He knows it, too. His grip on your waist tightens slightly.

"It happens," you interject, finally finding your voice. "We'll have to remind people."

Jaehoon watches you for a second longer than necessary. Then, he changes the subject. "My wife and I would love to invite you to dinner tonight," he says. "A small gathering. Just some neighbors getting to know each other."

Your stomach twists. You force a polite smile. This is a trap. It has to be. It's too soon. You've been in town for less than two weeks. And yet, he's standing at your door, already pulling you closer, already testing you.

And the worst part? You have to say yes. Because if you don't? You're as good as caught.

You and Heeseung arrive at the Park estate precisely at 7:00 PM. The house is massive—all glass windows and dark wood, sleek and modern but old money through and through. The kind of wealth that doesn't flaunt itself but never lets you forget it's there.

The door swings open before you can even knock. Park Jaehoon is already waiting. His smile is pleasant, but his eyes—sharp, assessing, watching every little detail.

Beside him, his wife Minji greets you both warmly, her voice smooth and charming, her demeanor soft where Jaehoon's is all edges. But you're not fooled. She's just as dangerous. She just hides it better.

Dinner is set up outside, under dim garden lights, the table covered in expensive wine and fine-cut dishes. Other couples from the neighborhood are there—people with money, status, power. People who either don't know what Jaehoon does or are too complicit to care.

And throughout the entire meal? You're being watched. Jaehoon is subtle about it. Testing you in small, careful ways. Watching how you and Heeseung interact. The way he pours you a glass of wine before his own. The way your hands brush when you pass him the plate. The way he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. All of it measured, calculated.

A lesser agent wouldn't have noticed. But you do. And so does Heeseung. Which is why you don't react. You just smile. Lean into his touch, laugh at his jokes, touch his thigh beneath the table when no one is looking. You give them what they want to see.

And Heeseung? He plays along like he was made for this. His voice is smooth, his touches natural, his attention never leaving you for long enough to seem disinterested. To anyone else, you're just another married couple—young, rich, successful, maybe a little too in love. But to Jaehoon? This is a test. And you're praying you don't fail it.

It happens when you least expect it. When you're finally settling into the act. When Heeseung has his arm draped lazily over the back of your chair, fingers tracing light circles on your bare shoulder. When Jaehoon smirks suddenly, takes a slow sip of his wine, and speaks.

"You two have been together for how long now?"

Heeseung answers smoothly. "Five years."

Jaehoon hums. "And how did you meet?" A standard question. One you prepared for. One you practiced. You open your mouth to respond—

But Heeseung beats you to it. "She wouldn't leave me alone."

The entire table goes silent. Your breath catches. Jaehoon raises an eyebrow. And Heeseung—the bastard—just smirks, leaning into you. "She practically stalked me, begged me for a date."

A laugh ripples through the table. Jaehoon chuckles, shaking his head. "Is that true?"

Your pulse spikes. You know what he's doing. He's testing your reactions. If you get flustered, if you hesitate, you'll look suspicious. So you adapt. You scoff, turning to Heeseung with a smirk. "I literally saved your ass in law school."

More laughter. The tension eases. You slide a hand to Heeseung's thigh under the table, squeezing hard. A warning. But Heeseung? He just smirks. He's enjoying this too much.

Jaehoon nods approvingly. "You two remind me of my wife and me," he muses. "Good chemistry. I can always tell when a marriage is real."

Your stomach twists violently. Because that? That was the real test. And you still don't know if you passed it.

The ride home is silent. Tense. Charged. You're still reeling from the dinner, from the questions, from the way Jaehoon watched your every move like he was cataloging them, looking for the slightest hint of a lie. But more than that, you're still reeling from Heeseung. From the way he smirked through every question like he was having the time of his life. From the way he ran his fingers over your bare skin at the table, teasing, touching, like he wanted to push you to the edge. From the way he played his part so fucking well that you almost believed him.

And now? You're alone. Back in the house. Back inside the lie that's feeling a little too real.

You step inside first, your heels clicking against the floor, your body buzzing with pent-up frustration. The second the door shuts behind you, you round on him. "What the fuck was that?" you snap, voice sharp, controlled.

Heeseung just smirks. "Which part?"

Your teeth clench. "You know which part."

He shrugs, undoing the top button of his shirt like he's completely unfazed. "Relax, baby," he drawls, voice smooth, teasing. "We didn't get caught."

You step forward. He doesn't move. "You enjoyed that way too much," you say, your voice low, accusing.

Heeseung tilts his head. "And you didn't?"

Your breath catches. Because he's too close now. Because he's looking at you like he already knows the answer.Because he's right. You did enjoy it. Not just the act. Not just the mission. Him. His hands, his voice, the way he touched you. The way he kisses you like he means it. The way he watches you like he wants to ruin you.

You exhale sharply. "This isn't real," you bite out, like you're trying to convince yourself.

Heeseung smiles—slow, devastating. "Yeah?" He steps forward. You step back. Until your back hits the wall. Until he's right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to smell the cologne still lingering on his skin.

His fingers trail up your thigh, slow, teasing, his touch barely there. "You're shaking," he murmurs.

Your throat tightens. "You—"

"You want me to stop?" he asks, low, husky.

Your body betrays you. Your legs part slightly, just enough for him to notice. Heeseung hums, pleased. "That's what I thought."

Before you can process it, he's sinking. Kneeling in front of you. His hands slide up your thighs, parting them effortlessly, his breath hot against your skin. You feel his smirk against your inner thigh. "You look so fucking good like this, baby," he murmurs.

Your head tilts back against the wall. Your heels dig into the floor, your fingers clutching at the surface behind you."Fuck," you whisper.

Heeseung chuckles. He lifts your leg, sliding it over his shoulder, keeping you open for him. "You've been tense all night," he muses. "Let me take care of you."

His fingers hook into your underwear, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, like he's savoring every second. And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, fingers tangling into his hair, gripping, pulling. Heeseung groans against you, his hands tightening on your thighs, his tongue working slow, deep strokes against your clit. Your hips buck. He grips you harder, pinning you in place.

"Stay still," he murmurs against your skin. "Let me do my job, sweetheart."

Your stomach tightens. Because this isn't pretend. Because this isn't just for the mission. Because he's devouring you like he fucking means it.

Your heels dig into his back, your body trembling as he laps at you, sucking, teasing, fucking you with his tongue until you're panting, until you're so close you can't think. And then he pulls back.

You whimper at the loss. Heeseung looks up at you, his lips slick, his eyes dark, hooded, ravenous. "You taste so fucking sweet," he murmurs.

You can't breathe. "Please," you whisper.

Heeseung smirks. "Please what, baby?"

You grit your teeth. "H-Heeseung—"

"Say it."

Your face burns. "Make me come," you whisper.

His smirk vanishes. His fingers dig into your thighs. Then he dives back in.

And this time? He doesn't stop.

Not until you're shaking, gasping, falling apart against him, your back arching off the wall, your body pulsing with pleasure so intense it feels like drowning. Not until you moan his name so loud that if anyone was outside, they'd know exactly what he's doing to you. Not until he's pulling back, pressing kisses along your thighs, grinning up at you like he just won something.

Like he owns you. And maybe maybe he does.

Because you're ruined now. Because you'll never be able to look at him the same way again. Because this—whatever this is— it's not just for the mission anymore.

And you're in too deep to pretend otherwise.

-

The morning after should have been awkward. Should have been tense, unbearable, suffocating. But instead? It's calm.Too calm. Like neither of you are willing to acknowledge what just happened.

Like if you don't talk about it, if you don't look at each other for too long, if you don't think about the way Heeseung had dropped to his knees and ruined you against the wall, then maybe just maybe you can pretend you're still in control.

So you do what you do best. You compartmentalize. You shove everything into a box, lock it away, and focus. Because you're not here for him. You're not here for whatever this is. You're here to take these people down. And it's time you started acting like it.

You spend the entire morning pouring over files, surveillance reports, and connection maps, trying to untangle the knots of this case. Heeseung sits across from you at the kitchen table, back to his usual self—calm, sharp, focused. For the first time since arriving here, it feels like the job is actually taking priority again.

You take a slow sip of coffee, flipping through one of the files. "We need to start pulling deeper on Kang's network."

Heeseung nods, scrolling through his laptop. "We know he's the link between the local trade and the international markets is Jaehoon, but we still don't have enough to prove it."

Your fingers tap against the page. "Which means we need to figure out where the shipments are coming in."

Heeseung exhales sharply. "That's the problem. These guys don't use the usual channels. No ports, no major transport hubs. Whatever they're moving, it's coming in completely off-grid."

You narrow your eyes at the report in your hands. "Then we need to look at what they do control. Warehouses, private properties, storage facilities—anything that could be used to funnel products in and out without setting off alerts."

Heeseung hums in agreement, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. "There's a location that keeps popping up on our surveillance feeds. A warehouse on the west side, owned under a shell company that leads back to Kang."

Your pulse picks up. You lean over the table, studying the map on his screen. "How well-guarded is it?"

"Moderate security. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to make it clear something valuable is there," Heeseung mutters. "Cameras, patrols, rotating staff."

"Which means we can't just walk in."

"Not without drawing attention."

Silence stretches as you both consider the options. Then an idea.

You glance at him. "How many of the staff do we have IDs on?"

Heeseung clicks a few files open. "Not all, but a decent amount. Why?"

You smirk. "Because if we can't walk in as ourselves, we walk in as them."

Heeseung leans back in his chair, eyeing you. "You want to go inside the warehouse as employees?"

You shrug. "It's the best option. Less risk than breaking in, more access than staking out from the outside."

Heeseung rubs his jaw, considering. "We'd have to steal IDs. Learn their routines. Get in without tipping anyone off."

"Exactly," you murmur, your mind already calculating. "We need disguises. Uniforms. A way to get in and out without raising suspicion."

Heeseung sighs, but there's a glint in his eyes. "You're getting too excited about this, sweetheart."

You smirk. "It's the job."

He shakes his head. "No, you just like the thrill."

You don't deny it. Instead, you straighten. "We need to pick a target—someone whose absence won't be noticed immediately. Someone low enough in rank that we can take their spot, but high enough that they have clearance."

Heeseung clicks through the personnel files, narrowing the options. "This guy. Jung Minseok. Mid-level logistics coordinator. His access logs show he's in and out frequently but doesn't stay long. No high-clearance tasks, but enough movement to slip under the radar."

Your eyes narrow. "Perfect."

Heeseung exhales. "You're sure about this?"

You flash him a wicked grin. "Trust me, babe," you murmur. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

The warehouse is colder than expected. Dim lighting, the faint hum of industrial fans, the scent of metal and damp concrete—it's a perfect front. From the outside, it looks like any other storage facility. But on the inside? You know there's something bigger hiding beneath the surface.

You and Heeseung slip in effortlessly. Disguised in stolen uniforms, fake IDs clipped neatly onto your collars, posture sharp but unassuming—just another pair of employees in the sea of warehouse staff. No one looks at you twice. No one asks why you're here. It's almost too easy.

Heeseung adjusts the clipboard in his hand, murmuring under his breath as he falls into step beside you. "We've got maybe thirty minutes before someone notices an extra set of names on the shift list."

You nod subtly, your eyes scanning the stacks of wooden crates, metal containers, and labeled shipments. "Then we work fast," you mutter back.

Heeseung smirks. "My favorite kind of job."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Instead, you split up. Heeseung heads toward the office records, blending seamlessly into the workers checking logs. You go for the storage section. Where the real secrets are buried.

The deeper you go, the quieter it gets. Most of the workers are occupied with the main shipment areas—leaving this section mostly empty. Your steps soften. Your breath slows. You count every turn, every exit, every security camera in sight.

And then you see it. A door. Unmarked. Unassuming. Tucked away at the back of the facility—but with a security lock that's far too advanced for a basic storage room.

Your pulse kicks up. This isn't just a warehouse.

You pull out a small device, hooking it onto the electronic lock, watching as it overrides the security input in under fifteen seconds. With a soft click, the door unlocks. You push it open.

And then your breath catches.

Inside, the room is small, dark, sterile. But the thing that makes your blood run cold? The medical equipment. IV bags. Monitors. A locked steel cabinet filled with vials of something you can't identify.

This isn't just a warehouse. This is a holding facility.

And before you can process what that means, you hear footsteps approaching. Fast. Coming right for you.

Your heart pounds. Footsteps—close, coming fast, heading straight for the room you're in. You have seconds. Not minutes. Not enough time to take photos, not enough time to process what you just saw, not enough time to do anything except get out.

Your body moves before your mind catches up. You press the door shut just before the footsteps round the corner, locking it again with a silent flick of your wrist. The electronic lock clicks back into place. You step away just in timefor two men to stop directly in front of the door.

Holding your breath, you keep walking. Not fast. Not slow. Just normal. Like you were never there. Like you don't have the weight of a game-changing discovery sitting in your chest. Like your stomach isn't twisting at the thought of what kind of people need an unmarked medical room in a warehouse.

You don't look back. The guards don't look at you. But the moment you round the corner and spot Heeseung standing at the other end of the hall, his sharp gaze immediately locks onto yours. And in that second—he knows.

You reach him just as he's tucking his fake employee badge into his pocket. Heeseung doesn't say anything at first.Just tilts his head slightly, waiting. Waiting for you to confirm what he already suspects.

You keep walking. "We need to go. Now."

That's all he needs to hear. Heeseung nods once, slipping into step beside you, keeping his posture loose and unbothered. Like you aren't both walking the fine edge of disaster. Like you aren't milliseconds away from being caught. Like your heart isn't still racing.

You weave through the warehouse, your breathing calm, your fingers twitching at your side. The exit is in sight. Almost there.

And then—"Hey!"

Your stomach drops. You don't freeze. Don't react. But Heeseung? He turns first. Smooth, easy, like he was expecting this.

A man—one of the security supervisors, judging by the badge clipped to his shirt—is watching the two of you. His eyes narrow slightly. "New guys, huh?"

Heeseung laughs easily. "Yeah," he says. "Boss told us to check the perimeter before heading out. All clear."

The man studies him. For a second too long. For a second too dangerous. You stay silent.

Then the man nods. "Good," he mutters. "We can't afford mistakes right now."

Mistakes. Your fingers twitch.

Heeseung hums. "You expecting a shipment?"

The man scoffs. "Something like that," he says vaguely. "Just keep your head down and don't ask questions."

Heeseung smirks. "No problem."

And just like that the man walks off. You exhale slowly. Not too relieved. Not too fast. Just enough to finally step outside. Just enough to not look suspicious. Just enough to know that this was too close.

The second you're in the car, the moment the warehouse is behind you, the second you're safe—you finally breathe.

Heeseung shifts beside you, watching you. "So," he says, too casual. "What did you find?"

You grip the steering wheel. "Not here."

Heeseung tilts his head, smirking. "That bad?"

You don't answer. You don't have to. Because whatever's happening in that warehouse? It's bigger than you thought.And now? Now you need to figure out exactly what the hell you just walked into.

The drive back is silent. Not the kind of silence that comes from comfort. The kind that feels like something is about to snap.

You can still hear your own heartbeat. Still feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, making everything feel sharper, heavier, too much. The discovery at the warehouse—the medical room, the vials, the unspoken implications— it's still racing through your head, looping over and over, suffocating you.

You don't know what it means yet. You just know it's bad. And now? Now, you're sitting in the passenger seat, your leg bouncing, your fingers clenched into fists, your breath just a little too shallow. You need to calm down. You need to focus. But right now? Right now, you feel like you're about to lose it.

The moment you step into the house, you head straight for the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter, exhaling sharply. Heeseung follows. You don't have to look at him to know he's watching you. He always does. Especially now.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. "You're shaking."

You exhale. "It's nothing."

Heeseung hums. "Liar."

Your fingers tighten around the counter. "You need to let this go for tonight," he murmurs, stepping closer.

You shake your head. "I can't."

"You have to."

Your breath shudders. Because you know he's right. Because your body is still vibrating from everything that just happened. Because your mind is still running in circles. Because you don't know how to make it stop.

But Heeseung does. And before you can argue he's behind you. Warm. Solid. Too close. His hands trail down your arms, slow, steady. Grounding.

"Look at me."

You don't. Heeseung leans in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice softer now. "Let me help you."

Your body clenches. Your fingers loosen against the counter. Your breath catches. Because you know exactly what he's offering. And worse? You want it.

You turn around. Slow. Deliberate. Your back hits the counter, and Heeseung steps in between your legs, his hands bracketing your hips. He's too close now. He's waiting. You could stop this.

But instead you fist your hands into his shirt and pull him in.

The kiss is messy. Desperate. Hot. His hands slip beneath your shirt, dragging up your spine, gripping, holding. You don't even realize you're moving until your ass hits the counter, until Heeseung's hands are spreading your thighs, stepping in closer, deeper.

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you to the edge, pressing himself against you, grinding slow, teasing. "You needed this, didn't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You don't answer. You just kiss him harder.

Your shirt is on the floor before you can blink. Heeseung's hands slide under your thighs, gripping, holding. "You gonna let me take care of you, sweetheart?"

Your breath hitches. You nod. And that's all he needs.

Because then he's undoing your pants, dragging them down, his fingers already teasing at your heat, smirking when he feels how wet you are. "Already soaked for me," he murmurs. "You needed this more than you let on."

You whimper when his fingers stroke up your slit, circling your clit, pressing slow, deep. "Let me make you feel good," he whispers against your jaw.

You don't stop him. Because for once you don't want to think. You just want to feel.

Afterwards, you're still on the counter, your legs tangled around his waist, your breathing uneven. Heeseung presses a kiss to your jaw. Soft. Lingering. Like he doesn't want to move. Like he wants to stay here. And for a moment—just a moment—so do you.

But then reality crashes back in. Because whatever's happening in that warehouse? It's not over. And now? Now you have to figure out how much worse it's going to get.

-

The house is too quiet after what just happened. The kitchen still smells like sex, like heat, like the remnants of something neither of you want to name. But now? Now, you're back to business. Because no matter what's happening between you and Heeseung, no matter how tangled this is getting, no matter how good he feels—the mission comes first.

You're seated at the kitchen table, the blueprint of the warehouse laid out between you, files stacked on the side, notes scribbled across every margin. Heeseung leans back in his chair, one hand resting against his jaw, watching you as you go through the details again.

"Let's go over this one more time," you murmur, eyes scanning the blueprint. "What do we know for sure?"

Heeseung exhales, tapping his finger against the table. "Chairman Kang's operation is bigger than we thought," he starts. "We knew he was trafficking, but whatever's in that warehouse—"

"—it's not just product," you finish, voice tight.

Your stomach twists. Because the medical equipment, the IV bags, the locked storage cabinets filled with vials— they weren't transporting drugs. They were doing something else. And whatever it was? It involved people.

You pull out the file on the warehouse employees, flipping through it until you reach Jung Minseok—the logistics coordinator whose ID you stole to get in. You slide the file toward Heeseung. "His logs don't match the shipment records."

Heeseung frowns, scanning the notes. "What do you mean?"

You point at the log timestamps. "Look. According to our intel, this warehouse is supposed to be moving goods in and out weekly. But Minseok? He's logged in and out of that medical room every other night."

Heeseung's jaw tightens. "Which means," you continue, voice steady, "this isn't just a storage facility. They're keeping something in there."

Heeseung looks at you, eyes darkening. "Or someone."

Your breath catches. Because he's right. Because this isn't about trafficking goods anymore. Because people are involved.

You sit back in your chair, heart pounding, the weight of the realization settling deep in your bones. "Fuck," you whisper.

Heeseung's fingers tap against the table, his mind already moving ten steps ahead. "If they're keeping people there, we need to figure out why," he mutters. "What's in those vials? What are they doing to them?"

You exhale sharply. "It's not drugs," you say. "At least, not the kind we were expecting. This is something else."

Heeseung studies you, then tilts his head. "You have a theory."

Your fingers grip the edge of the file. "Organized trafficking rings don't keep people in one place unless there's a reason. Either they're waiting for transport, or—" You pause. Your stomach tightens. Heeseung's gaze sharpens. "Or what?"

Your throat feels too dry. You meet his eyes. "Or they're being experimented on."

Silence. Heavy. Sharp. Unbearable.

Heeseung's fingers curl into a fist against the table. "They're running tests," he murmurs, voice too low.

You nod, exhaling slowly. "And we don't know on who, or why, or for what purpose."

His jaw clenches. "Then we need to find out."

The weight of it presses into your chest, heavy, suffocating, unshakable. People. Not just drugs, not just weapons, not just another smuggling operation. This is something worse. Something bigger. Something you weren't prepared for.

You and Heeseung are still sitting at the kitchen table, files and blueprints scattered between you, the cold dregs of coffee in your mugs long forgotten. Heeseung leans forward, his elbows resting on the wood, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"This changes everything," he mutters.

You exhale sharply. "No shit."

Heeseung rubs a hand down his face, his fingers curling into a loose fist as he processes. "We need more information," he says. "We go back—"

Knock. Knock.

Your breath catches. The sound is sharp, deliberate. Not frantic. Not casual. Calculated.

You and Heeseung freeze. For a second—just a second—neither of you move. Then, instinct takes over. You're both silent, barely breathing, reaching for the weapons hidden beneath the table, tucking them discreetly behind your backs.

Another knock. Steady. Even. Waiting. And then a voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Park."

Your stomach drops. Because you know that voice. Chairman Kang himself. From the dinner party. The one who barely spoke, but watched everything. The one who lingered when no one else did. The one who, even then, felt like a problem.

Now, the most dangerous man in the city is standing at your doorstep. And he knows you're home.

Your pulse spikes. Heeseung's jaw tightens. Your eyes meet—a silent exchange, a thousand questions packed into one glance. Heeseung tilts his head slightly, his expression calm, calculating. You understand immediately. Play it cool.

You inhale, steady, controlled. Then you walk to the door. You flick the lock. Pull it open just enough.

And there he is. Chairman Kang. Dressed in an impeccable dark suit. Expression cold and calculating beneath his pleasant facade. But now now he's smiling. And you hate it. Because it's not polite. It's not friendly. It's knowing.

"Forgive me for the late visit," Kang says smoothly, his voice warm, pleasant. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Heeseung appears at your side, casual, relaxed. But you know him well enough to see the tension beneath it. "Of course not," Heeseung says easily, leaning against the doorframe. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Chairman Kang tilts his head slightly, as if considering. Then he steps forward. Into your space. And murmurs, just for you to hear— "Why don't we talk inside?"

The air thickens the moment you step back and let him in. Chairman Kang doesn't hesitate. He walks inside like he belongs here, like he's done this before, like he already knows more than he should.

Heeseung shuts the door behind him. Locks it. Subtle. But not really. Kang notices. He smiles. "How hospitable."

You return the expression, tight-lipped. "We like our privacy."

His eyes flicker between you and Heeseung. Like he's studying, comparing, searching. You don't fidget. You don't move. But your pulse ticks up. Because this this is dangerous. You don't know why he's here yet. But you know it's not good.

Heeseung gestures to the living room. "Sit. Have a drink."

Chairman Kang hums, glancing around the space before lowering himself onto the couch. "You keep a lovely home," he comments.

You tilt your head. "It's temporary."

Kang nods, lacing his fingers together. "Of course," he murmurs. "How long have you two been married again?"

You smile. Heeseung leans forward, pouring whiskey into a glass, sliding it across the table toward him. "Five years," he says smoothly. "I assume you did your research before you came here."

Chairman Kang lifts his brows. "Naturally." But he doesn't touch the drink. Just lets it sit there. Waiting.

Heeseung exhales sharply, leaning back into the chair, stretching out like he's perfectly at ease. You stay standing. Watching.

Kang turns his attention back to you. "I've been meaning to ask—what was it that brought you here again?"

You tilt your head. "Business."

"Ah." A slow nod. Too slow. Too measured. Then he glances at the scattered files on the kitchen table.

Your stomach tightens. Because even though none of those files are directly related to the mission it's still too much. Too many notes. Too many blueprints. Too much evidence that you aren't just a happy, newlywed couple settling into a quiet life.

Chairman Kang smiles. "And what kind of business is that again?"

Your jaw clenches. Before you can answer, Heeseung beats you to it. "Investment," he says smoothly. "Real estate. Properties, stocks. The kind of things that keep your wealth moving."

Kang hums. "The kind of things that keep your name clean."

Your breath catches. Because that wasn't an innocent remark. That was a test. A trap. And you know it.

Heeseung's smirk doesn't falter. "I wouldn't say that," he muses. "A name is only as clean as the person who holds it."

Chairman Kang chuckles. "And yours is spotless?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Silence. The tension pulls tighter. Then Kang tilts his head. And finally, he slips.

"I have to say," he murmurs, "you two are very different from the last couple."

The room goes still. Your pulse stumbles. Heeseung's fingers tighten just slightly where they rest against the chair.But he doesn't move. Doesn't react. Just lets the weight of that statement settle. Then he speaks. "Oh?"

Chairman Kang shrugs. "The previous tenants."

You tilt your head. "We weren't told much about them."

He hums. "No, I imagine not."

Your stomach knots. Because this? This is new information. The mission files never mentioned anyone else staying in this house before you. And if there was a couple here before where are they now?

Heeseung exhales slowly, as if bored. "And why does that matter to you?"

Kang smiles. "The same reason I came here tonight," he says lightly. "Curiosity."

You watch him. He watches you back. And then he stands. Straightens his suit. Looks between the two of you one last time. Then he nods.

"Enjoy your evening," he says, turning toward the door. "I was quite pleased to meet you both at dinner. I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon."

The casual threat beneath his words is unmistakable. This wasn't a social visit. Chairman Kang himself came to assess you, to study you, to let you know he was watching.

You don't move. Don't speak. Just watch as he walks away. As he lets himself out. As the lock clicks behind him.

And when you finally turn to Heeseung his expression is unreadable. But his words are deadly serious. "We need to find out what happened to that couple."

Because now? Now you know this mission is bigger than you ever imagined. And if you aren't careful? You might be next.

The house feels different after Chairman Kang leaves. Like it's not just a house anymore. Like it's a crime scene. Like there are shadows in every corner, waiting for you to find them.

You and Heeseung stand in silence, the weight of what just happened pressing between you. The files on the table feel heavier now. Everything feels heavier now. Because now? Now you know this house wasn't meant for you. It was meant for them. And whatever happened to the last couple it wasn't good.

You don't speak as you move. You don't tell Heeseung what you're looking for because you don't know. You just know it's here. Somewhere. The truth is somewhere in this house.

So you start in the obvious places. The bedroom. The office. The storage spaces. You check for anything out of place, anything that doesn't belong, anything that looks like a message someone didn't want found. But there's nothing.

And then you stand in the middle of the living room, frowning. Thinking. And then you look down. At the floorboards.At the slight misalignment of one near the fireplace.

Your breath catches. And then you kneel. Your fingers skim over the edge of the wood, pressing lightly. And then it moves. Not much. Just enough. And that's all you need.

You pull it up. And then you find it. A small metal box, tucked away beneath the floorboards. Hidden. Buried. Waiting.

Your fingers tremble just slightly as you lift it out. It's light. Not heavy enough to hold a weapon. But heavy enough to hold something dangerous.

You place it on the table, Heeseung standing beside you now, watching. You glance at him. Heeseung nods. "Open it."

You take a slow breath. And then you do. The latch clicks. The lid lifts. And inside is a phone. And a small, folded piece of paper.

Your pulse jumps. You pick up the paper first, your breath catching at the words scrawled in desperate, jagged handwriting.

"If you're reading this, you need to run."

Your stomach drops.

"They aren't who they say they are."

Your breath shudders.

"And they know you're here."

Silence. Heavy. Thick. Suffocating.

You turn the paper over. There's one last sentence. Scrawled hastily, like whoever wrote it was running out of time.

"They took my wife first."

You and Heeseung stare at the note. Neither of you speak. Neither of you move. And then you pick up the phone. It's old. Dead. The battery long drained. But you know you just know whatever's on it? It's not meant to be seen.

You swallow hard, looking at Heeseung. "We need to power this up."

His jaw tightens. He nods once. "Let's go."

You grab the box, the note, the phone—everything. You turn—

And then the lights go out. The house plunges into darkness.

The moment the lights cut out, you don't hesitate. You react on instinct. Your hand goes to your weapon immediately, muscles tightening, senses flaring. Beside you, Heeseung moves just as fast. His breath is steady. His presence is solid.And yet something feels wrong.

This isn't just a power outage. This isn't just a coincidence. And then a crash. From the front door. Your pulse jumps.Footsteps too heavy, too fast. Coming straight for you.

Your mind races. How did they get here so fast? How did they know? And then Heeseung is moving. Gun raised, body shifting in front of you and you realize. They're coming for him.

"Move!" Heeseung hisses.

But you don't. Because you can't. Because everything is happening too fast. Because this is all wrong. They're not supposed to know who you are. They're not supposed to know where you live. They're not supposed to be coming for him. And yet they are.

You see the shadowed figures moving in the darkness, too many of them, closing in, aiming for him— and your decision is made before you even think it through. You move first. Fast. Too fast. You grab him, shove him toward the back of the house. "Go!"

Heeseung grits his teeth, stumbling slightly, cursing as he reaches for you. "Are you insane?!" he snaps.

"They're after you," you hiss. "I can handle this—"

You don't get to finish. Because in that half-second of hesitation you feel it. The needle. The sharp sting at your neck.And then your body locks up.

You barely register what happens next. You hear your own breath catch, your pulse stumbling, the way your fingers try to reach for your gun— but they don't move. Because your limbs aren't working anymore. Because your vision is tilting, blurring, slipping. Because you were wrong.

They weren't after Heeseung. They were after you. And you just delivered yourself straight into their hands.

Heeseung's voice breaks through the haze, sharp, panicked— "Shit—" He's grabbing you, catching you before you hit the floor, shaking you— but it's too late. Your body is already shutting down. Your muscles go limp, your breathing slows, your eyelids grow too heavy. Heeseung's grip tightens. "No, no, no—stay awake—"

You try. You really try. But then the last thing you hear is the sound of him fighting. The last thing you feel is the way his fingers dig into your arms, holding onto you like he can stop this from happening. The last thing you see is the sheer terror in his eyes. And then everything fades.

The first thing you notice is the smell. Not blood. Not chemicals. Something sterile. Like a hospital. Like a place where people don't leave.

Your head pounds. Your body feels heavy, like it isn't yours, like you're floating just beneath the surface of consciousness. But then a voice. Soft. Weak.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Your breath catches. Because you're not alone.

Your eyelids flutter. Your vision is blurry, foggy, distorted. But you see them. Across the room. A woman. Slumped against the wall, her skin pale, her eyes hollow, her breath slow and uneven. She looks barely alive.

Your pulse kicks up. You try to move but you can't. Your wrists are bound. Your ankles are strapped down. And that's when the panic sets in.

You're in the medical room from the warehouse. You're in Chairman Kang's facility. And now you understand why he personally came to your home—you weren't just targets, you were his next subjects.

Your breathing sharpens. Your head spins. You yank against your restraints—but they don't budge. The woman watches you, her expression unreadable.

"You should stop that," she murmurs. "It won't help."

Your voice comes out hoarse. "Where—" Your throat feels raw. "Where are we?"

The woman tilts her head. And then she smiles. But there's no joy in it. Only pity.

"You're in their hands now," she whispers. "Just like me."

Your stomach twists. "No," you breathe. "That's not—"

"You thought you were safe," she interrupts, her voice still eerily soft. "But they were watching you the whole time."

The first thing Heeseung does when you disappear is destroy something. It's instinct. A chair, a glass, a wall—it doesn't matter. Because none of it matters. Because you're gone. And the only thing that matters now is getting you back.

Sunoo doesn't stop him. Not at first. Not when he slams his fist into the nearest hard surface, not when his breath comes ragged and sharp, not when his hands shake so badly he looks like he might rip the entire house apart with his bare hands.

Because Sunoo knows. Heeseung needs a second. A second to break. A second to fall apart before he becomes something lethal.

But after that second? Sunoo speaks.

And his voice is dead calm. The words land like a sharp slap. Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough. Enough to cut through the noise. Enough to pull Heeseung back from the edge before he steps too far.

"This is why I was always in your ear," Sunoo says, tapping the surveillance equipment spread across the table. "This is why I was watching. I've got her last coordinates. I've got the pattern of their movements. And I can get you to her."

Heeseung exhales. Shaky. Then he straightens. His expression locks down. His hands stop shaking.

Because Sunoo is right. Because this isn't about him. Because every second he wastes being angry is another second you spend in the hands of people who shouldn't have you. And he's not going to let that happen.

Sunoo is already moving. His fingers fly over the keyboard, multiple screens lighting up in front of him. CCTV footage, satellite feeds, last-known locations. He was always the eyes of this operation, the voice in your earpieces, monitoring from a distance, ensuring you both stayed alive. Now he's the only chance Heeseung has of getting you back.

Heeseung doesn't speak. He just watches. Waits. Burns.

Sunoo doesn't bother with small talk. Heeseung doesn't need it. Instead, he mutters, "They took her out of the city."

Heeseung's jaw tightens. "How do you know?"

Sunoo tilts the screen. "There's a twenty-minute gap between the power outage here and the city's surveillance picking up again. I checked every street camera within a five-mile radius. They didn't use the main roads. No cars leaving the area that shouldn't be."

Heeseung processes. "And?"

Sunoo's fingers move faster. "And that means they took a route with no traffic cams, which means back roads, which means—"

Heeseung catches it first. "Warehouses."

Sunoo nods. "Industrial district, abandoned lots, private holdings—we've already seen them use off-grid locations for storage. It makes sense they'd use one for this, too."

Heeseung leans in. "Give me a list."

Sunoo pulls up four locations. "Top two are too high profile," he mutters. "Security teams rotate there frequently. If they're keeping her somewhere discreet, they wouldn't risk a place with eyes on it."

Heeseung taps the third. A warehouse near the docks. Privately owned. Minimal records. Not enough information for something that should be easily explainable.

Heeseung knows that feeling well. It's a front. It has to be. And if it's not—he'll burn through every other location until he finds the right one.

Sunoo exhales, leaning back slightly. "So what's the plan?"

Heeseung's jaw flexes. "I go in."

Sunoo stares at him. "…Alone?"

"Yes."

Sunoo scoffs. "Heeseung, do you have any idea how fucking stupid that is? You've always had me watching your back through the earpiece. You've always had her as your partner. Going in alone is suicide."

Heeseung doesn't answer. Because he does. Because it doesn't matter. Because nothing matters except getting you back.

Sunoo sees it in his face. And suddenly, his voice drops lower. Serious. Unyielding. "She's not dead."

Heeseung's stomach tightens. Sunoo holds his gaze. "She's not dead. But she will be if you rush in there without thinking."

Silence. Tense. Thick. Then Heeseung speaks.

"Find me a back way in. And I want you in my ear the whole time. Like before."

Sunoo exhales sharply. Mutters, "You're fucking impossible." And then—he does it. Because Heeseung isn't waiting.Because Heeseung isn't leaving this house without a plan. Because the moment he walks out that door— he's not coming back until you're with him.

Sunoo grabs the small earpiece, pressing it into Heeseung's palm. "I'll see everything you see. I'll warn you about any movement. Just don't turn this damn thing off like you usually do."

The moment Heeseung steps out of the car, he isn't human anymore. He's a ghost. A shadow moving through the night, silent, unseen, deadly. The kind of thing people fear in stories but never truly believe exists. Until they meet him. Until it's too late.

"Three guards at the perimeter," Sunoo's voice crackles through the earpiece. "Two more by the south entrance. Security systems active but operating on a standard loop. You've got a blind spot on the east side."

The warehouse is exactly what Sunoo predicted. A private facility, tucked away near the docks, barely guarded—because no one expects trouble. Big mistake.

Heeseung moves without hesitation. He weaves through the darkness, hugging blind spots, slipping past security cameras.

"Guard approaching on your left," Sunoo warns in his ear. "He's alone."

He takes out the first guard before the man even sees him coming. One silent cut to the throat. No sound. No warning. Just darkness swallowing the body as it drops.

"Two more coming around the corner in fifteen seconds," Sunoo's voice is clinical, detached. It has to be. "Take the path to your right."

Then the next. Then the next. Each movement is efficient. Ruthless. Because Heeseung doesn't fight to entertain. He fights to eliminate. And tonight? No one gets out alive.

The moment he steps inside, he knows he's in the right place. The smell is wrong. Sterile. Like a hospital—but colder. More manufactured. Like this place was never meant to be seen.

His fists tighten. Because he already knows. You're here. And they're going to wish you weren't.

"I've got heat signatures," Sunoo says through the earpiece. "Fourth floor, east wing. Multiple bodies. One matches her profile."

Guard by the entrance? Taken out with a knife to the ribs—silent, quick, nothing but a gurgle before he's gone.

Two men at the security desk? Their heads slam against the control panel, the sound swallowed by the low hum of the machines.

The one who almost saw him? Heeseung twists his neck until it snaps. Not even a grunt. Not even a second to react. Because Heeseung isn't giving them a chance. Not when they took you. Not when he still doesn't know what they've done to you. Not when you could be dead already.

That thought makes him move faster. More brutal. More dangerous.

"Heeseung, your heart rate is spiking," Sunoo warns. "Don't lose control. Not yet."

And then he finds the back rooms. And then he hears your voice. Weak. Shaky. But still there. And that's when he stops being quiet. That's when he stops giving them mercy.

"Heeseung, I'm picking up significant electronic activity in that room," Sunoo's voice cuts through. "Something's wrong. These readings... they've done something to her."

For the first time since stepping into this warehouse, Heeseung hesitates. For the first time since this mission started, he doesn't know what to do. Because he was prepared to find you hurt. He was prepared to find you bleeding, unconscious, on the brink of something unfixable. But this? This is worse.

Because you're here. Because you're looking right at him. Because you're alive. And you don't even know who he is.

The earpiece crackles. "Heeseung, what's happening? What do you see?" Sunoo's voice is tense, urgent—but Heeseung can't answer. Can't speak. Can barely breathe.

"Baby."

The word comes out soft, desperate, wrecked. Heeseung is already moving before he realizes it, crossing the space between you in seconds, dropping to his knees. His hands find your face, trembling as his fingers brush over your skin, like he needs to make sure you're really here.

You don't pull away. But you don't react either. You just blink at him. Your expression is vague, confused, distant.

"Who are you?"

The question lands like a gunshot. His breath catches. His chest tightens, burns, aches in a way he didn't know was possible. Because he doesn't know how to fix this. Because he doesn't know how to fix you. And Heeseung—Heeseung always has a plan. Except now. Now he just has you. And you don't even remember him.

"Shit," he breathes, his hands gripping the sides of your face, his thumbs tracing the ridge of your cheekbones.

In his ear, Sunoo's sharp intake of breath is audible. "Memory manipulation. The readings make sense now. Heeseung, you need to get her out. Now. Before they realize you're there."

Heeseung swallows hard, trying to steady his voice, trying to pull himself together when all he wants to do is lose it completely. "It's me," he murmurs. "It's Heeseung."

Your brows pull together slightly. Like you're trying. Like you want to understand. But then your expression wavers.And when you speak, your voice is small.

"Where's my husband?"

Something in Heeseung's chest cracks. Because it's him. He's your husband. Even if it's not real, even if it's just the cover, even if neither of you have ever said the words like you meant them—it's still him. And you don't even remember.

"Heeseung," Sunoo's voice is gentler now. Understanding. "The chemical compounds they've been using... this isn't permanent. But you have to move. Now."

Heeseung's grip on you tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to scare you. Just enough to keep himself together. Just enough to keep from falling apart completely.

"It's me," he whispers again, his forehead dropping against yours. "I'm your husband, baby. I'm right here."

Your eyes flicker. Your breath shudders. And then you shake your head.

"No," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, my husband—he was supposed to find me. He said he'd find me."

Heeseung closes his eyes. Because he did. He did. But you don't know that. You don't know him. Not anymore.

And that's when he knows. That's when he understands. He didn't get here too late to save you. He got here too late to save the part of you that remembered him.

"Guards incoming," Sunoo's urgent voice cuts through. "You have less than thirty seconds. Get her and get out."

Heeseung doesn't waste another second. He slips an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly. You don't fight him. You don't pull away. You just go completely still. Too still. Like you don't care what happens to you anymore. Like you don't know if you should.

And that? That might be worse than anything else. Because if you don't believe you can be saved, how is he supposed to convince you? How is he supposed to bring you back? How is he supposed to make you remember him again?

Heeseung exhales slowly, pressing his lips to your temple, closing his eyes for just a second. And then he moves. He gets you the hell out of there. Because whatever happened to you here? It's over. And whatever happens next? It's going to be him and you. Even if you don't remember him. Even if you never do.

"Exit route clear," Sunoo's voice steadies him, guides him. "I've got eyes on you both. Bring her home, Heeseung. We'll fix this. I promise."

But even as Sunoo's voice offers reassurance in his ear, Heeseung can't shake the hollow feeling in his chest. The look in your eyes—blank, unrecognizing—might be the thing that finally breaks him. Not the mission. Not the danger. But the fact that the one person who knew him better than anyone now looks at him like he's a stranger.

And as he carries you through the darkness, your body limp in his arms, he makes a silent vow. He'll make them pay. Every single person who took your memories. Every person who put that emptiness in your eyes. They won't just die.

They'll suffer.

-

The underground garage exploded with gunfire, bullets ricocheting off concrete pillars as Chairman Kang's security detail formed a human shield around him. Blood pooled beneath bodies that had fallen seconds earlier, the air thick with cordite and desperation.

Sunoo's voice crackled through the comms, urgent and sharp. "He's heading for the helicopter. Rooftop exit. Two minutes." A pause, then—his voice dropped, suddenly tense. "Heeseung, we've got another player. My systems just detected a security breach. Someone else is in the building."

Through the smoke and chaos, a single figure moved with deadly purpose. Not Heeseung—he was elsewhere, fighting his way to you, his only focus getting you out alive. This was someone else. Someone different. The movements were too precise, too calculated. Too lethal.

"What the hell?" Sunoo's voice was barely audible over the gunfire. "They just bypassed every security protocol like it wasn't even there. Whoever this is—they're good. Too good."

The figure moved like a shadow, dressed entirely in black, face obscured by a sleek tactical mask with glowing blue interface points. On their sleeve—a subtle insignia. A ghostly "S" that seemed to shimmer and fade depending on the light.

Specter.

The elite assassination unit that wasn't supposed to exist. The ghosts that governments denied knowledge of. The solution to problems that couldn't be solved through official channels.

Chairman Kang had made it to the stairwell, flanked by his three remaining guards, their weapons raised as they pushed him toward the roof access. His face was slick with sweat, eyes wild with the realization that his empire was crumbling around him.

"I have a plane waiting," he barked into his phone. "Tell them to be ready. I don't care about the flight restrictions. Money isn't a problem. Just get me—"

The door to the stairwell opened.

The guards fired instantly—a barrage of bullets that would have torn apart any normal attacker.

But the Specter agent wasn't normal.

They moved like water, impossibly fast, bullets seemingly curving around them. One guard dropped, throat sliced before he could even register the movement. The second fell immediately after, the assassin's blade finding the precise point between armor plates. The third emptied his magazine in desperate bursts that hit nothing but concrete.

Kang scrambled backward, fumbling for his own weapon. "Wait—" His voice cracked. "I can pay. Whatever they're offering you, I'll double it."

The Specter agent paused. Tilted their head slightly.

For a moment, the stairwell was silent.

For a moment, Kang believed he had a chance.

Then the assassin spoke, voice distorted through the mask. "Some debts can't be paid with money."

A single shot echoed in the enclosed space. Clean. Precise. Final.

Chairman Kang is dead. Assassinated before he could disappear for good.

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. The mission was supposed to be an infiltration, a takedown, an arrest that would put an end to his entire operation. But Kang was too powerful. Too many people in his pocket. Too many ways to slip through the cracks.

And in the end? The only way to stop him was to eliminate him.

Sunoo's voice had been tense over the comms, relaying information in real time. "Kang's trying to run—fuck, he's got an entire fleet of private security. If he gets out of the country, we lose him forever."

Heeseung had been mid-firefight, barely dodging bullets, his mind still split between the mission and getting back to you. "Can you get me a location?" he had demanded.

Sunoo's voice had been sharp. "The only way this ends is if someone puts a bullet in his head, and guess what, Heeseung? That someone isn't you. You need to get her the fuck out of there."

And Heeseung had hated it. Hated that he wasn't the one to finish it. Hated that while he was carrying you out of that warehouse, too weak to even recognize him, someone else had put an end to Kang's empire.

But in the end? It didn't matter. Because Kang was gone. The operation was over. And now? Now Heeseung had to deal with what was left of you.

The first thing Heeseung notices when they bring you back to the precinct is how silent everything is. Not the usual kind of silence—the kind that lingers after a long mission, the kind that settles when adrenaline fades and exhaustion creeps in.

This is different. This is deafening. This is the kind of quiet that feels like mourning. Because even though you're alive—Even though you're here, wrapped in too-thin hospital sheets, an IV drip in your arm, nurses and doctors hovering over you—you're not really here at all.

And Heeseung? He doesn't know how to bring you back.

Chairman Kang is dead. Heeseung should feel victory. Should feel relief. Should feel something other than this gaping, hollow ache sitting in his chest. But he doesn't.

Because this mission wasn't supposed to cost you. Because Heeseung had gotten to you in time. Because he was supposed to be too late for everything except saving you.

But now, sitting here in this fucking hospital ward, watching you lay there, breathing but gone, awake but empty—he knows the truth. He knows he was too late in every way that mattered.

"You should go home."

Sunoo's voice is quiet, careful, treading that thin line between concern and something else. Something closer to pity.

Heeseung doesn't answer. Doesn't even look at him. He just sits there, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, gaze fixed on you as you stare at the ceiling. Not moving. Not speaking. Not anything.

Sunoo exhales slowly. "You haven't slept in three days."

Heeseung still doesn't answer.

Sunoo shifts beside him, arms crossed. "You know she's being monitored 24/7. She's safe now."

Safe. The word tastes like ash in his mouth. Because you're not safe. Because you might never be safe again. Because even if no one is coming for you now—Even if Kang is gone, even if the organization is dismantled, even if the case is over—it doesn't matter.

Because you still don't know who he is. Because you're still looking through him like he's a stranger.

And for the first time, Heeseung lets himself say it. Lets himself acknowledge it out loud. "I lost her."

Sunoo goes completely still. For a long moment, neither of them speak. Then a sigh. Slow, measured. "I don't think you did," Sunoo murmurs.

But Heeseung just shakes his head. Because it doesn't feel like that. Because it feels like you're right there in front of him, and he still can't reach you. And that? That feels worse than losing you completely.

It happens too suddenly. One second, you're staring at the ceiling, unfocused, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. The next? Everything crashes back at once. The mission. The warehouse. The drugs. The way your body felt like it wasn't yours. The way Heeseung looked at you when you said you didn't know who he was.

Your breath catches. Your fingers twitch against the sheets. And then the sound of his voice. "I lost her."

Your stomach drops. Your throat tightens. Because you know that voice. Because you know that tone. Because you know him.

And the second you finally understand what those words mean—the second you realize what he thinks, what he's feeling, what he's convinced himself of—you react on instinct. You turn your head. Your lips part. And for the first time since the mission ended, since the rescue, since you woke up in this fucking hospital bed—you say his name.

"Heeseung."

Heeseung stiffens. Like he's not sure if he imagined it. Like he's not sure if he should believe it. But then he looks at you. And your eyes are different. No more emptiness. No more confusion. Just you. Just you, looking at him, remembering him, saying his name like you never forgot it in the first place.

And Heeseung—he just sits there. Frozen. Barely breathing. Because he doesn't know if he's dreaming. Because for the first time in weeks, he lets himself hope. "Say it again," he murmurs.

And you do. "Heeseung." Stronger this time. More certain. More you. And that? That's when he finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

The moment your voice cuts through the silence, everything stops. Everything that's happened—the mission, the warehouse, the days of emptiness, the unbearable weight of losing you while you were right in front of him— it all hits Heeseung at once. Because you're here. Because you remember. Because you're saying his name again.

And for the first time since this entire nightmare started—he breaks. One second, he's frozen in place, too afraid to move, too afraid to believe this is real. The next? He's on his feet, crossing the space between you in seconds, dropping to his knees beside your bed.

And then his arms are around you. Tight. Unyielding. Desperate. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. Like he's trying to make up for every second he thought he lost you. Like he's never going to let this happen again.

His breath is ragged against your neck, his entire body shaking, his fingers digging into your hospital gown like he's anchoring himself to you. And then—then, you feel it. The warmth against your skin. The way his shoulders tremble. The way his breath shudders. Heeseung is crying. And for the first time, he's not trying to stop himself.

You blink, still groggy, still adjusting to the weight of the memories crashing back into you. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your skin, the way his arms tighten around you, the way his entire body is trembling against yours.

And suddenly, even though your heart is still racing—even though you should probably be overwhelmed—you feel something else instead. Something warm. Something so undeniably real. And for the first time in what feels like forever—you laugh. Soft. Breathless.

And Heeseung goes completely still. Slowly, he pulls back, his eyes red, glassy, disbelief written across his face. His voice is hoarse, wrecked, raw from everything he's been holding in. "Are you seriously laughing right now?"

And that? That makes you laugh again. Because of course Heeseung—the man who just burned through an entire warehouse to save you, the man who went feral the second you were taken, the man who has never looked so undone in his life— of course he would say that.

You smile, tilting your head, reaching up to wipe away one of the tears on his cheek. "Heeseung," you murmur, soft, fond, teasing. "Did you cry for me?"

He scoffs, sniffing, shaking his head. "Shut the fuck up."

And then he kisses you. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades. The hospital. The mission. The fear. Everything that's happened dissolves into nothing. Because this is real. Because this is you. Because this is what he's been waiting for.

The kiss is desperate, deep, a thousand unspoken words packed into every movement. His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your jaw, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you all over again. Like he's trying to pull you back into him completely. And you let him. Because you're back now. Because you know him again.Because he never really lost you at all.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath still uneven, his hands still holding onto you like you might disappear if he lets go— you take a deep breath. And then you smirk. "So," you murmur. "Did we win?"

Heeseung pulls back fully, eyes narrowing, staring at you like he's never been more offended in his life. "Are you—"he exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

You grin. "I mean, I'm assuming the mission is over, but—"

He groans, pressing his fingers against his temples, like you are single-handedly going to be the death of him. "You wake up from a fucking near-death experience, remember who I am for five goddamn minutes, and the first thing you want to know is whether or not we won?"

You shrug, laughing again, your body finally feeling lighter for the first time in weeks. "Well, did we?"

Heeseung stares at you. And then, after a long moment, he exhales. His lips twitch. And finally—finally—he smiles."Yeah," he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair, voice softer now. "We won."

Heeseung still hasn't let go. He can't. His forehead is pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face, his breath shaky against your lips. And when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. Raw. Wrecked. "I thought I lost you."

Your fingers curl against the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like an anchor. "You didn't."

He lets out a breathless, bitter laugh. "I did." He swallows hard, his shoulders shaking slightly. "You looked at me," he murmurs, "and you didn't know me. You didn't even flinch when I held you. You didn't trust me."

His hands tighten around you, like he's trying to make up for every second he couldn't touch you like this. "You asked me where your husband was," he whispers. "And I was right fucking there."

Your chest tightens painfully. Because you remember now. Because you remember the look on his face, the sheer devastation in his eyes, the way he still held you like he was protecting something precious, even when you didn't trust him. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

Heeseung shakes his head. "Don't." His thumb traces your cheekbone, gentle, reverent, like he's still afraid you'll disappear. "Just don't."

His throat bobs, his breath coming faster, and then— he laughs. Quiet. Shaky. But there's nothing happy about it. "I can't do this again," he murmurs, his voice breaking completely.

Your fingers tighten around him. "Heeseung—"

"I mean it." His hands move to cup the sides of your neck, his touch warm, solid. "I can't fucking do this again. I can't lose you again. I can't—"

His voice catches. His head drops slightly, pressing against yours, his fingers trembling against your skin. "I love you."

Your heart stumbles. Because it's the first time he's said it. Because it's not part of the mission anymore. Because this is real. And Heeseung? He looks terrified. Like he's never said anything this important before. Like he's afraid of what comes next. Like he means it so much it's killing him.

"I love you," he whispers again, his breath uneven, his lashes wet. "And I don't want to live without you. Not ever again."

Your fingers move up to his face, your thumbs brushing against the curve of his jaw. Heeseung leans into your touch instinctively. And for the first time since this entire nightmare started, he lets himself feel everything. The fear. The relief. The love that's been sitting there, waiting, drowning him completely.

And you? You just pull him closer. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his, your fingers threading through his hair as you whisper, "I love you too."

Heeseung freezes. His breath hitches. Like he didn't expect you to say it back. Like he didn't think he deserved it.And then—he's kissing you. Desperate. Rough. Messy.

Like he's trying to pour everything into you at once, like he's trying to show you all the ways he loves you, all the ways he's never going to let you go again. You kiss him back just as hard. Because this is real. Because this has always been real. Because you were always going to end up here—together. And for the first time, neither of you are running from it.

"If you two are done—"

You jerk away from Heeseung immediately, eyes wide. Heeseung groans loudly, tilting his head back, exhaling sharply. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, beyond unimpressed, is the captain.

Heeseung lets out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

The captain raises a brow. "Glad to see you're both in good spirits."

You clear your throat, still slightly breathless, trying to make yourself look less— less like you were just making out in a hospital bed while Heeseung poured his heart out to you.

The captain sighs. "Well, too bad. Because I'm officially putting an end to whatever the hell this mission was."

Your brows pull together. You're still piecing things together, memories slotting into place like broken fragments reforming into something whole. The mission. The undercover op. Chairman Kang. Everything. "What happened?"you ask.

The captain takes a step closer, looking between you and Heeseung before finally sighing. "The short version?" he mutters. "It's done. Kang is dead. The remnants of his operation have been taken care of, and the international task force has picked up whatever's left. You two did your jobs."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, unimpressed. "We know all that already," he says. "What's the real version?"

The captain exhales, running a hand down his face. "Chairman Kang's operation was never just about trafficking," he starts.

Your stomach tightens. You already know this. You saw it with your own eyes. "The medical room," you murmur. "The vials. The experiments."

The captain nods. "He wasn't moving product—he was developing it," he explains. "Experimental compounds. Something stronger than any narcotic we've seen, but with enhanced neurological effects. Something that could manipulate memory, suppress emotions, alter cognitive function at will."

Your pulse kicks up. Because you felt that. Because you lived that. Because you were one of his test subjects.

"He was using live trials," Heeseung mutters darkly, his voice deadly quiet.

The captain's jaw tightens. "Yeah. And you two walked straight into it." He pauses, glancing at the door as if checking that no one else is listening. "There's something else. Something that didn't make the official reports."

Heeseung's posture shifts subtly—more alert now.

"Kang wasn't killed by local law enforcement," the captain says, voice lowered. "Or by any of our people. The ballistics don't match any standard issue weapons."

"Then who?" you ask, leaning forward slightly.

The captain's expression darkens. "Specter."

The word lands like a stone in still water. Heeseung tenses beside you.

"Bullshit," he says, but there's uncertainty in his tone. "Specter is a myth. A ghost story intelligence agencies tell each other."

The captain pulls a small tablet from his jacket, slides his finger across the screen, and turns it toward you both. The security footage is grainy but clear enough—a figure in tactical gear with that unmistakable insignia. The ghostly "S" that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

"This was pulled from Kang's security system minutes before his death," the captain says. "We're talking about a black ops unit so classified that most governments deny its existence. They operate beyond jurisdiction, beyond oversight."

"Why would they target Kang?" you ask.

The captain shakes his head. "That's the million-dollar question. What was Kang working on that attracted attention at that level? What makes a ghost decide to step out of the shadows?"

He tucks the tablet away. "Whatever it was, it's above our pay grade. Way above. And that's exactly why you two are being pulled."

You swallow hard. Your body still feels the effects. The blankness. The confusion. The way you looked Heeseung in the eye and didn't recognize him. The way it took days before everything came back. Your fingers curl into the hospital blanket, your chest tightening.

"So what happens now?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

The captain doesn't hesitate. "Now?" he says. "Now, you're both off the case. Permanently."

Your head snaps up. "What?"

The captain crosses his arms, leveling you both with a look. "Your cover was blown the second you got taken," he states. "There's no way to justify keeping you two in the field—not after everything that's happened. And with Specter involved? I'm not risking either of you getting caught in whatever crossfire might be coming."

Heeseung doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Doesn't react. "You're benching us," he mutters.

"No," the captain says flatly. "I'm giving you both a fucking break."

Silence. And then he tosses something onto the hospital bed. Two files. Reassignment orders. One for you. One for Heeseung. "You're both being transferred to different departments. Low-risk assignments. Desk work. Non-negotiable."

You stare at him. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

You glance at Heeseung. He's silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh, eyes locked on the files but not moving to pick them up. Then—"That's not all, is it?"

The captain exhales heavily. "No," he mutters. "You're both being granted a sabbatical before reassignment. Three months. Paid leave. Get your heads on straight."

You blink. "We don't need—"

"Shut up." The captain raises a brow. "Both of you. You're taking the damn break. End of discussion."

Your lips press into a thin line. Beside you, Heeseung still hasn't moved. Then—"And after?" he asks.

"After," the captain says, "you decide what you want to do. If you want out, I'll sign your papers. If you want back in, I'll find a way to make it work. But right now?" He looks between you both. And for the first time, his expression softens. "You need time."

For the longest time, Heeseung has never known anything but this life. The mission. The objective. The next target, the next fight, the next time he has to put everything on the line. But now? Now, for the first time, he doesn't have to think about any of that. Now, the only thing he has to think about is you. And what comes next.

Heeseung looks at you. And for the first time in weeks—he smiles. "Guess we're going on vacation, baby."

You scoff. "You cried over me, and now you want to joke?"

He groans, covering his face with one hand. "Jesus Christ—" And this time? This time, he laughs too. Because it's over. Because he has you. Because for once—for once, he doesn't have to worry about anything except the two of you. And that? That's something worth living for.

The second the captain leaves, the room is silent. For exactly ten seconds. Then—"So, where are we going?"

You blink at Heeseung. "Going where?"

Heeseung grins. "Vacation, baby."

You groan. "You just confessed your undying love to me, and now you're calling me 'baby' like a jackass?"

His grin doesn't falter. "I call it affectionate growth."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, fine. Where do you want to go?"

Heeseung leans back, hands behind his head. "Somewhere quiet. A private villa, maybe. A beach. Minimal clothing. Just me, you, and the ocean."

You snort. "So you want to lay around half-naked all day and pretend you're a billionaire playboy?"

Heeseung smirks. "I don't need to pretend, sweetheart."

You stare at him. Then—"We're not going to the beach."

Heeseung frowns. "Excuse me?"

"You hate the heat," you deadpan. *"You get cranky after two minutes of direct sunlight. You'll be miserable the whole time and take it out on me."

Heeseung looks personally offended. "That is not true."

"You literally threatened to stab a vending machine last summer because it was too hot to function."

"Okay, first of all, that machine stole my money."

"It was broken, Heeseung."

"I was suffering."

You scoff. "Right. So no beach."

Heeseung tilts his head. "Then where do you want to go?"

You hum, thinking. "Somewhere colder. Mountains, maybe. A cabin. Snow. Hot chocolate. A fireplace."

Heeseung pulls a face. "I love you, but I refuse to spend my vacation freezing my ass off."

"You just said minimal clothing."

"Yes. Because of the heat. Not because I want to be an icicle."

"You can wear a sweater."

"You want me to look like a fucking lumberjack?"

"You already do."

"Take that back."

You smirk. "Make me."

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. "This is our first vacation together, and we can't even agree on a destination."

"Sounds like a problem for you, babe."

"You're literally impossible."

"And yet, you love me."

Heeseung looks at you, tilts his head, then— "Debatable."

You shove him. He laughs. And even though the argument continues—even though neither of you agree on anything, even though you'll probably be bickering all the way to the airport— for the first time in what feels like forever—everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Just you and him. Right where you belong.

fin.

Taglist: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @ddolleri @ijustwannareadstuff20 @somuchdard @beariegyu @zzhengyu @annybah @luciavrseblog-com @aehrizone @ayyonoona @lamin143 @heeseunggotrizz @elairah @firstclassjaylee @peppycho @kukkurookkoo @petalsofink @bussolares @wolfhardbby @flawlessapollo6 @strayy-kidz @jwywife @heelovesmeknot @gaytron3000 @motherscrustytoenailclippings @starniras @ash-engen @fancypeacepersona @sunhyeswife @simj4k3 @tender-is-the-moon @yunjica @m3wkledreamy @clandestineself @lightxo @ddolleri @beeboobeebss @augustloaf

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summer strike — hwang hyunjin.

trope. strangers to lovers. found family. comfort fic. heavily inspired by the kdrama

synopsis. having had enough of your life in the big city, you head to a small town where you meet a local librarian who feels a lot like love

word count. 23k words

warnings. drinking alcohol, curse words, mentions of loneliness

note. it’s out it’s out! this kdrama might be my favorite and means a lot to me so i just had to write something inspired by it. it’s basically the written form but condensed with a few changes so credits to the kdrama. i’d rly appreciate any feedback :)

one.

It happened without warning.

As you stand behind the glass doors of the building you work at, rain splits before your eyes. Drip by drip, and then a downpour. You suppose you should’ve checked the Weathers app before deciding to work overtime tonight.

You ponder over waiting it out, but there is no place to go but the train station before it takes its last trip. It’s urgent to get back to your empty apartment where it isn’t rainy and it isn’t windy and the world isn’t ending. So, you run towards the only direction you know in this city, even as rain pours over the streets.

Your soles feel heavy by the time you arrive, but you don’t allow yourself the moment to rest as you swerve through the crowds of people to get to the train doors before it closes. You wish to see a time when silence ghosts the usually busy station, but you don’t have the time. You never do. Always rushing. Always tired.

The watch on your wrist reads 8:21, and it’ll only be a few minutes before a wave of office workers litter the narrow space of the train. When they finally do, the first thing you discern is their terrible body odor—dried up sweat with a tinge of alcohol. It no longer surprises you, so used to the fuckery that is your life.

Instead, you plug in your earphones to drown out their voices, listening to the kind of music that drags you back to a childhood memory. It sounds like popsicles, like wind blowing through your hair as you’re being pushed from the swing, like running on concrete barefooted, like the laughter of someone you love.

Now, you live in a city of strangers.

On the next stop, an old woman walks in. No one makes a move to give up their seat—too tired, too selfish, looking anywhere but the old woman. You think of how small humanity really is as you get up and gesture for her to take your seat instead. She has gone through too many years of her life to stand stuck between the terrible stench of office workers.

She holds a sweet smile as she thanks you. You don’t remember the last time someone smiled at you like that. Silver linings.

When you finally make it home, it’s nearly 9pm. This is what working 9-6 is like in the city. You live off your co-workers taking advantage of your work ethic, your boss’s bad breath yelling into your ear, and never coming home on time.

This has happened yesterday. It will happen again tomorrow.

It’s always the same. The same routine, over and over without progress. You feel like you’ve messed up somewhere. You used to have ambitions, but now you’re just a fragment of the person you used to be. The city was supposed to lead somewhere. It was supposed to be promising. But, the same tired eyes walk down the same path everyday in a dead end.

You don’t know where you went wrong.

You lay in your bed, still soaking wet, with a painful cry waiting to erupt from your throat. You hate that there’s no longer time to create happiness. It’s too late, and minutes from now, you will be asleep.

You stare at the ceiling, as you do every night before you fall asleep, and the only sounds that accompany you are the loud honks of the cars outside and your stomach grumbling. No one calls you to dinner. No one holds you to keep you warm.

It’s so lonely here.

The feeling of a hug is something you don’t see yourself remembering so you press your back further against your bed to mimic the feeling of an embrace. It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the closest thing you can get after the mistake you made of thinking you were made for the city.

Though, as you keep staring at the ceiling, you start to feel sick. You don’t think you can handle this rotting anymore. You refuse to believe this fate is by design, not when you feel like this. With tears you didn’t even notice dried up on your cheeks, you make a decision. There is nothing else you can do here, and this will be your last night in the city. So, you do something you have not done in years, you pull your backpack that’s been collecting dust and throw in as much clothes as you can.

You feel you’ve been cruel to yourself for allowing this to happen for years. The next day, you don’t wake up at the usual time. You spend the night in, and you quit your job once they call. They don’t deserve you there.

As for your belongings, you decided to only keep what could fit in your backpack. Cleaning up the house, you realized that you bought a lot of things; mugs you bought on a whim just because they were pretty, dishes that you only used once to host a house welcoming party, clothes you forgot even existed. The selection process was much more difficult than any job interview. Useless items got sold as soon as you posted them online.

You let go of your apartment and jump on the first train out, leaving behind the bustles and the buildings of the city. Seoul is too much for an unemployed person like you.

The sound of the train pollutes your ears as you step in, the voice of the intercom telling passengers to let people out first before walking into the train. And as the train moves away, you watch the city grow smaller and smaller. You don’t bother looking back.

The little town you're heading to is unfamiliar, but the path before is even more so.

There’s a heartbeat.

two.

Nobody ever visits.

In the city, you learned early on that it was a dog eat dog world. Your kindness can only go so far until it becomes the perfect tool to take advantage of you. They liked to call it survival of the fittest, the Darwinian evolutionary theory. It’s something that’s taught early in high school, often forgotten the year after, yet it’s a theory you continue to use long after everyone else has moved on to other things in life. You’d always found it interesting how it flawlessly captured Seoul’s mechanism of natural selection—the one most adaptable to change is the one that survives.

Nobody knocks on your door to greet you there. Nobody wishes you well. For as long as you can remember, you’d always had to fight, always aboard a ship on rough waters that you’d almost forgotten how a quiet shore sounds like.

You suppose this is why there was no warning when a knock sounds on your door. You hadn’t expected anyone at your door.

The morning was spent carving out a new life for yourself in Angok, running away from the sounds of the city and exploring the place you’d soon call home. There aren’t many establishments here, most of them run by families who have been here far longer than you ever have. You take note of the small convenience store just where you live in case you were feeling too lazy to run to the farmer’s market just by the town center. Small things first, afraid to hear the bustle of buildings follow their way to where you are.

By 2 in the afternoon, you had retreated back to the small apartment you’d rented out. Outside, the wind was getting stronger, making the waves collide harshly with the shore. You think you’d have stayed out longer if the gust of wind hadn’t flapped your clothes around violently. Two in the afternoon, with nothing left to do, when the door knocks.

Knock, knock.

Your heart rate speeds up at the sound. Could the city have followed you all the way here?

With heavy feet, you fight against the voice in your head to greet whoever is at your door. By best case, they’d probably mistaken your quaint apartment for someone else’s.

You twist the doorknob carefully, door creaking when it opens and you’re met with the sight of someone with the most peaceful face and the most perfect set of teeth. His eyes are welcoming as he waves at you in greeting, hair messily swept back with a few strands falling on his forehead almost as if they were designed to be.

“Hi!” You squeak out, eyes nervously wandering back and forth between the man and what you could only assume was his parked truck just by the front of your apartment. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Oh! My apologies. Is this not where (Name) lives?” Your heartbeat picks up its pace again, and your hand around the doorknob starts to feel a little clammy for the fear of his intentions.

“It is actually. Um, how do you know my name?” You try to mask the fear in your tone, but the man easily picks up on it. And if it wasn’t for the situation, you think you would’ve laughed when he comically takes long strides to back up a little bit. He looks silly with his widened eyes and parted lips.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve sounded really creepy. I’m Chan! I live just around here, and my mom just rented you this house? The previous owner ran away with all the furniture, so I brought some so it doesn’t feel so empty.”

Chan flashes you a bright smile, angling himself a little so his truck is in full view.

It solicits a sigh of relief out of you, gripping hand on the doorknob dropping as you feel a little safer. You’d been ready to shut the door. Almost defensive. Almost letting his words fall into mumbles.

“I apologize again. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His tone is soft, genuine even as he scratches the back of his head and bows a little. It’s a strange sight the man with the kind smile. Strange that it only occurs to you now how long you’d gone without seeing a smile so soft in a long time. After all your years in the city, you had almost forgotten the sight of genuineness being directed at you.

“It’s alright. I’m just… a little…” The words fall on your mouth. Frankly speaking, you don’t know how to explain your own behavior. Nervous? Afraid? Defensive? You don’t really know. You feel like a stranger in your own body.

Chan is quick to dismiss it when it seems that you don’t have the intention to finish your sentence. There is no pressure to come up with an excuse here. “Come in. The wind must’ve been harsh on you.”

Pulling the door back a little wider, you invite Chan into your empty apartment, and after asking you twice if it was okay, he finally obliges. As he makes his way inside, he takes the furniture he had brought with him—back and forth, and back and forth from the truck until everything was inside.

He doesn’t even let you lift a finger.

“Sit anywhere.” You make your way to your kitchen to grab him a glass of water, emptying the bottle you had just bought down to its last few drops. You try to take as long as you can in the kitchen in nerve of the small talk that was bound to happen when meeting strangers. Though, your walls start to look at you reproachfully, and you realize you’d been gone far too long to be called disrespectful.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” You hand him the glass, sitting adjacent to him. He simply shakes his head, thanking you instead as he takes the glass from you with both his hands, careful not to touch you in case it makes you uncomfortable.

“I hope this is enough.” Chan motions over towards the pieces of furniture he had brought with him—a couch, a few chairs, and a table for now. “I have some more, but it didn’t really fit in my truck.”

You allow yourself to smile at him, though your eyes fail to meet his for more than five seconds. You don’t know what to say, and something akin to an itch starts to eat at your brain the way a caterpillar does with leaves, one bite then another, pressuring you to say something to satiate the silence.

Chan saves your brain from being chewed away.

“I hope you don’t have a hard time settling in.” He finishes the water you’d offered him before he continues, “I live just 2 apartments away if you need anything. I’ll see you around?”

You nod your head, following him out of the door, and you can only hope you hadn’t scared him away already. You manage to meet his eyes one last time as you move to shut the door, polite smile on your face as he turns back one last time.

“Ah, before I forget… I noticed you had a lot of books with you. There’s a library just a few blocks away in case you were interested.”

“Oh. Thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out.” With one last bow, you gingerly close the door behind you as he finally drives off.

Chan. He feels comfortable despite only knowing him for a few minutes, almost like a caring older brother you never had. You hope to know him more.

As you turn back around, you look at your apartment a little more closely this time, inspecting how the pieces of furniture look, decorating what once was an empty space. It looks more like a home now. You should’ve thanked the man more, you fear you didn’t say it enough.

You brush the thought off and spend the rest of the day cleaning.

three.

It takes you almost a week to go to the library Chan had suggested.

You had promised yourself to finish the book you brought with you first, before committing to new stories and new horizons. Though, it proved difficult as you have always been the type to take more than you can bargain for—purchasing books after books only to leave them behind on a dusty shelf.

But, new places call for new habits, and you vowed to leave that inclination behind.

When you step outside, a wispy curtain of clouds cover the skies. It’s a lovely weather to be outside in, with the summer breeze floating about. Not too cold. Not too sticky.

The air in the city has always been tangled with some form of pollution. Dirty and suffocating. It’s nice to have a change in pace. Being kind to nature, you find, has you reaping the benefits of basking in its beauty. They don’t litter her land with buildings here.

On the way to the public library, you pass by the market where a multitude of people line up, selling more than you can name—fruits and vegetables, homegrown plants, fish, textiles of clothing, brooms, almost everything.

The old and young gather alike, children running around to help their parents, office workers taking a break from their job to buy street food from the vendors. It’s colorful and vibrant, almost fiesta-like that only the people of Angok can radiate.

“(Name)?” A familiar voice has you ripping your eyes from an array of freshly baked cookies, turning towards the origin of the sound to find Chan waving at you.

“Chan, hi!” You reply shyly, yet a little less reserved than when you had first met him.

He looks the way he did a few days ago when he showed up on your door, though more sweaty as he puts down the final box of fruits they had loaded up on his truck. He’s dressed in a loose tank top, you assume to be more efficient in his job, and the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead are more visible the closer he gets to where you’re standing.

Chan definitely stands out with his height, and the way he smiles so easily.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, hands wiping at the side of the shorts he’s wearing.

“I’m actually going to the library… the one you talked about. Though, I’m not quite sure I’m headed the right way?” You try to mask your embarrassment with a short laugh, and his eyes brighten at the way you had taken his suggestion.

His stature lights up in the same manner, clasping both his hands together and replying, “Ah, if you can wait a minute, I can walk you there. I have to deliver a box of oranges there, anyway.”

“Really? I’d really appreciate that actually. Thank you.” You smile politely, and he gestures for you to follow him back to his truck where a man is waiting for him.

The stranger is carrying way more than he should be, about to jokingly boast about his strength to Chan when he takes an abrupt step. An earthquake rumbles in the way a box falls from his shoulders, hitting the pavement and bursting open—almost in slow motion as apples and oranges roll out.

“Shit!” He exclaims with his whole chest, and he immediately bows in apology at the elders around him who look disapprovingly at his choice of language.

“Ah, Jisung.” Chan mumbles, jogging forward to grab the fallen fruits that are still rolling on the pavement. A few onlookers help, much to the embarrassed boy’s dismay, and you quickly bend down to grab at the ones nearest to you.

“Sorry.” His tone is abashed, loading fruits back in the box and setting it aside. Chan simply pats him on the back in fondness.

“Wait, who’s this?” It’s only now he notices you, standing behind Chan with a few fruits in your arms which you hand to him. “Wait, wait, wait. I know, wait give a second.” He continues.

You can hear a faint chuckle from Chan.

“You’re (Name)! Right? You recently moved here?” The sheepish grin on his face is quickly replaced with a look of interest tangled with excitement, forgetting about his ordeal with the fruits in favor of greeting you.

You wonder if news travels as fast as his expression changes in this little town.

“Woah, easy Ji. You’re gonna scare her.” Jisung takes a step back, suddenly aware of how much personal space he’s taking away from you.

“I’m Jisung, Chan’s super handsome and cool friend.” His enthusiasm makes up for his clumsiness, waving at you before suddenly grabbing a plastic container from a big blue cellophane sitting by the side of the box he had dropped. “Here, my mom’s taking up an interest in baking lately. She’s not very good, but please have it as a welcoming gift from me.”

You take the container from his hands, bowing in thanks before meeting his crinkled eyes. Does this boy ever stop smiling?

“Thank you, really. I’d introduce myself but, it seems… you already know my name.”

His unwavering kindness takes you by surprise, just like everyone else in this village. And you’re about to thank him again when he excuses himself to help who you assume to be his mother, who is grumpily carrying a new batch of her baked concoctions.

“So, the library?” And then it’s Chan’s smile again. This time, he has with him a small box of the oranges he told you he’d deliver. You snap out of your far-away look to follow him through the streets.

It’s a short walk, brisker than you thought, and Chan sets the box down on a wooden table just outside of the public library where a young man waits for him—impatience clear on his face.

“Finally. Took you long enough, old man.” The boy opens the box, grabbing an orange from the pile and inspecting it before letting out a satisfied hum when it seems to have met his criterion.

“What do you even need all these oranges for, anyway?” Chan inquires, looking down at the crouched figure of the boy.

“Oranges have vitamin C, which plays a major role in preventing age-related mental decline.” He states matter-of-factly, standing up from his previous position. “Something you can’t relate to, obviously.”

The older boy doesn’t take anything to heart. Instead, you find the same fondness on his face, the one he wore when Jisung had dropped that box earlier.

“Well, I’ll get going then. Will you be okay here?” Chan looks back at you, a huge question mark of an expression decorating his features to ask if it was alright for him to get back now and leave you there.

The younger boy is long gone now, having retreated back into the library with his oranges.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course, sorry. Thank you again.” You smile, and he continues to wave goodbye until he’s no more than a distant figure.

The building is three stories tall, and you have to walk a flight of stairs to get to the library on the second floor. But it’s quiet, and you liked the change of pace from the vibrancy outside to the sudden tranquility inside.

It provides a safe barrier for when you want to be alone with your thoughts, something you never had in the city.

The inside of the library is cold, but the sun reflects through the panels of the windows just right so that it isn’t freezing. It’s as inviting as it is outside, and you’d go as far as saying the friendliness of the library was similar to that of Chan’s warm welcome for you. It isn’t the biggest room, and its run-down nature was particularly striking, but it isn’t something you mind. The cheap furniture and the slight discoloration of wood gave the place a character of its own—like this library has stood for generations and has protected centuries worth of knowledge from the books it holds.

It reminds you of a scene from Avatar the Last Airbender, when they find a lost library with all the knowledge in the world. And the boy with the obsession for oranges can be Wan Shi Tong, the giant owl spirit who’s tasked with collecting information and protecting the Spirit Library.

The door sounds and the floor beneath you creaks as you walk through the room. Though, it isn’t loud enough to catch the attention of the boy you had seen earlier, or as you liked to call him, Wan Shi Tong. He simply calls out an obligatory “welcome”, before going back to the book he’s reading.

The closer you got to the shelves, the more it smelt of books. It’s a nice addition to the ambiance, the scent of pages roaming around and escaping past the ventilation.

You go through the bookshelves, hand moving along their spines. So many books and every single one you wanted to read, even those in foreign languages.

You like this place, you decide. It’s filled with a quiet that allows breathing space, not simply an absence of noise, but a comforting stillness that isn’t easy to replicate. You might come here more often, make it part of a new routine you’re crafting for yourself.

Back in Seoul, you woke up at 6am like clockwork. You shower, eat when you can, go to work, overtime, and go home. Repeat. It’s to the point of exhaustion that the first time you slept in felt like your body was catching up on all the rest it’s been denied, and now it’s being given a space to breathe.

Reaching the end of the shelves, you’re subjected to the sight of broad shoulders and long black hair, standing still as the figure moves to return some books into their slots. They must work here. Should you inquire about how to make a library card? They already seem way friendlier than Wan Shi Tong.

“Excuse me miss?” They give no sign of having heard you. “Miss?”

When he turns around, you’re thinking of all possible ways to move out at this very instant. The boy, whom you had mistaken for a woman, looks at you with slightly widened eyes as if not having expected you to have spoken to him. While that isn’t reason enough to warrant your sudden thoughts of running away, his beauty surely is.

He’s hypnotizing, a beauty that Aphrodite must’ve blessed upon him, the kind that leaves a lasting impression. You’ll meet him once and never forget about him. His hair falls perfectly just above his shoulders, and a mole sits on his face like it was always designed to be there.

You’re embarrassed—if calling him miss wasn’t enough, you’re unsure if the staring did anything to help. Without another glance, you bow and mutter a quick apology before turning to walk away from where he’s stood.

“I’m sorry.” You say, for extra measure even when your back’s already turned from him.

Wan Shi Tong it is.

“Hello.” You speak quietly, and the boy once again looks up from his book. He looks like he’s studying for something.

“How can I help you?” He doesn’t have that false customer service voice, the one that’s overused and far from genuine. Instead, he speaks to you with a sort of passive tone—but it’s not too much that it sounds condescending.

“How do I make a library card here?”

He puts down his pen. “You need an address in Angok for that.”

“Ah, I do have one.” You smile, a little shy, yet relieved that your sudden intrusion of their village hasn’t spread to the entirety of the population yet.

“Did you move here?” He inquires, to which you nod your head in response. “Hm, alright. Hyunjin will help you make one. I’m Seungmin, by the way.”

“(Name).” You introduce yourself back, thanking him for his help as you turn around to only be greeted by Aphrodite’s son, though, you suppose you now know him as Hyunjin.

You can do this.

Hyunjin quickly makes his way behind the desk on the seat next to Seungmin’s so he can hand you a piece of paper you assume you have to fill out for the library card. Though, he still doesn’t say a word. He only points at the parts you need to fill in before going back to another one of his tasks behind the computer screen.

It’s hard not to look at him, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t feel anything when he looked back at you. Though, the feeling is overpowered by the embarrassment of possibly causing him any form of discomfort. You don’t want it to eat away at you until you’re avoiding the library.

You don’t want to avoid the library.

“By the way…” You start suddenly, keeping your voice down. “I’m sorry again for… earlier.”

Silence greets you, as he panics to grab the tiny camera for your library card. “And thank you for helping me right now.”

You seem to only be digging deeper and deeper into your own grave when he still doesn’t respond to you, simply stares as he bows his head slightly to acknowledge you. And it seems that awkwardness spreads like a virus when Seungmin’s head peeks from his book to witness the funny exchange before him. He looks like he’s trying his best to not laugh at whatever the hell is happening.

Then a shutter sounds as you’re filling up your paperwork, unaware he’d already taken your picture. You can only let out a nervous laugh to try and mask the silence that suddenly feels a little suffocating under the prying eyes of Seungmin.

“Here you go.” You hand over the piece of paper, and Hyunjin gives you a printed out library card in return. “Thank you.”

You suppose you can come back the next day to actually start reading. Meeting four new people and embarrassing yourself on top of everything is a little taxing, and you know the weather outside and the pretty cherry blossom trees will help put your mind away enough that you’ll feel better by tomorrow.

The bell rings as you leave, just as it did when you entered and you find yourself smiling at the breeze and the possibility of new friendships.

You told yourself to live a life you won’t regret.

You can do it.

There is excitement when you think of what will happen from now on. Time is all you have now.

As you walk outside, you map out where Chan had led you earlier to make it back to your rented home. If you were gonna come to the library on most days, you might as well have the path memorized until you can guide yourself there blindfolded.

You feel something fluffy just by your legs before you see it, eyes too focused ahead to only now realize you’re being followed by a long-haired Chihuahua. A chuckle escapes your mouth as you bend down to greet the dog. “Hello there, who are you?”

A bark follows, but not a threatening one.

“Come here.” He follows, little paws jumping up to rest on your bent knees with a wagging tail. Almost immediately, you coo at the sight, supplying him with all the head rubs he could possibly ask for.

“Where did you come from, hm? Why are you all alone?” The pitch of your voice is definitely higher, speaking to the dog with a tone similar to one you’d use when talking to a baby. “So cute.”

“I’ll get going now, okay? Go back home too!”

Four padded steps continue to follow you, and the culprit is exactly who you think it is.

“You can’t follow me around. You have to stay here!” Phony scolding, to try and get the dog to stop following you. You don’t want their owner to worry.

“Hey, stop following!” You laugh, starting to jog away from the chihuahua, but he refuses to listen. Instead, he starts running to keep up with you. “Stop it!”

Turns out, it’s hard to convince a dog to stop following you. Especially when he’s made his way into your own home, walking with you for the entirety of your path. The little dog doesn’t have a tag, no owner to contact, and it’s nearing night that you don’t feel safe letting him sleep outside in the inky dark. So, you invite the dog inside who walks around like he owns the place.

You sigh, though never one of indignation, as you sit down on the couch Chan had lended you, and the chihuahua quickly follows to lay himself on your lap. Curled up. Safe.

“What should I call you? Hm? You’re pretty stubborn.” You look down at the dog who’s looking back at you as if having understood anything that you’re saying. “Berry? No?”

It takes you a couple more tries before deciding on Kkami—when the chihuahua’s tail starts wagging aggressively and he attempts to lick your face at the mention.

“Okay, Kkami then. You like that? Hm?”

Your night routine doesn’t change much, there’s just an addition of a curled up Kkami sleeping beside you on your bed. But, you find that you don’t mind it one bit. It’s less lonely like this, and it’s nice to have some company.

four.

You return to the library’s stillness the next day after finishing up some chores—the laundry, the cleaning, everything. Washing your clothes was something unfamiliar to you, as you’d always just sent them to the laundry services near the place you stayed at. There was never time to do them yourself.

It’s a totally new experience when all you have is time now. You keep burning the food you make, but eat it the same. And hanging up your wet clothes outside took forever, but you manage. You just have to remind yourself there’s a book waiting for you in the public library.

The walk to the library is easier now, but the commotion you’d caused yesterday still echoes in your head. It engraves itself even as you make it to the door, hand hovering over the handle. But, there’s no point in delaying. You’ll be here most days so it’s best not to avoid anyone. So, without another thought, you open the door and step into the quiet of the library.

The bell rings as it always does.

“Welcome,” is what Seungmin says, just as he did yesterday. You greet him back, smiling politely as you make your way to the shelves. The room is almost empty. There’s only one other person in the library, a book with black hair on his own table, and he seems to be in his own world.

Hyunjin is also seated at a table, books and paper plastered on the wooden surface as he repairs torn pages. An uninterrupted routine he’s probably grown accustomed to.

“Hello.” You decide to greet the boy as you pass by the table he’s occupying. His hair is swept back today, and it looked like it smelt good.

His eyes light up when he sees you.

“You’re hello again.” He tilts his body so he can look at you, bowing a little. Though, his words come out croaked, and you’re unsure if you heard him right.

“Sorry?” Hyunjin doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, his face grimaces at how he had failed to utter the phrase he had practiced—hello, you’re here again.

But it isn’t his choice of words that surprises you, it’s that he spoke to you at all. His tone is soft, and completely unexpected after the silence you had received the day before. It’s the first words he ever tells you, and you find yourself smiling at the small progress.

A voice in your head tells you that you want to know him more.

So, after a few days of fleeting eye contact and small smiles from afar, you decide to come back to the library.

The afternoon air outside is beautiful, as it always has been when you walk outside, and there’s a mental checklist you go through in your head. Forgetting is so easy, so you try not to.

Buying Kkami dog food was first on the list of things you have to do on your way home from the library. The little chihuahua doesn’t seem to mind being left behind. In fact, Kkami loved his little space on the couch. Though, you still promise to be back as soon as possible, wanting to walk him outside while the sun is still up.

Hyunjin is seated at the same table as he did when he first talked to you, books and pages neatly plastered again when you walk into the library.

Today, you’ll try your second attempt at talking to him.

“Do you… repair all the books yourself?” You ask, looking down at the multitude of pages he’s tending to and the stack of books waiting to be repaired in a trolley parked at the side of his table.

“Yes.” He smiles upon answering, and it’s one that radiates pride in the work he does.

Your lips quaver slightly, trying to find words to say to him. You wonder if it’d be okay with him if you wanted to help out. The work looks interesting, and a little soothing. Would that make him uncomfortable?

Fiddling with the ends of your shirt, you stab your hesitance straight in the chest. “Can I try too?”

His mouth falls agape, and then he’s nodding his head, gesturing for you to take the seat adjacent to him. Hyunjin grabs an extra spatula, passing it to you before smiling shyly down at the books and pages.

“You take the spatula, and spread the glue evenly.” Hyunjin looks up at you before grabbing a page and his own spatula so you can mimic his gestures. “Then, you place the page at its original location.”

He closes up the book he’s working on, patting down at the spine so the glue sticks well. “That’s it.”

“Oh.” You look at his work with fascination, smiling as he sets the book aside. “You’re kind of like a doctor. It’s like you’re applying medicine to the books.”

He grins at your words, eyes averting from your eye contact as he shyly grins. You know he has pure love for what he does, and it warms your heart. It’s a sentiment you wish you had for your job back then.

“I think…” You fix your gaze to your hands that are propped on the table, intertwining your fingers together. “I’m in love.”

Hyunjin’s inability to look you in the eyes seems to falter the moment you speak. His mouth falls back into an ‘o’, and the tip of his ears are awfully red.

“Wait, sorry. What I mean is… I think I’m in love with the process of fixing up old things.” With slightly widened eyes, you gesture at the book he had just fixed cartoonishly, chewing on your lips a little embarrassedly.

The boy in front of you nods, fingers pausing over his task; you turn to look at him, and you’re relieved to see his smile returning.

“I see.” He chuckles, grabbing onto the pages that still need to be glued and grouping them together, tapping them lightly on the table so they align.

“Let me help you.” You reach out to the remaining pages, and Hyunjin looks at you with an expression you don’t quite recognize, but you know has no ill-intent. He always looks this way. Always natural, never forced.

As you quietly work on the task, Hyunjin can’t stop himself from looking at you from time to time. He thinks it’s to monitor your work, but does that excuse the way he stares at the small smile tugging on your lips?

“Has anyone told you how you resemble Aphrodite?”

“Me?” He asks, eyes darting you and the book he’s working on. You grin at him, nodding your head.

“Yes. Goddess of Beauty in Greek Mythology. You know her, right?”

“I do.” He smiles back easily, willing the blush that’s obviously creeping on his cheeks away.

“When I first met you, that character came to mind.” You mumble as you stare at the page in your hands, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to match it to its proper book. You pause, catching yourself before you can misplace the page, and Hyunjin looks up at the sudden silence.

“Which one was this again?” Sheepish. You think you’ve embarrassed yourself more times than not in this library.

You don’t notice Hyunjin leaving his seat, sauntering over to where you’re seated so he can peer at the page and at the books in front of you. “May I?”

His tone is kind, and it didn’t seem as if he were upset that you didn’t know where to put the page. On the contrary, he made you feel as if it was okay that you didn’t know. Quick to reassure.

“I don’t memorize all of these either. I only remember the names and places in the books, and I like drawing to keep an image of them in my head too.” He’s arranging the pages now, putting the corresponding paper atop the book they belong to. “Why don’t you try this one?” The way he says it is so full of expectation, leaning down to hand you a page and you can only smile up at him.

“I’ll give it a try.” You sputter out for words to say, taking the page from him gratefully.

Seungmin watches from a distance, lifting an eyebrow in curiosity as he observes his usually quiet friend speak more words than usual. Though, the observation makes his heartstrings contract.

It goes on like this for a while, silence engulfing the pair of you as you work to repair the books together. Hyunjin showed no signs of you being a bother to him, even reaching out to help most of the time—appreciative of your time. No sound follows, just the beating of your hearts and the rustling of paper.

Until a loud bang rumbles in the sky, interrupting the four of you in the room (even the freckled boy at the corner table who is at the library again today).

Your reaction is instantaneous, jumping back in surprise at the sudden interruption of silence, but a smile replaces the initial shock when you see the gentle pitter patter of rain from the windows.

Hyunjin slips himself out of his seat, rushing to close them so the books don’t get wet as Seungmin goes to help, all while you stare at the drizzle.

You’re reminded of the last day you stepped foot in the city.

“Oh!” You suddenly exclaim when the sound of the rain increases in volume. The burst of rain as the sky splits open reminds you of your laundry and how the initial heat they absorbed must’ve been washed off by the rain.

“I have to go.” You quickly excuse yourself from the boy who has just returned from closing the windows, smiling for the last time before rushing down the stairs to start heading home. Though, you falter in your step. You don’t have an umbrella with you. Should you just make a run for it? You think the jacket you’re wearing can help at least a little bit.

You sigh, about to step into the rain when a hand reaches for your shoulder. Warm and gentle, almost feather-like even. You spin around, only to be met with Hyunjin’s goddess-like features.

“Hyunjin?”

He clears his throat, pulling out his umbrella before handing it to you. “Use this. You’ll get sick.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I can just use my jacket!” Hyunjin doesn’t seem to budge at your rejection, simply smiling as he places the umbrella in your grasp.

“I think an umbrella will do a better job than your jacket.” You laugh a little, not knowing he was capable of teasing. It was cute. He was cute.

“Thank you! I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.” You don’t know why your heart is thumping so fast at the small gesture, but you reason it’s because you’re worried about your laundry. Though, a voice in your head is telling you that’s not quite the answer.

He disappears back into the library, and you shield yourself with his umbrella as you sprint back home to tend to your now wet clothes. The rain smelt acidic as you put away your clothes, setting them aside as the sun seems still so far away in the distance. You’ll hang them back outside when the heat returns.

“Did the thunder scare you?” You pick up Kkami in your arms, cradling him as you try to shield him away from the sudden loudness of thunder and lightning. “I’m sorry I couldn’t walk you out in the sun today.”

The rain is louder in your house, and it’s only when your own stomach grumbles do you remember you were supposed to buy Kkami dog food on your way back home.

Forgetting is so easy.

“I’ll go buy you some food, okay? You must be starving.” You rub the back of his ears, setting him down on the couch before grabbing the umbrella Hyunjin had lent you once again. Though, thankfully, the downpour stops just as quickly as it had started. You’re already inside the family-run convenience store near you when the sky clears out and the sun starts to peek behind the clouds again.

“What can I get you?” You turn to find a shorter man emerge from the back of the store, warm smile etched on his face as he pads his way to where you’re standing.

“I hope the rain wasn’t too hard on you.” He continues. His tone is kind as he waits for you to reply.

“Ah, it was okay.” Though initially caught off guard at the sudden presence, you return the smile gently. “I was wondering if you had any dog food?”

“We do!” He heads to a corner, and the way he grabs the bag of dog food punctuates his arms that you can only now see how big they are. His jawline is sharp too, noticing it the moment he turns that his side profile is visible to you.

He leans down to scoop up the bag in his arms, before heading back to you. “You’re the one who recently moved here, right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You hand him your payment before taking the bag in your arms, hugging it so the weight isn’t as heavy.

“Chan mentioned. I’m Changbin.” Changbin takes your payment, returning to you the change. “I hope we can be good friends.”

“(Name). It’s nice to meet you. I’ll… get going now!” You motion at the dog food in your hands, to tell him you still had a pup to feed at home before waving goodbye as you hurry back to your house.

There’s almost no rain now, the only sign that it had even drizzled was the acidic smell, the puddles that had formed on the concrete overtime, and the gentle trickle of water from one leaf onto the next.

Kkami is waiting for you at home. No one used to wait for you before.

five.

You come back to the library the next day, just like you said you would. This time, Kkami walks with you to make up for not being able to take him out under the sun yesterday. Though, you don’t expect the handwritten “temporarily closed” sign to be the first thing that greets you as you head for the door.

You place Hyunjin’s umbrella just by the handle, almost in an awkward manner as you continue to peer at the piece of paper taped on the door.

“They both went to Seoul for Seungmin’s test.” A voice behind you averts your attention to the same freckled boy from yesterday.

“Ohh…” You respond, nodding your head in understanding as you walk over to where he’s seated just outside the public library. “I was just gonna return Hyunjin’s umbrella.”

Felix seems surprised, but it only triggers his smile to grow wider than it already is.

“I’m Felix.” You blink slowly, shaking his hand when he stretches it out for you to take. When your hand meets his, he pulls you down to sit next to him. “And who’s this little boy?”

“This is Kkami.”

Felix is a nice guy, pulling Kkami up to cradle him in his arms. The first thing that catches your attention is his freckles—like constellations in the night, littering his face like stars do the sky. You love the stars, though, you don’t see much of them in the city because of the polluted air and the abundance of lights from the buildings that line up.

The boy resembles the very comfort you find in the cluster of stars, a calming quality in him as he smiles down at your dog.

But, just as much as he resembles the stars, he smiles like the sun. Perhaps it's the way his eyes form crescents and the way his lips curve that trigger the sight of the sun. But he’s blinding in the most calming way possible.

“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” He asks, shots of espresso in the way he speaks. Deep and reverberating. How fitting the way his voice wakes you up like the sun.

“I think I’m just gonna walk Kkami around.”

“Do you mind if I walk with you a bit?” Felix puts your dog down, tilting his head to look at you that radiates so much friendliness. “I don’t really know what to do with the library closed.”

He offers like he’s already your friend.

You knew it was an exaggeration to call him a friend right away, but for you it was just that. Especially when he walks by your side, laughing and talking to you as if he’d known you forever.

“You know, it’s nice to hear Hyunjin talk more.” His lips curl into a lovely smile as he continues to accompany you and Kkami in your walk.

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyes trailing down to Kkami who’s padding ahead of the two of you.

“He doesn’t do too well with strangers, doesn’t even talk a lot with me. I think he’s only ever truly warmed up to Seungmin, so it’s nice to just hear him more.”

You blink in surprise at his words before lifting your hand to where it was staring at Kkami in favor of looking at Felix instead.

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say or how to respond to the sudden revelation he’s laying down on you, and he throws his head back in laughter at your speechlessness.

“Don’t worry, I just felt the need to tell you. You don’t have to say anything.”

It goes on like this more—Felix initiating conversation and talking about almost everything until he has to go home. You end your walk with an exchange of numbers and a promise of ice cream the next time you come to the library together.

When you get home, it’s already 6pm. Kkami falls asleep almost right away, and you’re left to do the little chores you have left for the day. You wonder what you’ll have for dinner.

You’re in the middle of preparing a meal when your phone buzzes where you left it.

Ring, ring.

Your brother never calls anymore. So when you receive a call, you weren’t expecting to find his caller ID on the screen. You thought it was gonna be Felix who forgot to tell you something.

“Hello?” You’re the one who speaks first.

You're a ball of nerves wondering why he’s calling you right now.

“Hey (Name). Are you doing okay?”

“Hey, is something wrong?”

“Hm? Can’t an older brother call his sister to check on her?” There’s a scuffle in the background of his end.

“You never call.” You say quietly, picking at the ends of your shirt as you stare at nothing in particular.

“Oh, hah. Well, the thing is… can you lend us some money? You can sell the ring mom gave you. Itt’s just… our son, all his friends are studying abroad every vacation, but he never went.”

Your brother sounds shameless in his request, as if your mother hadn’t given him everything when she passed. All you have left of her are pictures in your head and the ring she had gifted you. You’ve never worn it, but you kept her going-away present. It’s the only thing you have left of her, and it hurts that your brother even thought of selling it just so his son could go on a trip abroad.

This ring meant something to you. Something more than a trip to him.

“Is this your wife’s idea? Does she want me to sell the ring mom gave me?”

“That’s not it.” He sighs exasperatedly, and you know he’s running a hand down his face at how this conversation is going. “Don’t you feel bad that your nephew is losing confidence because he’s never been abroad before?”

“Hey…” A lump forms in your throat, the familiar hands of pain wrapping around your neck to strangle you into tears. “Do you even… know how I’m living right now?”

Your voice cracks, choking on your own words to know that your brother only calls when he needs something. He doesn’t care. He never has. A sob is brewing in your throat.

“I do! But…” He’s getting defensive now, voice raising so he can try to get his non-existent point across. “My family is short on money right now.”

Family. The word is unfamiliar. It left you the moment your mother passed, replacing itself with loneliness. With emptiness. The unfamiliarity makes your face scrunch in the way it does before a hideous sob leaves your mouth, but you will yourself to get yourself together. Just for another minute, while you’re still on the call with him.

“Am I not family?” You mumble almost incoherently.

You don’t think you can handle talking to him any longer, not when he treats you like a bank account he can solicit money from anytime. Not when the first call you receive from him in years is that of asking you to sell your mother’s ring, not even to ask if you were alright, how you were doing.

The strangers in Angok treat you far better than your own brother.

You hang up before he can say anything else.

He has already caused you unbearable pain, and the reminder of how alone you’ve been. You want the pain to go away, you’ve worked too hard only to let it come back in full force. And there is only one way you know that can take it all away, even just temporarily.

It’s how you find yourself at Minho’s small restaurant, two bottles of Soju empty, and a disoriented haze of the place around you.

Minho doesn’t make it a habit to stick his nose in anyone’s business, but when your wobbly legs attempt to grab a third bottle of Soju, he’s hurrying by your table to stop you. “I’ve just made up a non-existent rule that you can only have two bottles.”

He takes it away from you, and you immediately pout when he does, a whine brewing in your throat. You try to imitate the way Puss in Boots looks, when he widens his eyes to get what he wants, but to Minho—you just look absolutely ridiculous.

“I’ve never heard of that rule before.” You mumble dejectedly, staring at the Soju bottle that Minho’s whisking away and putting back.

“It exists now because you’re piss drunk, and I don’t know how you’ll be getting home.” He says, tone softer than it was when you had first walked in ordering your first bottle, as if not wanting to startle you.

“I’m not drunk!” You blink rapidly, abruptly getting up to which Minho sits you back down so you don’t topple over your own clumsy feet. He mumbles something about getting you water.

“Everything just looks funny right now.” Your words come out in a slur as you look at your surroundings with a curious eye. “But I’m not drunk.”

When he returns, you have your head rested on the table, cheek mushed against the surface as your eyes droop a little in sleepiness. Though, there’s an addition of someone new in his shop. Hyunjin looks at you confused, before he fixes his gaze on Minho as if asking him why you were moping around at one of his tables.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t even know who this is.” Minho says in mock surrender, though, it doesn’t take long before his features mimic that of a Cheshire Cat. “You’ll take her home safely, right?”

Minho quickly ushers the pair of you out, waking you up and pushing you in the direction of Hyunjin who holds out his arms in case your feet decide not to cooperate with you. He needs to close his shop.

“Are you okay?” His arms are still hovering around you, not quite touching you, but prepared to if you ever fall forward.

“Hyunjin? How did you come to find me from so far away?” Your eyebrows furrow together as you stare at the boy beside you, as if there was no way he was real and with you right now.

“I’ll walk you home, okay?”

“I’m a bit drunk. I’m a little bit drunk right now.” You mumble, head still hazy as your eyes blink blearily, feeling the need to inform him. Your legs feel extra wobbly.

“Right. Are you okay?” He pulls you back to his side when you stumble a little too far away, soft tone never changing. He looks at your puffy eyes in curiosity, frowning as he thinks of all the possibilities as to why you had been crying.

“Goodness.” You exclaim in your half-conscious state when you almost trip on something, immediately reaching to what’s nearest to you—Hyunjin’s arm.

“Hyunjinnieee…” You start to sway where you’re walking, clearing your throat as Hyunjin is left predicting what your next move is going to be (on top of wondering why your eyes are red and stingy).

Though, he most definitely doesn’t expect you to start singing.

“Why do you appear before my eyes whenever I’m drunk?” It’s loud, uncharacteristic of the you he’s met, and your arms are flailing around as if to act like a conductor in your own orchestra of sounds.

“You’re going home now, okay?” Your smile is loopy as you nod at his words, continuing to sing the same one line over and over again while skipping in your step.

Hyunjin is attentive to where you’re walking, scooping up a potted plant and setting it aside when you’re about to walk into it. “Careful.”

You tell him all sorts of stories as you head home—how you fell in love with the library, how you never thought you’d own a dog, how you’re glad you’re far away from the city.

He listens. To every single one of your stories, all while making sure you get home safely. He looks both sides before crossing the street, hand outstretched to an incoming car to slow it down as you carelessly walk across without so much as a glance.

“Hyunjin.” You suddenly stop in your tracks.

“Hm?” Hyunjin ushers you to keep moving, hand hovering on the small of your back as you start giggling in your dazed state.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“Is it okay if I ask right now?”

“Sure.” He replies, arms dropping back to his sides.

“Do you think you can like me? I don’t think anyone likes me.”

A silence settles between the two of you right after you get the question out. Hyunjin pauses in his actions, staring at you as you keep marching forward to where you live.

He allows himself to ponder over your sudden question. He couldn’t quite explain how he felt about you, but he knows it’s good. He has surprised himself time and time again for willingly continuing conversation with a stranger, but Seungmin has stressed it was good for him.

You emit a type of radiance, one of comfort. Maybe it was the way you smile at him, so softly when people look at him strangely for not being able to speak to them right away. He has only spoken to you once, but he knows he wants to talk to you more.

He wants to get to know you more.

He gives you a fond smile as he catches up with you once more. Hyunjin doesn’t know the connotation behind your question, and he doesn’t know what premise his answer falls under either.

Still, he says, “I already do.”

“Oh, we’re here!” You yell out and immediately quiet down when you realize everyone around you must be asleep right now. “Sorry.” Now in a whisper as you look around sheepishly.

“Can you get in safely?” He questions, worry still eminent in the way he speaks, even as you nod your head to answer his question.

“Don’t worry about me. Bye bye!” When you slip into your home, you immediately fall face first on your mattress and fall asleep. Drinking can be so draining when the world around you spins.

You don’t think about the splitting headache waiting for you the next day.

six.

You're fucked.

This much is clear as you finally finish vomiting in your toilet, images from the night before flashing in your mind— the giggling, the stumbling, and poor Hyunjin. You can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to get in safely. You can still feel the way his hand hovered over your back to make sure you don’t fall over.

Well, shit. This is way beyond anything you’ve ever done, moving up to the number one spot of the list you liked to label ‘embarrassment’. Calling Hyunjin miss and forgetting which pages go to which book moves down a spot at the sudden entry of your drunk ass.

“Kkami, what do I do?” You groan, head falling back against the wall of your bathroom as you stare at the ceiling. Will a letter of apology suffice for the way he had to take you home last night despite his exhaustion of driving to the city?

“This is so embarrassing.” Kkami consoles you by curling up by your side, paw resting on your thigh before his whole head drops to lay atop your leg.

Hyunjin is so pretty too. He’s enchanting in the way he speaks, and the way his eyes sparkle naturally when he does the things he loves. He’s unstinting with his kindness too, never losing patience even as you took a long time to repair the books you had offered to help with. You don’t even know if you helped much, but he never made a move to stop you even as time passed and you were making little progress.

It’s easy to fall into your embarrassment, which is how you find yourself with a notebook in hand, thinking of how the hell you were going to apologize to him. You don’t think you have it in you to go up to him face-to-face and have to recall the events of the night.

You might as well write something.

“About what happened last night…” You look at your notebook with critical eyes, immediately scratching it out to think of a better way to start your note.

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin. I don’t know how to say this.”

The second candidate is just as bad as the first one.

With your chin on the palm of your hands, you rack your brain for every possible way to say sorry. It’s not like apologizing was anything new to you, it’s even become a habit in your work life for the past few years. Always doing something wrong. Always apologizing. Even if it was never your fault to begin with. Though, this time, you want it to be genuine. You don’t want to imitate the phony way you’ve said sorry before.

Your eyes are glazed as you stare at the piece of paper.

Hyunjin has a routine fixed, so you make it a point to reach the library at noon when he’s busy pushing a trolley full of books to return them to where they belong on the bookshelves. He only hears the bell ring when you walk into the library, like you always do.

Peering over the shelves, he finds himself smiling to himself when you wander inside the library. He peels his gaze away for a few seconds to return a few books to their spots, though, apparently that’s also the time it takes for him to hear the bell ringing again, to indicate that you had left just as quickly as you had walked in.

Tilting his head, Hyunjin backs away from his work to check his desk where a small note sits.

“I’m sorry…” with a small drawing underneath.

It looks like the work of a child, but Hyunjin could tell instantly that it was a portrait of you and him from the night before. It prompts a smile on his face, eyes flicking from the note to the door. He keeps the piece of paper in his drawer to think about later.

Hyunjin has never had the courage to strike while the iron was hot, but he finds himself walking out the public library in hopes of catching you before you’ve left.

He finds you seated on the bench outside, eyes trained on the screen of your phone with your legs outstretched.

“Excuse me.”

You almost drop your phone when you hear him, immediately standing up to greet him. He looks good, as he always does. His complexion shines even prettier under the sun. The natural lighting highlights his hair in that it looks more dark brown than black. And his smile. It’s a little less shy now, and more open.

“Thank you for the note… and the drawing.”

He sounds like an angel too. You’ve always found his voice pretty, in a different way from Felix’s deep ocean voice. His was gentle, soft, and way nicer than you remember it being.

You try to think of the right words to say, sputtering over whether you should bring back what had happened last night or simply accept his thanks.

Taking a deep breath, you nod your head. “You’re welcome.”

Hyunjin has his hands clasped together in front of him as you speak, rocking himself back and forth on the heel and soles of his feet.

“You must’ve come in safely, then.” You laugh a little at what he says, and it only makes his smile brighter.

“Yeah. I’m sorry again.” It makes you cringe when you think of your behavior, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to mind at all when he puts his hand up as a motion for you to stop apologizing.

“Not at all. I’m just glad to know you’re okay.”

The statement has your cheeks warming up, staring at him and the bag of ice cream you had initially brought for you and Felix. He had texted you earlier saying he couldn’t make it, and promised that he’d be the one to buy the ice cream next time.

Ice cream can be a good peace offering.

Grabbing the bag, you lift it up and smile coyly at the boy. “Do you want some ice cream?”

Hyunjin’s eyes form into crescents at your offer, lips curling up into an easy smile as he makes his way to sit adjacent to you. It feels nice like this, sitting outside in the breeze with only the two of you as you hand him the ice cream flavor of his liking, the tree just behind you doing a great job at shielding you enough that the sun’s heat isn’t too hot, but is still there.

“You know, I prefer cone ice creams over popsicles.” You mention suddenly, looking down at your cone and peering at the popsicle he had chosen for himself. He hums at the information, eyes softening when you ask him the same thing, like his opinions matter to you. Like you want to get to know him too. “What about you?”

“I’m not a big…” He catches himself before he can continue. Hyunjin isn’t the biggest fan of ice cream, but he finds himself unable to reject your offer. It’s an opportunity to sit in this moment with you.

He’d eat ice cream over and over again if it meant being able to stay in this moment.

“Well, ice cream does taste good, but the apple flavor…” He finds that he has a hard time answering your question, pausing to ponder over his words. It has you giggling. He looks cute thinking his options over.

“You don’t have to answer me.”

“But this one is good.” He lifts the popsicle in his hand, taking a bite out of it to show that he was being truthful with his words.

You laugh this time.

“You know, I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing when I first got here. But, I found myself falling in love with the library.” Hyunjin looks at you when you speak, unlike his previous inability to maintain eye contact with you.

“You’ve actually told me that already.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “I have? When?”

“Back then.” He’s gesturing something with his hands, and you continue to stare at him to try and decipher what he was acting out. Though, it’s pretty quick to figure out once he pretends to drink out of a shot glass, and your eyes widen at the realization of when he was referring to.

“Back then?” You repeat, and he chuckles at the way you roll your head back in embarrassment.

He hums in confirmation.

“What else did I say? When I… you know…” You trail off, looking at him for answers, but not quite wanting to repeat the words. He takes the hint well.

He laughs, before shaking his head. “It wasn’t so much talking, but rather singing.”

“I sang?” You stare at him dumbfounded as you try and recall what exactly happened. “I actually sang?” You laugh out loud this time, and you fail to notice the way his entire face lights up at the sound.

“What did I sing?” You look shocked and confused, yet there’s a smile of amusement on your features when Hyunjin actually starts singing the melody you had the night before.

“Why…” He clears his throat. “Why do you appear before my eyes whenever I’m drunk?”

“Wait, stop! Oh my god. Please stop.” You reach forward, resting a hand on the table and leaning forward to get him to stop singing.

“Can you please forget about that entire night?” You bring your hands together almost begging, and he can only laugh in amusement at the way you’re reacting.

“I don’t really think about it that often—“

“You even sang the song!” You interrupt.

“That’s because you asked.” He lifts a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck, bashfully smiling.

“This is so embarrassing.” You hang your head, a wince of an apology soliciting itself from your throat as you swing your feet back and forth to physically cringe at yourself.

Seungmin arrives at that very moment, his own complaints spilling out and drowning yours out. He pauses when he finds Hyunjin outside with you, squinting his eyes suspiciously before letting it go in favor of complaining once again.

“They’re so annoying! They think they’re so high and mighty.” He drops at the seat next to Hyunjin, and you offer him the only ice cream you have left in your bag. You have no idea what he’s talking about, but it seems Hyunjin knows all about it.

“They won’t do it?” Hyunjin asks, and Seungmin all but sighs as he starts peeling the wrapper off the ice cream.

“I mean, I guess it’s not easy to come down here to listen to old people talk.” Seungmin takes an annoyed bite, throwing his head back. “They might make me write the article, too. And I have to do it tomorrow. Can’t someone else do it?”

An idea forms in his head.

Hyunjin looks at you gingerly, and Seungmin visibly perks up when he follows the boy’s line of sight. You clear your throat, suddenly breaking eye contact and looking anywhere but the two boys.

“Will you please do it?” He grins wickedly, whole body tilted to face you as he reaches out to grab your attention.

“Well, you see…” You mumble. “I only proofread when I was working at a publishing company.” You point out sheepishly between each bite at your ice cream, doing your best to not look at Seungmin.

“The fact that you proofread means you’re familiar with writing.”

"Still…” You trail off with your words, not knowing how to defend yourself any further when Seungmin is clasping his hands and begging you to help them do the work. “I’m just not very confident.”

“(Name).” Hyunjin calls, and you look at him in hopes that he has a plan in mind to save you from Seungmin’s request.

“Why do you appear before my eyes…”

Your mouth drops at his words.

“What did you say?” Seungmin questions, and you look back at the boy to subtly shake your head, as if trying to get him to stop. Instead, he smiles a little mischievously.

“Whenever I’m…” You wince, immediately putting a hand up to stop him. Fortunately for Hyunjin, you’ve been begging him to forget about the night before, so you feel as though you owe him something.

With your head hung lightly and a look of defeat on your face, you finally agree to Seungmin’s request.

seven.

When you arrive, Hyunjin is already waiting for you with a camera slung around his neck. He looks so pretty with his hair falling messily over his shoulder. He’s wearing a white shirt and some jeans, though, what catches your eye the most is the huge knitted sweater he’s wearing.

“Hello, good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”

You fail to notice his own reaction, too busy admiring his beauty to realize he’s doing the same. Opposite you, Hyunjin’s jaw-dropping reaction to what you’re wearing is staring at your face with a small smile playing on his lips. He’s fiddling with his camera now, eyes traveling from the clip you’re wearing on your hair to the cherry lip balm you’d applied just before leaving.

What colors was he using painting you in his head? Pastel hues with a tinge of vibrancy.

“Shall we go then?” Suddenly, he can’t look at you, eyes trained just behind you as he asks.

“Okay.”

It doesn’t feel like a far walk with Hyunjin next to you. In fact, it barely takes 15 minutes before you reach the house of the person you’re supposed to be interviewing.

The outside of her home is beautiful, and an older woman you don’t recognize greets you and helps you both inside. Her home is surrounded by a wide expanse of grass, the view of the sea beautiful from a distance. The house itself is built with wood, and the row of vegetable plants lining up behind the low-standing table outside provides a breath of fresh air.

“Good afternoon. We’re here for an interview.” You inform politely, and she nods her head as if finally remembering why she’s letting two strangers into her home.

“Sit down, sit down.” Her tone is welcoming as she urges you to sit down, allowing Hyunjin to set up the camera on the camera stand he brought with him. Never imposing as she asks if you need anything else.

“You’re dressed so nicely.” You smile, the full view of her garden behind her accentuating her features. You’re sure she was quite the heartbreaker when she was younger.

“Just relax, and imagine you’re having a chat with your daughter.”

The interview goes smoothly. You ask her of things big and small—her age, her family, her history with Angok, anything you can think of. Seungmin didn’t give you any specifics to ask, just that you would write about her life. In this way, you’d be getting to know her.

She speaks of her children and grandchildren with so much love, that it almost makes you envious that you don’t have a grandmother figure to lean on. You’re all you really have left.

When you look over at Hyunjin, he gives you a toothless grin, as if to assure you you’re doing a great job. It lasts around an hour, and you’re just about ready to go home when she stops you and Hyunjin from fixing up.

“Oh, goodness.” She doesn’t need to ask for Hyunjin to hurry his way to her, grabbing the huge platter of food she grabbed from inside her house, settling it where you had sat earlier.

“I had no idea it was time for food. You guys must be hungry. Come on, let’s eat.”

“Thank you for the food.” You both say, and she only smiles as she admires the young couple in front of her.

The food is cooked with care, having just the right amount of seasoning. There’s a variety of vegetables which you assume to have been freshly picked from the garden she has. Hyunjin seems to mirror your thoughts, immediately praising her for the food.

“The food is delicious.”

“Really?” She finds pleasure in the way you’re enjoying your food. Perhaps, she was trying to catch a glimpse of her children in the two of you.

“Are you two married?” You and Hyunjin pause from eating, staring at each other before looking back at the older woman.

“No, we’re not.” You answer for him, laughing a little at the accusation she had just made. “We’re not married.”

“Oh, too bad. You guys would make a great couple if you were to marry.” She says light-heartedly, staring directly at the boy who’s refusing to make any eye contact at the sudden topic change. Hyunjin nearly chokes on the lettuce he’s eating, coughing a little as he mutters a string of apologies. She only smiles knowingly, offering up some water to the poor boy.

He swallows down his food, putting on a cordial smile directed at the old woman.

The rest of the time plays out without any more questions as to what the relationship is between the two of you, which Hyunjin is more than grateful for. He’s afraid of tripping over his own feet when you’re mentioned as his girlfriend one more time, as if choking on his food wasn’t enough already.

At some point, while you’d been talking, the sun had started to set which prompts the older woman to send in a flurry of farewells as she ushers the pair of you to get home safely.

Looking at you now, while the orange hues of the sun falls on your face, Hyunjin concludes that he feels something for you, evident in the way his heart starts beating a little faster and his palms start to sweat when you’re around. The awkward atmosphere between the two of you is long gone, and he finds himself hearing the gentle undertone of your voice in his head before he falls asleep.

He’s even more floored after today, after having seen first hand how you treat people with so much kindness—even Seungmin, who’s the number one enemy on everyone’s list in this small village. He admires the way you smile at strangers, and your eloquence in conversations even with the little words you say.

It’s only been a while of knowing you, yet he finds himself thinking about you all the time. From the first day you met that muggy afternoon, to how you helped him with repairing the books, even that drunken night where you had sang for him, and the morning after when you shared ice cream with him. He finds himself repeating these moments with you over and over in his head, like sifted sand, until they’re properly engraved in his mind.

“You know… all I really did today was listen to her stories, but my heart feels at ease because of it.”

Hyunjin looks at you as you walk side by side each other, the sunset’s glow falling on everything around you.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

When the wind blows, leaves from the trees lined up near you float around you. From time to time, you’d hear the crunch of crushed leaves as you step on them. All the while, Hyunjin is walking close to you, watching you and listening to you.

“Thank you for working with me on this.” Hyunjin suddenly says, words softer than expected as he locks eyes with you. He wants you to know he’s genuine in his gratitude.

“I hope you’ll like my writing once you get to read it.” You smile nervously, keeping eye contact with him, and you don’t know how pivotal this moment is for the boy. How your kindness is pulling him deeper and deeper into you, everything about you—your sweet smile and your bright eyes.

“I will.”

Talking to you feels easy and natural.

“You will?” A small smile creeps onto your face at his response, and he nods his head in confirmation.

Silence passes.

“I hope we can keep working on this together.” Hyunjin surprises himself with how straightforward he can be with you, with how easy it is to tell you he wants to keep spending time with you.

“If you buy me dinner tomorrow, I’ll think about it.”

The whole world stops in this pocket of time. While everyone goes about their evening, Hyunjin is stuck on your words. Your eyes glisten with a certain type of glow no one can replicate, and he thinks he’ll always remember your face right now, smiling fondly at him, lit by the setting sun.

“Okay. Dinner tomorrow.”

Heat continuously rises to his face the more you look at him, but Hyunjin supposes he can blame it on the sun for now.

eight.

It is exactly 6:36 in the evening when you meet Hyunjin at the library to grab dinner with him.

When the bell rings, he can’t help the smile on his face when he realizes it’s you that’s walking into the library. He never used to smile this much before. But it can’t be helped, not when it’s you.

“Hello.” He’s the one who speaks first.

“Hi.” You reply, mimicking the smile on his face. His eyes are glossy when you meet them.

“Shall we go to dinner?” He lets out a small breath, hovering just in front of you.

Hyunjin looks like a bundle of nerves. You don’t know that, in his head, this feels akin to a first date. One he hasn’t gone on in a long time. So, on the outside, he’s perfectly composed, eyes dropping on the wooden ground. On the inside, however, he’s sweating and twisting and turning and screaming that he’s about to have dinner with you.

“What? Are you buying dinner?” Seungmin’s nosy ears perks up at the mention of dinner, immediately moving from his place behind the desk to join the two of you. “I was just starting to get hungry. Come on, let’s go.”

While Hyunjin wants to be upset at the sudden third wheeling of Kim Seungmin, he finds that he isn’t.

As funny as it sounds, he’s kind of grateful for the sudden interruption. He’s too afraid that if you were to have dinner together, alone, and his fried brain was convincing him it was a first date—his feelings would become too real. He knows he likes you, but he doesn’t want to act on it too soon. He doesn’t want to scare you off, doesn’t want to scare himself off.

Hyunjin has way too much of a feeble heart, that even walking beside you right now, with your hands slightly brushing against the other, he can already hear his heart beating in his ears.

He has always thought of himself as patient, so he doesn’t understand why there’s a growing irritation at the back of his head for the inability to hold your hand in his. It’s even more confusing as he knows he’s never been the type to crave for skinship, never eager for physical touch. So, what’s changed?

“Yah, Lee Minho!” Seungmin’s voice is loud as he walks into the restaurant, though, a much younger boy greets him.

“Innie, where’s Minho?” Jeongin gestures at the kitchen, immediately setting off to find the older boy at the request of Seungmin.

You hide behind Hyunjin the moment Minho appears from the kitchen. You’re sure the memories from that night are still fresh in his mind, and he’d been the first to witness your drunken, hazy state. When he sees you, his lips tug into a lazy smirk, but he chooses not to say anything.

“We went to interview that old lady yesterday.” Hyunjin feels the need to inform Seungmin who’s smiling, pleased with his ability to coerce you into helping them out.

Everyone finally settles down into their seats, Hyunjin cooking the meat silently as conversation starts. Jeongin joins you not long after, asking if it was alright. Your food sizzles behind the chatter around your table.

“What interview?” Jeongin asks.

“A writer didn’t show up, so (Name) did the interview instead.” Seungmin informs the table, and Jeongin nods in pretense of understanding the situation.

“How did you know how to do that? Where did you work in Seoul?” Minho’s the one to ask this time as he refills your meat, setting down a plate of raw pork just by Hyunjin’s arm.

“She worked at a publishing company.” Seungmin says with a mouth full of food.

“I see. Then you must’ve had a lot of boyfriends.”

You tilt your head at Jeongin’s sudden proposition, like he’s trying to fit two completely different puzzle pieces. There’s absolutely no correlation between working at a publishing company and having multiple boyfriends. It seems Seungmin is wondering the same thing, cogs turning in his brain at Jeongin’s stupid question.

“How are those two related?” He deadpans.

“I’ve always found well-read girls charming and attractive.” Jeongin simply shrugs, shoving down another piece of cut-up meat in his mouth before chewing. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

You fail to notice the way Hyunjin suddenly leans closer to the table, suddenly finding interest in the topic when he had been absent for most of the conversation.

“Oh, I used to have one. But we broke up.” You laugh a little nervously, quietly thanking Hyunjin who sets a few cooked pieces of pork on your plate so you don’t run out while eating.

“Why? How long did it last?”

Jeongin and Seungmin seem to have a lot of questions, and you can see Hyunjin sending them a side eye from your peripheral vision at their rather invasive question.

“Quite a long—“

Hyunjin concludes he doesn’t need to know anything about your ex-boyfriend. He smoothly interrupts the conversation by stuffing food in Seungmin’s mouth. “This is about to burn, you should eat it.”

He glares at the boy viciously, but even the scowl on Seungmin’s face couldn't crack Hyunjin’s persistence in cutting the conversation short. He doesn’t know if it's jealousy, never having felt it before, but he knows he doesn’t want the image of you kissing another boy imprinted in his mind.

Thankfully, Jeongin moves on to another topic, speaking about how he’s in the last year of college and how much he hates it. All the while, you and Hyunjin share small smiles from across the table.

You both let Jeongin and Seungmin carry the conversation. You were never good at keeping the flow of one going anyways. So, instead, you play the listening role. The one you’ve always been good at.

Throughout dinner, Hyunjin does little things for you. He refills your empty glass of water, he puts meat on your plate so you don’t run out, and he constantly checks up on you—to see whether you were overwhelmed with the loudness of the two boys.

He does so by looking at you with an endearing smile, light dimples on his cheeks as he chuckles when you smile back at him. It’s a quiet conversation between the two of you, even if it’s just communication between smiles. Hyunjin is like a breath of fresh air from the crackling volume surrounding you.

He offers to walk you home after the four of you finish up with dinner, telling you that he couldn’t allow himself to simply let you walk alone in the dark. You respond with the crinkling of your eyes and a soft ‘thank you’.

Being with Hyunjin, alone, is quite possibly the purest form of comfort you will ever know. He’s tender and gentle and attentive, like he knows what it’s like to have the peace you value being breached constantly. Though, lately, you find that the quiet you crave for isn’t necessarily complete silence. It’s the comfortable and uninterrupted calm you feel when you’re with Hyunjin—whether at the library or walking home together from dinner. When he’s with you, warmth always makes an appearance.

There is no demand to make conversation.

You let your gaze veer off to the sea and how the waves crash along the shore. There's a breeze softly wafting through your hair, and you smile at just being able to view the ocean anytime you want. A pleasure you’ve always been denied off back in the city.

As your simple house comes into view, your shoulders fall at knowing he would have to leave now. You stop in your tracks, biting at your lips, and Hyunjin waits for you to say something. Never demanding. Always patient.

“Do you wanna meet my dog?”

His mouth opens in response, before a toothless smile forms in his features. “I’d like that.”

Kkami’s wiggling body with his wagging tail is the first to greet you when you open the door. You crouch down, arms open so he can jump onto you just the way he likes. “I’m back. I’m sorry to keep you waiting all this time.”

“Come in, come in.” You urge Hyunjin to get in, resuming your standing position so you can close the door behind him. “You can keep your shoes on if you’d like.”

He refuses, immediately taking them off before crouching down to greet the long-haired Chihuahua. They get along right away, Kkami constantly tapping his paw on Hyunjin’s knees to get his attention.

“I’ll get you something to drink.” You disappear into the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water before hurriedly returning.

His hand brushes against yours when he reaches to take the glass from you, and you hate how fumbly the simple gesture gets you. It makes you feel like you’re back in high school, helplessly crushing on the boy who’s way out of your league.

“I think he likes you more than me now.” You crouch back down, looking at the way Kkami nudges his head on the side of Hyunjin’s thigh.

“I think he’s just a friendly dog.” He reassures you, though, he can’t help but feel a little pride that your dog immediately warms up to him. He’s always wanted a dog too.

When Kkami starts to give his attention back to you, Hyunjin calls him back. “Come here. There’s food here, can’t you see?”

His false bribery has you laughing.

“Now you’re just lying to my dog.”

He’s unfazed, continuing to lie to your poor dog about the invisible food he has in hand. “I have food for you, come here.”

“Wow, my dog left me and chose you because of your fake food.” You pout when Kkami successfully sits himself on Hyunjin’s lap, barking in glee when the boy rubs the back of his ears.

He sets the empty glass on a table nearby, careful not to drop it with Kkami still on him, gaze falling on the ring around your finger when you take it so it’s safe in your kitchen sink.

“Your ring is really pretty.” His compliment is genuine, and you can’t help but smile as you look down at the metal band your mother had given you, the one you started wearing since your brother called.

“My mom gave it to me. It has the number 220 engraved on it, apparently for bravery.”

“Suits you very well then.”

“I was really afraid when I first moved here, you know. I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I’d fallen into defeat.”

You recall your uncertainty when you had left everything you’d ever known in the city, following the heartbeat in the town of Angok.

“Men are not created with defeat in mind. We may fall at times, but we’re never defeated.”

“That’s a good line.”

“I stole it from a book.” He says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Wanna know something cool?”

You nodded your head, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor in front of him.

“Your ring has the number 220, right? Well, back in college, I used to play sports. My jersey number was 284.” You don’t know where he’s going with this, but you listen anyway.

“They’re both amicable numbers. The sum of factors of 220 is 284, and the sum of the facts of 284 is 220.” He says with a smile, hands smoothing down your chihuahua’s fur. “These numbers are linked together by some fate, like your ring and my jersey.”

Hyunjin is a quiet surprise, sputtering about amicable numbers and mathematics to you. It’s almost endearing, how he had found something between the two of you and connected it to something he knows.

Your ring and his jersey. Amicable numbers.

There is so much to Hyunjin, so much you still don’t know and want to learn.

“That is pretty cool.” You think back about it in your head, how rare these numbers are, and how they found themselves to the both of you. Maybe knowing Hyunjin has always been written in the stars, and maybe you’ll know him in every lifetime after this one.

At the same time, Hyunjin is grinning to himself. He’d always thought love was far off, but it looks like it’s been in front of him this whole time, smiling back at him. He knows what he’s feeling, this overwhelming warmth, and he knows it’s real now more than ever.

In this moment, there is nothing else but you, him and Kkami and the knowledge that he’s falling in love with you. Right here, right now, all he sees are your eyes and your smile and the way your hands are brushing as you lean down to scratch Kkami’s ears.

Hyunjin feels like his heart is about to burst, and he has to clear his throat and put Kkami down in some poor excuse of needing to get home. He has to before he does something he might regret. The tides of the waves are pulling at him to make a move on you, and he’s afraid he might never make it to shore at the sheer overwhelmingness of his feelings for you. Could it be possible that you made a move instead?

“I think I have to get going now.” He whispers, and you nod your head, moving to stand up when he does. “Thanks for coming to meet Kkami. You should say goodbye to Hyunjin. Say thank you for visiting! Goodbye!”

You move Kkami’s paw to imitate waving.

“Goodbye!” His smile is wide as he bends down to wave back at your dog, taking small steps backwards until he’s by your door.

“I’ll write up a story about the lady we interviewed and send it to you.” You mention, fumbling with the knob to open it for him.

“Sure.” When you don’t make a move to say anything else, he turns his back to start walking away.

“By the way…” Hyunjin immediately turns back around, both hopeful and hesitant at what you have to say to him. His eyes hold yours, waiting for you to continue. “Are you free—“

“Good evening!” Chan’s booming voice interrupts what you were able to say. “Sorry it took me so long. I’m here to help you with the water leakage?”

You’d almost forgotten. You had called Chan earlier this morning to ask if he could help you fix up the issue with your sink.

“No, it’s okay. Hi, good evening.”

“Weren’t you about to say something?” He asks, and you suddenly feel too shy to ask if he wanted to hangout with you soon. The Little Mermaid live action was coming out soon, and you’d been excited to check it out. You thought, maybe it would be fun to watch it with him.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” An unidentifiable emotion flickers in Hyunjin’s features when you suddenly double back on what you were supposed to say—of dejection? You can’t say for sure, especially when a small smile returns to his face and he’s waving goodbye at you one last time.

“Chan, come in.” In your head, you’re still bruising yourself over cowardly backing down from asking Hyunjin to eat dinner with you tomorrow, hopefully with just you two this time.

Your water leakage problem doesn’t take too many steps, but it does need a few tools that only Chan has. When he finishes, you tell him to sit down a little, finding something to offer him for fixing up what had been broken under your sink.

“What’s going on between you and Hyunjin?” It catches you off guard, the unfiltered way he suddenly asks the question with obvious teasing dripping down his tone.

“Nothing.” You say too quickly, shaking your head.

“I was kidding. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Aren’t you gonna pry?” You’re not used to anyone not prying. Back in the city, you barely could keep anything a secret. Always forced. Always fidgety with the way they ask you questions, only to use that information against you later.

“No. As long as you’re happy, and both of you don’t get yourself hurt.”

His considerateness is breathtaking, and it almost has you tearing up the way he treats you better than your own brother. Chan doesn’t need to hug you for you to feel safe, he just has to smile and look at you with his eyes round of warmth.

He feels familiar, like… family. You think this is what family should feel like.

“Thank you, Chan.” You breathe, and he breathes with you. He reminds you he’s only one call away, and your heart feels like it’s being stripped until it’s bare.

This is family. Chan is family.

And Hyunjin quite possibly is love.

nine.

The epiphany you had posed to yourself the night before proved to be almost as difficult as the one you had when you had left the city. Inevitable, but that doesn’t mean it scared you less. Uncertainties often make you feel vulnerable, and what is love but a thread of uncertainties waiting to be untangled?

You can’t focus in your little rented space, the four corners tend to look smaller and smaller when you’ve trapped yourself long enough in your head. It’s terrifying, to feel the walls closing in on you. So, you might as well take Kkami out on a walk where you aren’t encased in liminal space.

The breeze outside is the kind that takes all the weight off your chest, leaving you to start anew in your train of thoughts. When you try to find the beginning of when you had started to see Hyunjin differently, you lose the thread and find yourself empty-handed. No one has told you how difficult it is to tend to the knotted spool of love.

Was it in his kindness which he showed in the smallest ways, barely noticeable but there when you look close enough? He doesn’t smile in large amplified ways, but the way he looks at you with intention leaves such an impact.

Everything he does—on purpose and by choice and intentionally. From the way he constantly checks on you, and the umbrella he had offered, and the patience that never seems to run thin. He smiles and talks to you by choice, and he gets to know your dog intentionally. You’re enamored with the entirety of Hyunjin, with the way he’s passionate about his job, and the gentle way in which he helps those around him whether that’s driving Seungmin to Seoul or treating Jeongin to dinner. He’s beautiful as he listens, as he shows that he will always listen.

It’s a lot to handle, and it’s a huge epiphany to admit to yourself, so you walk without destination. Nature and the beauties of Angok, you find, can take your mind off of anything. Just like that day you had escaped the city.

There are birds singing from the trees, accompanying the wind with their tunes as they whistle. The breeze carries it everywhere, the sound of their whistling, the crashing of the waves bathing the seashore. Had you really existed in a time before you’d known the salt of the ocean breeze and the sun shining the entire village with a glow?

Everything is beautiful here. There’s nothing that isn’t with the flurry of color bursting in the town of Angok, with the gentle chatter of generations of people who live there, with Hyunjin’s back walking a little ahead of you.

“Hyunjin?”

Maybe you don’t really care about the multitude of ways you can unravel the knotted spool. Maybe the only thing that matters is this moment with him, and every other moment with him.

He turns around immediately at the recognition of your voice, lifting a hand up to wave at you before greeting Kkami. You shoot him a smile, speeding up a little to catch up with him as he stands planted on his spot. Kkami runs faster than you do, already barking by Hyunjin’s feet and jumping up to get the boy’s attention.

There is no overthinking in the way he smiles back at you so easily. No thread to think about.

“Hi.” His gaze never falters from yours, even as noises stir around from a distance.

“Hello. I was just walking Kkami.”

“If we’re going the same way, why don’t we walk together?” He offers.

“Okay.”

A heartbeat passes.

“By the way, what are you doing out here? You know… instead of being in the library.” You ask inquisitively, not used to seeing him outside so early in the day.

“Seungmin’s been a bit anxious over the next part of his exams, so I went to buy him some food. It always calms him down.”

It’s only then you realize the bag of food he’s holding, and the sight only melts your heart further.

“You’re a really good friend.”

“I just do good upon others as I wish the same for myself.” How lovely, how he wants to make the world so painfully beautiful that people want to live in it.

“Well, the world isn't as cold and gloomy because of you.” You smile, and Hyunjin can’t help the way his words jumble up in his mouth at the kindness you utter. He’s wordless, all tangled in longing and flustered-ness.

You make him feel like he can hold sunlight in his hands.

“I’ll be going this way now.” A point in the opposite, and Hyunjin can only frown in disappointment of your time cut short.

“Take care.” He says, standing his ground as he watches you and Kkami start to walk away from him.

Static is zipping through the air, louder than ever. Hyunjin’s fiddling with the straps of his pants, contemplating and contemplating and contemplating—

“(Name)!” The sound of your name on Hyunjin’s lips makes your head instantly turn back.

“Yes?”

Hyunjin’s fumbling with everything he’s ever known, eyes falling to his own hands before back to yours.

“By any chance, are you going to have dinner—“ Hyunjin pauses. No, that doesn’t sound right. “I mean, are you busy tonight?”

“I’m not.”

A knowing smile on both your faces.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

The thread is long gone.

ten.

Hyunjin has a profound ability of surprising you every time. He’s almost unpredictable in his kindness—showing up when you’re drunk, refilling your plate with meat, and now handing you a bag of dog toys for Kkami.

“I thought he might like this.”

“Oh, thank you.” You take the bag gratefully, smiling at the selection of chew toys inside before looking back up at the boy. “I haven’t gotten him anything nice, so thank you, really.”

“I also have this for you.” He brings out more shyly this time—a necklace beaded in shells. You look down at it, the necklace. No one’s given you anything in a long time. “You always have this look on your face when you look at the beach. So, it just… reminded me of you.”

You lift it up carefully, almost feather-like as you stare at the simple necklace.

“Hyunjin.” The way he’s looking at you is so powerful, yet so vulnerable at the same time, eyes tinging in hope that you’d like the little present he had gotten you. It’s a look you can feel inside. “Thank you.”

He helps you wear it when you attempt to wrap it around your neck yourself. Wordless, you don’t have to say anything as he gently closes it to encase it around your neck.

“Do you like it?” There it is again. That vulnerability.

“I love it.” You smile, hand lifting to fiddle with the necklace. “I’m never taking it off.”

Hyunjin’s eyes soften, features glowing under the streetlights as you finally resume your walk to where you’ll be eating dinner together.

He had called himself out multiple times as he was pondering over whether to buy it for you or not the moment he sees it, telling himself he was too obvious with the way he feels for you, and yet the thought of the sincerity in your face when you receive it overpowers the voice in his head. He finds himself getting it for you. He was always gonna get it for you the moment he saw the necklace.

“Then, do you want some chicken and beer?” Hyunjin asks as you reach a crossroad, multiple intersections splitting the road into separate parts of the village.

“Chicken and beer?”

“Mhm. Last night, I was actually gonna ask if you wanted chicken and beef before Seungmin tagged along.”

“Oh?” You smile at the thought. “That sounds good actually. Wait, let me search a place up.”

You barely even unlock your phone when Hyunjin starts speaking again.

“Well, if we go that way,” he motions to the first intersection. “There’s a really old place that sells amazing fried chicken. And there’s a place down that way where the interior is nice and spacious, but the chicken doesn’t taste as good.”

“And down that way,” he continues, pointing towards the other intersection. “There’s a place with outdoor tables known for its refreshing beer.”

“You’ve really done your research.” You grin, fiddling with the phone in your hands as you look at Hyunjin who has his shyly behind his back after he has finished speaking.

“Yeah.” He exhales, smile still on his face. “Just in case.

Just in case he got enough courage to ask you out is the continuation of his sentence, though he chooses to omit it for now.

“I…” You ponder, recounting the options in your head before forming a number 3 with your fingers. “Choose number three. Beer tends to vary more in taste than chicken.”

“I see.” He nods his head, taking your words in as he thinks about the numerous times fried chicken had tasted the same to him. “Well then, let’s go that way?”

A silver of the moon shines on the two of you as you settle down the table, arriving 10 minutes after you had pondered over your choices at the intersection. The night breeze is pleasant, blowing in between the two of you until your stomachs are full from the food.

“This is so refreshing.” You praise after having taken a chug out of your beer, leaning your head back to savor the taste longer. “Whoever thought of eating chicken and beer together is a genius.”

He listens, hanging on to every single word you say as he takes a bite out of his own piece. The sight has him wondering if you were free tomorrow too.

Similarly, you’re thinking if you should try to invite him to watch Little Mermaid with you again.

“Are you also busy tomorrow?” His sudden question has your cheeks heating up despite the cold of the breeze and the beer.

“Why? Do you wanna see a movie?” It comes out fast, blurted, speeding from your mouth.

“A movie?”

Oh, shit. You didn’t even realize how you’d suddenly sprung up the topic on him without so much as an introduction.

“What I meant was… there’s just this movie I really wanted to see, and I think it’s out in theaters already.” You laugh a little at your own slip up, hoping to have clarified it better.

The sound makes Hyunjin’s smile widen.

“I see.” He takes a sip out of his own beer.

It’s silent for a while. A second blending into a minute, until you decide you can’t take it any longer.”

“Do you want to come with—“

“Should we watch—“

You make eye contact the moment you speak over one another, and it’s enough to trigger the laughter that’s bubbling in your throats at the sheer coincidence of asking each other out at the same time.

“Only if it’s okay with you.” He says once the pair of you stop giggling, tone significantly softer..

Always putting your comfort at the top priority.

“I’d actually really like that.”

It’s all smiles as you pay for your meal, and you don’t quite notice the slow pace in which the two of you are walking home, as if never wanting the moment to end. As if the great sense of contentment is too much to let go of right away.

Your footsteps fall in with Hyunjin’s, and your smiles never leave your faces on the rest of your way home.

eleven.

Hyunjin spends two days in Seoul to accompany Seungmin as he finishes up the final stages of his Civil Licensure exam.

The first day away from the library is spent just at home, cleaning and finishing up on chores you’ve been meaning to do—putting away your clothes after doing laundry, feeding Kkami, sweeping the floors, and even dusting some shelves because of the abundance of free time. It’s therapeutic, the way you’re able to hold your own time and decide what you want to do for the day. In the afternoon, you walk your chihuahua outside, exploring more of Angok than you could’ve dreamed. It’s a beautiful village, and you find you don’t mind the lengthy walk. If it means you get to be with nature leisurely, you don’t have anything to complain about.

There’s so much time for happiness here, unlike the dark of your room in the city.

When you pass by the library the next day to continue mapping out Angok, you’re surprised to see the hunched over figure of Felix by the benches. You wonder what he’s doing here.

“Felix?” You speak cautiously, tentative even as you walk to his side.

The closer you get, the more you hear his sniffles. An alarm sounds in your head, and you immediately reach a hand over to rub his back as gently as possible. “What’s wrong?”

The words he mumbles are unclear, incoherent as they come out jumbled and stuttered. When he finally lifts his head up, the sight physically hurts you. Who could dare hurt the sun?

You move some of his hair out of his face, sitting down next to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Instead of answering, he lunges forward, jumping in your arms to seek comfort in your hug. It catches you by surprise, not because you’re uncomfortable, but because it’s only now you realize how long you’ve gone without a hug. You didn’t grow up from an affectionate family, and your time in the city knew of no comfort. This feels far better than pressing your back against your bed.

Snapping from the initial shock, you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer which only seems to let him release a louder sob. It seems he really needed this.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.” His words are deep and choked, head still buried on your shoulder as he soaks up the shirt you’re wearing.

“You could never disappoint anyone.” You run a hand through his hair, the other hand running smooth circles on his back.

You don’t know how long you hold him like this, but after a while, his tears finally subside and he moves to pull away from the embrace. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Reaching out, you swipe away the tears on his wet cheeks, smiling softly. You’re relieved when you see him return the gesture. It seems he doesn’t want to talk about what happened, but you find that it’s okay. He likes that you just listen without demanding him to tell you everything.

“Wanna go eat something at Minho’s? My treat.” You whisper, afraid to startle the poor boy, and his eyes seem to brighten at the suggestion.

“Would that really be okay?”

“Of course. Come on.” You walk with him to Minho’s little restaurant, making small conversation about anything he wants to talk about. If it means he’ll forget about whatever hurt him, you appease any topic that spills from his mouth.

“Ah, good afternoon (Name), Felix.” Minho waves when you enter his space, and you wave back at the boy.

He finally knows your name.

The ten minutes it takes to wait for the food is apparently the same time it takes for Jisung and Chan to stumble into the restaurant and greet the two of you loudly. They drop at where you’re seated, adjacent from you and Felix as they ask you questions of how you’re doing and what you two were up to.

You’re keen to stay as Felix’s emotional support, looking at him first before answering the two boys. It seems he feels way better now, in the presence of people he considers home.

“Look what I have.” Jisung brings out another tupperware from his bag, opening it up to reveal some cupcakes his mom had probably baked again. He excitedly takes one for each of you, babbling about how he can’t finish it all himself or else he’ll suffer from high blood pressure. “I’m glad I bumped into you guys. My mom’s been going crazy with the baking.”

“Felix likes baking too, right?” You turn to the boy next to you, and he nods his head as he recalls the conversation you had earlier on the way here.

“I’ve been trying to make some brownies.” He’s proud as he speaks, hands moving animatedly as he explains to them the process. The three of you listen carefully, immediately demanding him to bake some for you guys to which Felix says he will in his free time.

“Jeongin’s on his way.” Chan nudges Jisung who suddenly stands from his seat. He grabs a cupcake from the container, and you think he’s about to give it to the younger boy when suddenly, the icing crashes on the unsuspecting Jeongin’s nose.

“Are you nuts, Jisung?!” He exclaims, peeling the cupcake away from his icing-stained face.

“That’s what you get for rejecting my kisses.” Jisung smirks mischievously, though it’s quickly wiped off when Jeongin swiftly grabs a chunk of the icing and slaps it on the older boy’s cheek.

Minho’s voice is booming as he says, “Hey, don’t get the floors dirty!”, though there seems to be a hint of fondness on his features as he watches everything unfold before him.

“Oh my god.” With a hand covering your mouth, you can’t help the giggles from spewing it as Felix snorts from beside you.

“Come here, let’s wipe it off.” You get up from your seat, guiding Jeongin to the seat next to yours as you grab a pack of tissues from your bag, moving to wipe the smeared icing from his nose, cheeks, and eyes.

“What about me?” Jisung pouts, and Chan all but laughs as he pulls the boy down to start doing the same thing.

“Are you guys okay?” Felix’s voice is way steadier now, more than it was earlier, and it even holds laughter in it. Your heartbeat calms down at knowing he must feel better. At least this moment can take away what pained him, even for a few hours.

“You have a death wish, Han Jisung.”

“Not the government name.”

Though, Jisung only laughs at the threats spilling from Jeongin’s lips, proud of his work.

When Minho brings the food, Jisung successfully pulls him down to eat with all of you. It’s polarizing how you used to hate meal times, used to hate thinking about what to eat, or the fact that you’d be eating alone. Now, with laughter roaring from your table, you find yourself excited.

People are calling out for you to eat.

You spend hours there, listening to their stories. Before you know it, night dawns upon you, and Felix offers to walk you home.

“(Name)?”

“Hm?” You turn your head to look at Felix who’s already looking at you with a smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything, though.” You laugh, and Felix shakes his head as he maintains unwavering eye contact.

“Thanks to you, I feel happier now.” There’s a toothless grin on his face, though, it’s threatening to grow even wider by the second.

He genuinely looks happy.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Felix’s words stay stuck in your mind even as you lay down to sleep. For a brief moment, you were able to make him happier. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more accomplished than this very moment. There are no words to describe how beautiful the feeling is of being the cause of someone’s smile.

The rest of the night is spent thinking, and it’s only when your phone buzzes is it interrupted.

hyunjin (10:48pm): hi, are you asleep? i hope i’m not bothering you

yn (10:49pm): hello! not asleep yet :) you’re not bothering me at all

hyunjin (10:51pm): seungmin’s exams ran longer than i thought

yn (10:51pm): tell him i said hi !!

hyunjin (10:52pm): is texting a bother? do your wrists hurt when you type?

yn (10:52pm): just a little

He calls you suddenly, and it’s enough for your heart to jump straight out of your chest. Pressing the phone to your ear, you finally speak. “Hello?”

“I hope your wrists don’t hurt anymore.” You can hear the mumble of cars honking in the background, but his words tune them out.

“I guess this will do.”

Hyunjin pauses for a moment, allowing himself the moment to soak up the warmth of your voice and how two days is far too long to be away from your sweet voice.

“It’s nice to hear your voice.”

You swallow hard, shutting your eyes as you bring the phone away a little to let out a suppressed scream. You feel like a schoolgirl, kicking your feet and giggling over his words.

Calming yourself down, you reply, “But, don’t you have to sleep now?”

“Hmm, not yet.“

“Well, what do you wanna talk about?”

“Everything. I wanna know everything about you.” He breathes from his end of the line, running a hand through his hair.

You can hear the sincerity from his voice even if you can’t see him.

“Oh.” You murmur. There’s a blush playing on your cheeks. How is he able to make you feel everything all at once?

The conversation lasts almost 2 hours, until he has to let you go so you can sleep before the clock strikes one in the morning. He feels slightly terrible for keeping you up, but he’s selfish in that it doesn’t bother him that much. Hyunjin missed you, missed the lull of your voice, and he’s happy to have heard it before going to sleep.

“I’ll see you tomorrow? For the movie?”

“Okay. See you.”

You can almost see him, open-mouthed smiles as he speaks. It’s always so evident in his voice when he does.

“Goodnight.”

“Sleep well.”

Hyunjin drifts off to sleep, and it’s the best one he’s had since yesterday.

twelve.

You tug at the dress you’re wearing as you wait outside the theater building. It’s a simple sleeveless white dress that goes down just above your knees, yet you’re still a little nervous whether you’re underdressed or overdressed. Your hair is down as it always is, a little messed up from the wind, and you had worn lip gloss after Kkami had barked once when you’d asked him.

It’s a simple theater for a simple date. You’re not even sure if you could call it a date, yet you were both ecstatic to finally watch the movie and to watch it with Hyunjin.

Smoothening down the creases of your dress that aren’t even there, you finally catch sight of Hyunjin from afar. He looks so handsome with his white sweater and denim pants, hair tucked behind his ears as he wears a pretty-boy-but-is-unaware smile.

Aphrodite’s son.

He’s waving at you, cheeks flushed in a warmth you fail to see as you try to suppress your own grin.

His knee-jerking reaction to you is open-mouthed staring, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips to your hair to your dress all in the span of a second.

Hyunjin isn’t as relaxed as he thought he was. He had prepared himself to see you again after two days, prepared to watch a movie with you and possibly brush hands as you reach for the popcorn, though he wasn’t quite prepared for the white dress you’re wearing. His brain short circuits, and he’s malfunctioning.

“Shall we head inside?”

He’s not able to respond right away. You’re pretty, and he’s nervous, and you’re pretty, and his palms are sweating, and you’re pretty, and words are failing him, and you’re pretty, and you’re shifting your weight back and forth, and you’re so pretty.

“(Name).” Hyunjin’s finally able to say. “You look beautiful."

You look up at him and he looks away. You can only blush in response as you thank him, fiddling with the necklace you’re wearing.

“I’m wearing this by the way.” If Hyunjin thought he couldn’t smile even more, he was wrong, especially peering down at the necklace he had gifted you. The one you’re wearing.

It was nearly seven o'clock when you finished watching the movie. You’re still excited over seeing one of your favorite Disney princess’s on the big screen, but you’re starting to feel a little tired.

The crowded bus was too much for the both of you, so you decide to walk back together. Thirty minutes might sound like a long walk, but Hyunjin begs to differ if it meant being separated from you at the end of it.

Thirty minutes is way too short to walk with you.

“The movie was fun.” He breaks the silence, and you nod your head in agreement with a huge smile on your face. You can still picture Ariel in your head, yet what stuck out most to you was the panicked way Hyunjin had been when he first walked in before completely relaxing when he was seated next to you.

“Hyunjin.”

“Yes?”

“You seemed like you’ve never been to a theater before.”

“It is my first time.” He looks down at his feet, a small grin tugging on his lips at how he’ll forever be able to hold the memory of watching a movie for the first time in theaters.

Especially when it was with you.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing.” It comes out as a whisper, genuinely shocked that Hyunjin hadn’t bothered coming into theaters at all. There’s so much to him, and you want to learn them all.

“Why don’t we kill some time by playing 21 questions?”

“Okay.” He replies a little too quickly for his liking. He can’t hide his eagerness at getting to know you and everything about you. Like that phone call last night.

“Okay.” You repeat, smiling while nodding your head as you think of a question to ask. “Hmm, what’s your favorite fruit?”

“Apples are my favorite.”

“Wow, you answered so quickly.” A quiet chuckle escapes his lips at the realization. Though, you should’ve made the connection when he had mentioned apples back when you had offered him some ice cream.

“Mine are strawberries!” You point excitedly at the black crochet bag you always carry with you, a big strawberry in the middle.

“Strawberries.” He keeps in mind, looking back at you as you keep talking, asking him one question after the other.

You are so lovely, Hyunjin thinks. The sort of person puts a smile on everyone’s face when you walk into the room. The way you quietly speak and the humble way in which you treat everyone has Hyunjin thinking that you must be unaware of how much of an impact you actually have on the people around you.

Seungmin is thankful for you, admiring your hard work. Hyunjin has caught him rereading the article you had written multiple times, praise leaving his lips when he thinks no one can hear.

Chan sees you as a little sister, so fond of you in such a short amount of time. He thinks he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face.

Felix thinks of flowers when he sees you.

“Oh, the moon looks so pretty tonight.” You suddenly mention, staring wondrously at the bright moon and the way the stars litter the sky.

“Do you wanna sit down for a moment?”

“Can we?” The excitement in your voice is hard to miss as Hyunjin guides you over to sit on a block situated at the side of the street. It’s the perfect spot, offering you a view of the sea and the pretty night sky.

You close your eyes to listen to the waves crashing clearer, to feel the breeze better, to smell the salty scent of the sea.

Your thoughts drift everywhere; to your escape from the city to the first time you met Hyunjin and the way he hadn’t spoken a single word to you. It’s always been at the back of your head, but you never so much as spared it any time to resurface. Though, now was probably the perfect time to ask him about it.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Of course.”

“When we first met, why did you not talk to me?”

Hyunjin thinks back at the time, almost letting out a small laugh in embarrassment when he remembers the way he had greeted you with nothing but silence. It was only a matter of time before you’d ask him.

“Actually…” He looks down at his hands, carefully folded on his lap. “I have trouble talking to strangers.”

“Does that mean you feel comfortable around me now?” Oh, his stomach doesn’t feel so great at the way you’re looking at him right now. He has never felt such violent butterflies in his stomach.

“Yeah.” Blink and you miss it, the way his eyes flicker to your lips before frisking them away to stare at the moon instead.

You stretch your legs out, swaying them back and forth as you lull your head back to stare at the vastness of the sky. The waves and your subtle breathing are the only sounds that accompany the stillness with Hyunjin.

How long had that same peace transferred from the library to the boy seated beside you?

This moment feels nice, though, it seems to only be a catalyst at making you realize how real your feelings are. Hyunjin really is starting to feel like love.

He looks at you as you’re too busy staring at the little things nature had sent to keep you two company.

“When I’m with you, it’s nice that I don’t have to talk so much.” You say suddenly.

His eyes never once leave you as you speak, and it only has his heart beating faster when he realizes that the look in your eyes is something so similar to the way he looks at you. It’s the same one he gives you when you don’t notice him looking at you. The stripped back and bare softness he shows even when he doesn’t try to.

“It’s the opposite for me.” He speaks with a smile that he doesn’t even notice has grown brighter and brighter. “When I’m with you, I tend to talk more.”

Lovestruck is the only word to describe the way his words slip out of his mouth, and no level of words can possibly describe the softness in his eyes.

“Ever since I was young, talking to someone… always felt like a burden to me. It’s never felt that way with you.”

The way you’re looking at him only encourages him to speak more—your naturally dusted cheeks, gentleness swimming in your eyes, and the wind blowing through your hair. How can you sit there and be so unaware of how beautiful you are?

“This is a little selfish of me but…” Midway through his sentence, he breathes out a little. As if to help him in saying what’s burning on the tip of his tongue. “I hope you don’t leave.”

You lean forward to hear him better.

“When you first came to the library to make a membership card, when we spent the afternoon repairing books, when I took you home when you were completely wasted… when we had ice cream together on the library bench, when we went to interview the old lady together, and when you let me meet Kkami the night we had dinner together…”

What was happiness before he knew what your smile looked like and what your voice sounds like? Hyunjin’s voice gradually softens with each memory he recounts.

“I was happy. I’m truly happy that you came to Angok.”

There's a stifling silence on the other end, as you process his words.

You never stood a chance. You were gone the moment you had set eyes on him, when you had accidentally caused a small commotion in Angok’s public library. You had signed over your heart the second he had uttered his first words to you—“you’re hello again.”

His eyes flicker from yours down to your lips, and there’s a hitch in your breath as you breathe in. It feels as though your heart could explode at any moment.

Hyunjin reaches out to brush a hand against your cheek, tentative as he draws himself closer to you. His hand is warm against the night breeze, and you find yourself leaning against him unconsciously.

“So I really hope you don’t leave.” He whispers, and you breathe at the overwhelming sincerity.

His eyes drop back down to your lips, face hovering over yours. Almost hesitant. It’s like he’s waiting for you to make a move, waiting for you to show you won’t leave. You push your lips in his, and he’s still for a second, as if unable to believe you’re kissing him at this very moment.

When he’s finally able to recover, he keeps a hand cupped on your cheek while the other travels around your waist. He holds you against him tightly, but his lips couldn’t be any more gentle as they move against yours. It’s soft, unmoving even. Your heart flutters when his lips chase after yours after you pull away for a second to catch your breath, and you’re kissing again.

Again and again and again until all you can think about is him. You had always been afraid of seeing the city in his eyes and feeling it in his lips, but you never did.

His eyes struggle to stay open when you push your foreheads together, finally breaking away from the kiss. There’s a small smile on his mouth, the one he always wears with you, and the look of fondness in his eyes.

“I’m not gonna leave.”

A shooting star spears through the dark. You both wish to stay like this forever.

thirteen.

A few days after your silent confession, Seungmin passes the Civil Licensure exam.

The boy had apparently been trying to hide his success from Hyunjin, yet was unsuccessful when he forgot he had given Hyunjin the log-in credentials to the site when he thought he’d be too nervous to view it himself.

So, you and Hyunjin plan a surprise celebration.

If Seungmin hadn’t been so caught up in trying to hide the secret you had already known about, maybe he would’ve noticed the way Hyunjin disappears from the library sometimes only to reappear, and the way you’ve been on your phone way more often than you normally are.

Getting Seungmin to the rooftop of Chan’s home was easier than you had expected. For someone who asks a lot of questions, Seungmin had simply stared at Hyunjin suspiciously when he had suddenly expressed the urge to watch the night’s constellations at Chan’s roof. Yet, feeling like he owed the boy for driving and staying with him in Seoul, he complies.

The surprise had taken a while to plan, yet everyone was willing to help after hearing the news. Everyone sits on the roof to wait, antsy when they hear Seungmin’s blabbermouth complain about accompanying Seungmin as he gets on the stairs. You all see Hyunjin first, who’s subtly pointing at his back to signal that Seungmin was coming in hot.

When he finally emerges from the steps, all of you jump in a chorus of “Surprise!”

There’s a small tarpaulin with Seungmin’s name and a congratulations tied between two makeshift posts, and the boy hides his face in embarrassment when he spots a poorly photoshopped picture of him on the side of the printed paper.

“It’s nice to celebrate this good news with everyone.” Hyunjin says, and while Seungmin’s continuing to blabber about in mock irritation, all of you know he’s grateful by the way he looks at how the rooftop is decorated in awe. Fairy lights are hung around like additional stars, and everyone has bright smiles on their faces as they all go in to wish the boy their individual congratulations.

“Congratulations on making it to Seoul!” Chan’s voice is booming as he hugs the boy. While Seungmin naturally recoils from any form of skinship, he finds himself returning most of the hugs given to him.

“Make sure you eat a lot.” Minho smiles as he looks proudly at the food he had brought, all set on the table as he prepares to cook some beef to serve as all of you eat.

“Thank you for the food!”

“Is it good?” Minho’s grilling meat on the side, continuing to prepare food as everyone around him eats satisfyingly. Sometimes, Jeongin would get up from his seat to feed Minho a piece to make sure he was eating too.

“It’s so juicy.” Changbin exclaims in pure ecstasy, and Chan can only laugh at his exaggerated response. “Your beef always tastes good, Minho.”

Jeongin’s walking around with a platter of cooked beef to serve for everyone, like he does at Minho’s restaurant. Lovely chatter echoes from the roof, laughter prominent as Jisung is on fire with his jokes. All the while, Seungmin is roasting the poor boy.

“This is the good stuff. Look at the marbling on this meat.” Minho boasts as he sets down the final platter on the table, taking a seat next to Jisung as he finally starts digging in. “Jeongin, come and eat.”

“This is so good.” Your mouth drops after you swallow the piece of beef you had grabbed. Minho just laughs fondly at the praise as he keeps eating.

As your eyes travel around everyone on the table, you can’t help but think of something your mom used to tell you — a home isn't always the house we live in. it's also in the people we choose to surround ourselves with.

Home is the gleeful playing of instruments from Jisung and Changbin, it’s baked in an oven and served fresh as brownies from Felix, it’s grateful smiles from Seungmin, it’s Chan trampled with fondness, it’s the grilled beef Minho is cooking, it’s Kkami barking in happiness as Jeongin plays with him, it’s the hand holding yours and the gentle smile on Hyunjin’s lips as he urges you to eat more.

“Oh, before I forget. I have something for you.” Said boy brings you back to reality, and he pulls out a magazine in his hand, smiling widely as he looks down at it then at you expectantly.

“What is it?” You take it from him, flipping through the pages.

“Youth of Angok. It was released yesterday.”

“No way!” You look for the article you wrote, skimming through the pages before smiling at the photo of the old lady you had taken. “Wait, hold on. Don’t tell me you read it already.”

“No, I haven’t read it yet.” Hyunjin has a fair share of tells when he lies. One of them is in the way he can’t look at you, like the way he’s avoiding your eyes right now. “It was great by the way. You write so well.”

You laugh, giggles blending with Jisung’s music. “Thank you.”

Changbin’s booming voice interrupts all the ongoing conversations, abruptly getting up as he grabs a box he had hidden to the side. “I have a surprise now that we’re all full. Sponsored by Seo’s convenience store, you’re welcome.”

He hands each one of you with sparklers, and it’s absolutely beautiful when he lights them up and pushes everyone to get up and dance to Jisung’s guitar accompaniment as the fireworks glow from everyone’s hold. Like everyone is capable of holding fire in their hands.

Music from your childhood plays in your head, the same one you never thought you’d hear again as Hyunjin tugs on your hand to pull you to where everyone is dancing, a sparkler on the hand that isn’t intertwined together.

“This is so pretty!” Felix exclaims, waving it around as the lights spring out of the stick in his hand. Jeongin’s carrying Kkami now, dancing with him in his arms.

“I’ve never done this before.” Felix looks to you with so much happiness radiating off of him, dancing around as he stares at his sparkler fireworks.

“Me neither.” You reply with the same excitement, looking to see Hyunjin already looking at you with a smile on his face. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

You thought about what happiness is.

You’ve looked it up in a dictionary once—it is a state of being pleased, fulfilled, and content in life. You think that definition is too long.

Happiness. The state of being sufficient.

Happiness. This moment right now.

Hyunjin’s arm snakes around you, pulling you closer to him as the wind flows between all of you, whisking your hair and ruffling your clothes up as happy singing falls in your ears.

“Hi.” He whispers, caressing your waist. It makes goosebumps erupt, and you know what he’s about to do as he presses a short kiss on your lips.

Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be thunderstorms. There’s no need for the sticky swarm of office workers, or the silence of dinners. You don’t have to think of the city. Sometimes, love is tucked away in a little town you least expect to find it. Sometimes, there is time to make happiness. And sometimes, family can be regained.

Your life is sufficient.

You’ll live this life.

---

i really REALLY wanted to avoid serious talks on my blog, and i wanted to avoid making this private matter public, but i am left with no choice.

my kinich smau “get him back” has been plagiarized. the main plotline, which follows the life of the mc, is based off my own experiences this past year in university. the other main plotline follows mualani as she struggles to get over her ex, kinich, and attempts to maintain a stable relationship with the mc, who is her best friend.

user @/he4rted has not only stolen my plotline and labeled it as “inspiration,” but has blatantly lied to my face when i cordially confronted her about the matter in private. i kindly asked her to take the fic down, as it is a direct copy of my own, but she has refused. hence, the point of this post. i have provided evidence below to the copies of my work, as well as our messages.

our messages:

her work, side by side with the plot she stole from my work:

i am EXTREMELY uncomfortable, not only because i have had my work stolen, but also because “get him back” is very personal to me. as i said before, i have directly based it off of my own experiences, and for that reason, this has affected me greatly. not only that, but this is my work that i have spent countless hours on.

i originally posted this smau on september 12th, 2024. she posted the copied work on her account on january 12th, 2025. i have listed proof below.

exactly 4 months apart:

i was not made aware of this situation until yesterday.

after looking through her accounts, i realized this may not be the first time she has stolen from others. not only that, but her final response in our messages insinuates that she has copied others before and altered their plots to make it seem like it is just simple inspiration.

please DO NOT send her hate of any kind. just a simple report and block will do. i advise looking through her accounts for yourself, as well.

again, i really hate to make this public as i prefer to settle matters privately, but since i have been refused of my request to have the fic taken down and i have been blatantly lied to, my hand has been forced. i will not sit here and allow my work to be stolen from me.

plagiarism is NOT okay.

i care btw. i care abt the song ur listening to or the bug u saw or how u just got outta the shower or how ur happily hanging out w ur friends or how ur kinda sad or how good was the meal u just had or ur fav character from an indie game nobody knows or if u chugged down some water. i always will

goosebumps. i cried. i laughed. i cried some more. i giggled. SPECTACULAR GIMME 14 OF EM RIGHT NOW. AND THE REFERENCES?? "Nah we'd win" "The Strongest" LIKE CMONNN YOU DONT GOTTA MAKE ME CRY LIKE THAT MANE 😞

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}

summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3

word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)

authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333

you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.

he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.

and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.

until he saw you skate.

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire

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Gojo x Deadpool 😫😫😫

Art by: akutawah

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FREE THESE BOYS FROM TBE SHACKLES OF BEKIFT!!

not even 24 hours after a 401 day tour, belift are announcing another tour? do they understand how crazy this is? those boys are being worked to the bone and soon enough their health - both physical and mental - is going to decline and then it's not just going to be 'oh jay ill sit out two shows' or 'jake just had to take skip two songs', it's going to end up with them being so overworked that they'll take hiatus' that last months, the members will lose their love for their job, and the entire situation is going to get out of control.

jay has an injury that is already serious but imagine the damage that could be made from all the shows of a new tour? plus all the added schedules ontop of that? ni-ki spoke about how exhausted he was during the tour and that can only lead to further sickness or being mentally and emotionally drained. even if you did go to he concert, could you actually enjoy yourself knowing that they're suffering????

i am begging you all to boycott this tour, i've seen it happen before when fans boycotted mamamoo's tour and it got postponed and the company listened to the concerns. i know it's belift so there is a chance they won't even acknowledge it, but low ticket sales means the promotor and label will most likely cancel which tbh is what we should all want.

enhypen have been working non-stop since debut and i fear it'll only get worse if all of us don't work together on expressing our concerns.

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OH MY DAYS THIS WAS GENUINELY SO GOOD GUYS!! best fic ive ever read??

it’s cupid, stupid! | lhs

୨୧ SYNOPSIS -›  To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?

୨୧ PAIR  -› golden boy!heeseung x fem-pres!reader

୨୧ GENRE -› fluff, pining, hurt/angst, slow burn (oops), bakery au, summer au, post highschool au | ୨୧ TROPES -› (slightly one sided) enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers | ୨୧ WC -› 20k (jfc)

୨୧ INCLUDES -› CURSING, food mentions, a self indulgent characterization of my grandmother but she’s also everyone else’s in this fic, the bakery has foods from like 40 different cultures, both mc and hee get burned but it’s tiny, heeseung’s parents r lowk overachieving assholes this is NOT a reflection of anyone irl, ew so much banter, heeseung and mc drink from the same straw ik that’s an ick for some LOL, underaged alcohol consumption (and being drunk)…sorry

୨୧ REN SAYS... thank u thank u thank u peng aka @jlheon for beta reading this in one sitting for me!!! your comments were so cute i'm so glad you enjoyed reading it <3

plsplsplspls reblog and send feedback/asks if you liked this!

Lee Heeseung might only have eleven characters to his name, but they spelt trouble in forty different ways. 

It starts with the same old Lee Heeseung spilling his applesauce on you in the first grade, with his cup of mushy lukewarm grossness splattered across your new pants with glittery stars on them. You shriek when it happens, frantically wiping off the mess and yelling at his Lightning McQueen lunchbox with all of the bottled up rage a six year old can have. His eyes are wide, but all his friends laugh and say girls are so angry all the time, so he stops himself from apologizing. Which, you think his friends were being a little rude to all girls alike, but what mattered was that Lee Heeseung never ended up saying sorry. 

But that’s just one way of spelling it. He hit you in the face with a ball, ran into you when your knee was scraped and you almost were bursting into tears, and tripped you in the lunch line. 

Did the universe hate you, or did he? 

You figured it was the latter.

Heeseung’s been stuck to you your entire life with some extra strong adhesive that you can’t seem to get off. You wish you could get some of the same glue that stuck you two to the hip and attach his tongue to the nearest streetlight, but things almost never worked in your favor. If you could catch him, just once, like one of the dumb boys who lick frozen poles in winter, you’d be satisfied. 

The blackmail would trump any sort of Heeseung related adversity your elementary grade self had to deal with. 

Unfortunately, the years have rendered you no protection against him, and in the small victories you find yourself in, you also see Heeseung right next to you. The exam you aced was topped by Heeseung with a 98%, just a bit higher than your 96%, and it couldn’t even feel good to talk about it because you knew all your friends talked about was how he did the best. Better than you. 

There was no accomplishment anymore when Heeseung was around. 

Heeseung was perfect in everyone’s eyes, a golden boy in their praises and a role model for their parents. If people didn’t want to be with Lee Heeseung, people wanted to be Lee Heeseung. That? That was something you hated. How could people want to be someone who you couldn’t stand?

Summer is a new slate- a very humid new beginning for you to get away from people at school and hang out with only your closest of friends and to ghost any new message you get. That is, if you choose to. Or, you could have an objectively more “hot girl summer” where you go to pools and post pictures on social media and talk about strangers on the internet. Unfortunately, none of those things seemed to be a viable option, with your friends in different countries and in cute swimsuits. Your visits to your grandmother had been so pushed back with all of the finals on top of exams and end of the year festivities that it had been a while since you last saw her. Spending time with her this summer was your number one priority- your friends could wait a few weeks to hang out again. 

You spend your first Saturday at her house making pastries with oddly reminiscent spices and a sprinkle of your childhood within every slice. If there’s one person you can trust to stay the same, it’s your dear grandma, with her decade old recipes and hard to find ingredients that she sometimes makes you go on a manhunt for. It’s endearing in a way to know that her cooking will never change, and maybe it’s the reason you make an effort to visit when you can. You love your grandma, and you always have, because she’s the only true constant in a world that’s constantly changing. 

You’ve made a feast by the time the sun barely peeks from the edge of the ground. You’ve measured countless spoons of sauces and powdery substances that all look the same and you're surprised the sauce you burned still tastes good. She’s finished setting up the table, and you two can finally dig into your favorite authentic cooking. Even if you see her quite frequently, she doesn’t always cook. Sometimes it’s leftovers, sometimes it’s take-out. But today was different. 

After you’ve both finished, your grandma hands you plastic wrapped dishes filled with mere fractions of what you two have made. She tells you to go to the Lee’s down the road, and your eyes narrow slightly. Lee is also the last name of Heeseung. So, what would be the odds it was him? 

Not likely. Heeseung would think he’s too cool to live in an area like this. His parents are probably minted- and if not loaded, then well off. 

Well, you were 100% wrong! Lee Heeseung does seem to live here, and you will admit the porcelain figures of calico cats in the dark as shapeless silhouettes were a little frightening at first. Your grandma washed away your previous concerns with a “Of course they’ll be home! Heeseung always answers the door for me.” and pushes you out of the house to deliver the two boxes of leftovers that smell delectable. If you weren’t so full, you’d just take a different route and have it for yourself. 

You can hear the ‘it’s our neighbor!’ And a pair of footsteps tumbling down the carpeted stairs to answer the doorbell. 

Lee fucking Heeseung in his sock and pajama clad glory. How punchable he looked in this very moment, with his warm brown dyed hair and white t-shirt. 

“I have leftovers. For your family.” His widened eyes immediately go back to their normal state, and he reaches out to meet your offering halfway. 

“You live here?” He asks, in a calm, civil manner that you don’t think you’ve ever seen with him. 

“Grandma does- I’m just her errand…runner.” You respond, in a not so smooth way. You wince internally at how choppy your words come out, but make no further effort to fix it. By now, it’s Heeseung who’s holding the styrofoam boxes. Your job is done. “Do you live here?” 

He nods solemnly, a smile filled with a smidgen of pride dusted across his features. He loves this house- Heeseung’s been in it his entire life, and it’s obvious the memories that have stayed with him since childhood make him far from ashamed to say it’s where he’s grown up all these years. But you? Could you say the same thing about the simple abode you went home to everyday? 

Maybe not. Another reason why Heeseung had it perfect, and another reason to resent him. 

You sighed to ease the tension that had condensed between the two of you. His mom wondered what took him so long, and he wondered the same question. 

Before you’re about to turn away, he blurts, “Thanks for the food.” You turn around, nodding a silent ‘of course,’ and walking away. 

At that very moment, there was no reason to hate Lee Heeseung. But as you walked away and back to your house, you hated the calico cats and the gate you entered through the house he went back inside to. 

The nostalgic board game high with your grandma does not last for long. As if the universe needed another reason to hate you, the unfortunate truth was that there was always more in store when you were subjected to a bad day, a bad week, or even a case of bad luck. You come back to the mahogany door to terrible news- your grandmother is sick. You rush out of her house the same day with the names of medicinal cures scribbled on a notecard and an urgency in your step. You buy her enough to last for the next few lifetimes, but it doesn’t matter. Anything healthy you could find in the fresh food aisle, you put in your cart, and when you came home, she was already up and sweeping the cold floors with a cough threatening to overwhelm her. 

Sometimes, you wish she didn’t overwork herself. You gently coerce her into laying on the couch, taking some of the medicine you got with a cup of warm water to ease her throat. She says nothing and you expect nothing in return for the last minute shopping you’ve done, but her eyes hold a sincere thankfulness that you know she will never speak aloud. When she’s retired to her bed, you finish unpacking the groceries and complete the mental task of chores your grandma would’ve exerted herself to finish independently. When you’ve finished, your hands are dry with soap and cleaning products, and your arms ache from the mopping, but the house is clean, and your grandma is sleeping well in the other room. You turn off the tv with one of her shows and switch off the light, heading back to your room and changing out of your clothes. By the time you crawl into your bed and charge your phone, the moon is the last thing you remember seeing before you fall asleep.

Monday comes unexpectedly, despite time still being on its course. You find yourself flipping through the cookbooks that littered the walls in your grandmother’s room, and in turn, the absolute urge to busy yourself in her passions manifested in the impulsive decision to work at her bakery. 

“Could- could I go work in the shop?” 

At first, her rejection was through scowls and furrowed eyebrows wondering why someone like you would want to fill their youthful summer days dusting surfaces with flour and kneading doughs instead of living the dream and swimming in turquoise waters. Her second rejection is easier to register. “I already have Hee helping me.” She states plainly, excusing the idea of two people in one room to run her business. Your nose scrunches up, and the temperature of your blood increases tenfold.

“Heeseung,” she clarifies, with almost too much enthusiasm. “He’s in your grade. Goes to your school, too.” She smiles, brushing a section of hair behind your ear and examining the imperfections on your skin. You frown, the obvious displeasure plastered on your features. It’s not hard to notice you don’t like what she just told you. “You don’t like him?”

“It’s whatever.” You tell her, shrugging away from her gaze and shrinking in on yourself. “I don’t care much for him.” 

What a lie! “It seems like you don’t like him.” She comments.

Of course you don’t like him. Heeseung is stuck up, arrogant, and looks past people like who- people who just aren’t as perfect as him. “I mean, why can’t I help you? Shouldn’t Heeseung….rest for the summer?” 

“It’s fine- he’s helped me out multiple times anyways.” She concludes, closing the book she was reading previously. “I wouldn’t mind you coming down to help, I’m sure 17 year olds like you and Hee can run things by yourself.” You raise an eyebrow at both of your names mentioned, but don’t speak out against her. 

You can run it by yourself, but you won’t, simply because your grandmother seems to have an affinity for some boy you just happen to hate. Plus, if Heeseung messes up, you get all the triple chocolate cake to yourself, so you’ll pray on his downfall until then. 

Wednesday morning is when you head over to the bakery, at a much earlier time than usual. The business doesn’t open until at least an hour later, and you spend the time preparing the mixing stands and covering the sweet rolls to be baked in a light sheen of oil. When the sun shines more vibrantly in the morning sky, and the cars honk at the traffic, a ruffled head of hair enters the building, and you’re very worried that you might’ve forgotten to lock the doors. “Sorry, we’re closed!” You yell out, but Lee Heeseung’s tuft of tinted hair is already in your vicinity. 

“The real question would be why you’re here, Miss _____.” He glances towards you, curiosity glazing his eyes over. You immediately scowl at his slightly teasing tone, one that could feel even condescending if he pushed that boundary just a bit more. Lee Heeseung might objectively be better than you in the eyes of an average high schooler, but frankly, you were just the same, and he had no right to sound that amused when you woke up and came here first. It’s 8:03am, and you already found just one more reason to hate him. 

You roll your eyes, knowing that with your back turned to him, he wouldn’t notice the obvious displeasure. “I can’t help out my grandma?” 

It’s so quiet in the place that you hear him suck on a breath behind you. “She’s your grandma?” 

“Did you not remember when I dropped off the food? Oh right, you probably wouldn’t spend your time on something so…,” you pause, racking your brain for a word you think he would use. “‘insignificant.’” 

Rustling. He takes a bowl and a carton of eggs. “Don’t put words in my mouth. Sorry, it’s just so difficult to believe you’re related to her.” Were you really that detached from your culture, or was Heeseung just mean? 

Lee Heeseung’s words get right under your skin, and it makes you see red. You frown in his direction, disregarding his words and moving on with your day.  “Yeah, my grandma is nice, I just don’t know why she thinks you’re a saint.”

“She thinks I’m a saint?” And you see something for the first time, something that’s akin to stars in his eyes, and the corner of his lips turn in satisfaction. He doesn’t even comment on how you’ve let it slip that you’re jealous of their relationship. 

“Maybe in your dreams.” 

“You just said-“ 

You feel like two cats about the fight behind a dumpster, before the door jingles, and someone walks into your conversation with Heeseung. 

“Sorry, is the shop not-?”

You rush to the counter before Heeseung does, counting it as a mental victory to take the first order. 

“It is! What would you like?” It’s something else you can tell your grandma when you get home- that you’ve been starting off all the work in the bakery, and you’re ‘not sure what Heeseung really does.’

The professionalism masks the irritation on his features, and you would’ve killed to see Lee Heeseung’s frown once more. 

When the customer is done telling you his order, you make sure he gets everything he needs, fully satisfied before the ring of the door is heard once more during his departure. The corner of your lip turns up into a grin, victorious as you childishly tease your co-worker. 

“I’m going to do the most around here, and I don’t need your pretty face getting in the way of things.” 

While he denies the rest, Heeseung doesn’t quite ignore what you said about his features. 

When noon has passed, but the sun still glares down on everyone outside, you work just as hard as the white ceiling fan providing cool air for everyone inside. You work in silence, with a playlist filling the air and adding to the ambience, as you listen to your own music through your headphones. Heeseung works without interacting with you more than what needs to be done, and rarely asks for help. He doesn’t let people down; if anything, he exceeds their expectations, but never yours. It’s been like this since the beginning, and you’re convinced it’s something personal- some wrangle ever since you two learned what cooties were that lasted until now. 

“____,” He starts, turning to you. You glance at him, waiting for the boy to continue. “Can you make the brown sugar milk tea- it’s on the-“ 

“I know where it is.” You snip.

Heeseung makes the right choice (in your opinion) to say nothing as you proceed to grab a cup and open the container of boba pearls. After you’ve taken a few orders, you move to the back of the bakery to pull the tray of matcha sheet cake onto the counter to cool. 

“Have you seen the scissors?” Heeseung asks out of nowhere, startling you from the doorway. 

Reaching for the ones you used to cut the parchment paper with, you hand the pair to him and with a mumbled ‘thank you,’ he makes his leave.

In an odd way, you’re stunned by the silence that follows. A “you suck, _____!” would be more in character for villainous Lee Heeseung than whatever just happened. But you’re way too occupied with the bakery, and go back to cutting squares in the matcha cake. 

It’s the same for the next hour until the rush ends and you get a bit more time to yourselves between orders. Heeseung agrees to wash the dishes and you clean the tables to the sound of your playlist from the speakers. 

“You have good music taste.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he emerges. He wipes his hand on a white towel and you stare at him, utterly puzzled. Where’s the malice? Where’s his snarky comments?

“I’m waiting for you to tell me it’s not as good as yours, or something along those lines.” You deadpan. 

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “I’m not that mean, I can give a compliment or two when I feel like it.” 

“Oh, poor Lee Heeseung only has so much room in his heart to compliment people. How thankful should I be that you spend your daily supply of niceness on me?” You snap, cleaning off the tables. Your chest feels light and you don’t feel as angry as you did this morning, finding your digs to be more playful that serious

Blame it on the lack of sleep.

“I think you should be bowing down to me and only talking when I tell you to.” He jokes, and when you glance up, there’s a semblance of a smile on his face. “Anyways, when are you leaving?”

“Whenever you leave.” You tell him, shrugging. 

“Your grandma said she didn’t want you to stay too late but she also wanted me to take you home, and I think she’d throw a fit if you didn’t. You were dropped off this morning, right?”

“I’d die before getting into a car with you, Lee Heeseung.” 

“If I had to get into a car with you, that’s probably how I’d die.” He responds lightly. You furrow your eyebrows and rack your brain for some sort of retort that hurts Heeseung’s pride, but nothing comes up. 

“My driving skills are very good, I’ll have you know.” 

He jabs, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“How about, next time you come, you leave with your bumper falling off? Some bad driving, yeah?” 

Heeseung could start feeling dizzy if his eyes continue to roll around in his skull. “Sure, we’ll see what your insurance has to say about that.” 

The aroma of vanilla slips through the air, and momentarily distracts you as you make haste to get it from the ringing oven. Unfortunately, your enthusiasm spills over the rim, and when reaching inside, you feel the burn of the sheet cake as you leave it on the iron rack to cool. Heeseung doesn’t tear his eyes from the way you jump back, squeezing the tender skin between your fingers as you blow on it in puffs. 

“Are you okay? Here-“ He reaches for your hand, but gentle. “Let me see that.” Heeseung soothes the slight pain with his thumb running over the burn, and his breath cooling it down slowly. 

“I’m fine.” You tell him, slowly pulling your finger away. His gaze snaps back up at you, and you feel your disdain for him dwindle ever so slightly. Maybe the Heeseung that rushed to make sure you were okay isn’t so bad. 

“Right. You’ll be fine.” And he doesn’t know if it’s something he tells himself, or if he’s telling you, when he goes to get some ointment. 

“A grad party? With Heeseung? Invited?” 

You can’t see him, but you almost hear Sunoo’s pout from the line. “Yeah, I don’t even know why you two fight anyways.” 

You huff, laying back down on your bed after Sunoo’s confession made you shoot up in surprise. “Have you seen him? He’s the most stuck-up annoying person ever.” 

Your friend hums. “To be honest, I don’t think you really know him.” 

“I know him plenty. And there’s nothing good about him, like, ever!” 

“You barely even talk to him, ____.” The last week proves differently, but you bite your tongue.

“I talk to him enough!” You’d defend yourself until the end of the earth. “He’s just…always around me- not like I even want him to, or he’s always hanging out with my friends, or-“

“Our friends.” 

“Well, not really.” You think hard. “They’re only friends because you and I are friends, so I’m friends with Heeseung in a distant obligatory way. And I need to keep it that way by not coming to this party.” 

“Come on!” Sunoo whines from the phone, and you laugh at his antics. “It’s a grad party, you’ll be too busy talking with everyone else to care anyways.” 

“Well, maybe for a bit.” 

“When’s the next time we’ll even be able to see each other anyways? Considering all of this college stuff.” 

You break his facade. “We’re literally going swimming in two weeks from now.” Sunoo laughs. “No, ____. Swimming is different from eating snacks and playing dumb board games.” 

He’s right, and you admit that it’ll be fun for something once last time. 

Maybe Heeseung won’t even show up. 

The next day at the bakery, you rush to ask him, almost too eager to know his answer. “Are you going to Sunoo’s party?” Please say no please please please-

“Of course. I’m his friend. You weren’t invited, or something?” His tone makes you want to light a fire on his head. 

“I’m his friend, too. I was the first person he talked to about it, so of course I was invited, and of course I’m going.” You say it as if the boy in front of you didn’t make you single handedly question your attendance last night. You say it like your demeanor never faltered, not even once. You say it like Heeseung had no say in the decision.

Because he definitely didn’t.

“I’ll see you there, then.” He smiles at you, a glint of evil in his eyes as he gauges your reaction. You return his scheming grin, frosting a slice of cake before walking out and calling the order number. When Heeseung emerges from the paper white curtains, he sees you engrossed in helping a customer pick out a few of the best options for ‘something not so sweet.’ 

When you’re done, you turn around to take a sip of your iced tea. “Really?” He starts, stirring some milk into a swirling shot of espresso. “The red bean cake is your definition of not too sweet?” Your ear-to-ear smile falls when you hear the off-handed comment from Heeseung, leaning against the counter with his taro milk tea, with close to no sugar. 

“I’m sure if they asked you, they would’ve walked out with a cake that tastes like a sponge.” You retaliate. You do your best not to look so affected, seeing as there were other people in the vicinity. It’s a bakery, you have to keep up the comforting atmosphere. 

“I don’t really think you’re the best person to offer advice for those kinds of things, unfortunately.” His tone snips at your resolve, and with every passing moment you stare at his lips and listen to his words, the more you wish to sew them together. 

“Sure, and they’ll be satisfied with eating basically paper? Your standards are also a little far-fetched.” You busy yourself with cleaning the cups and bowls from this morning, physically turning away from him. 

He walks past you and into the kitchen, but not before saying, “I’m sorry one of us has good taste.” 

You pray to every being that someone keeps Heeseung from speaking another insufferable word. 

Sunoo’s house is as quaint as you remember, and although you don’t find yourself making the resemblance often, it suits him. With one hand occupied with holding a gift, and the other about to press the doorbell, you’re interrupted by an all too familiar voice. 

“I guess you did show up. Sucks to see my dreams didn’t come true.”

“I will throw this at you.” You motion to the neat basket in your hands.

Heeseung sighs dramatically, before continuing in the same feigned tone. “Would be a shame if Sunoo only had one gift from us.” 

“He’d understand.” You turn around to ring the doorbell, and Sunoo emerges, a bright smile on his face. He greets the both of you, and his quick side hug immediately reminds you of why you’re here. 

You will have a good time. And you won’t let any auburn haired boy ruin that. 

Despite being close to Sunoo, you’re not as close to the rest of his friends. He keeps his circle small, only with people he spends time with regularly. Which would be good for any other day, but for today, you feel almost like an outsider. Sunoo’s group of friends greet you all the same, and shower the boy behind you with affection. When you walk towards the kitchen, you catch some more of your mutual friends, and your nerves slowly ease away. You join their ongoing card game, an observer to it all as they yell in success or defeat. 

The group of people playing Taboo suddenly doubles as the six of Sunoo’s friends decide they want in. With the way you move to the floor, you’re so preoccupied with making sure there’s enough space for everyone and that all the cards are there, that you don’t realize where you’re sitting. 

Cross legged, on the ground, next to Lee Heeseung. 

You can’t get up, and you weakly protest against the many thoughts telling you that a game of Taboo with Lee Heeseung would get you so heated that everyone would see steam out of your ears by the end of the first round. 

“You know how to play?” Yuna starts to thumb through the cards, making sure all of them are placed in the right orientation. While the majority of you guys nod, a few of them shake their heads, and it prompts a quick explanation from Ryujin. 

“So, everyone gets a set of cards in a team of 3, and you have to describe it without using the words in the white box below. So for example, if my word is Vanilla, I can’t use the words bean, flavor, ice cream, extract, or chocolate.” She shows everyone the example card, and you all nod your heads. “Okay, now we divide into teams!” You tune out the rest of her words as she divides you all into sections based on where you’re sitting, and it leaves you with a twisting feeling. 

“Blue will be ____, Heeseung, and Jungwon!” 

Truly, was luck ever on your side?

You don’t have time to ponder just how horrible things are going, because Jungwon’s excitedly pulling you two close into a circle to discuss game plans. 

“Okay, just skip the cards you can’t answer, think about references rather than actual descriptions. Guys, the prize is good, Sunoo told me.” And the need to win anything reignites in your eyes, determination being your main motivation. 

Jake, Sunghoon, and Yuna go first, and guess four cards correctly. You feel the excitement coursing through the air like electricity, as everyone’s competitive spirit shows through. 

It’s finally your turn, and you volunteer to be the describer, picking up the cards with anticipation. You share a look with Heeseung and Jungwon, praying they share your wave of telepathy. 

First word- Engine. 

You scan through the words you’re not allowed to use, Jake watching over as your referee in case you slip up. 

“Okay, it’s the thing in the-“ You’re about to say car, but you pause, quickly trying to reevaluate your descriptions. The timer looms, and you feel panic settle in. “The thing that powers the…vroom vroom.” 

In Jungwon’s head, it clicks. “Engine!” You toss the card, reading the next. Egypt? 

“It’s a 3D thing, but it has three sides in north Africa.” 

“Pyramids.” Heeseung answers smoothly. 

You grin unknowingly. “Right-right, okay. Where is it?”

“Egypt.” 

“This is a Jesus related celebration-“ You continue, glancing at the hourglass as the sand slips through.

“Easter!” Jungwon says. “Christmas!” 

“The second one! It’s one of the little things you… put up!” 

“Stockings!” And you shake your head at Jungwon, goading them to think a bit more and guess. You glance up almost sheepishly, at a loss of words and stumbling over thoughts. Heeseung sighs, leaning back before looking at you again. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” You huff, flicking at the card anxiously. 

“Like what? Like you can’t describe a simple word?” 

“Oh, as if you could-“

“Ornament!” And with that, the timer ends. You glare at Heeseung, hard, and if you were anything like Superman, you really would’ve burned holes through his skull. Thankfully, with Jungwon was your mediator, you don’t say anything snarky back at him, staying silent as the other groups go. 

The first round tension eases as the night carries on. As Jake and Sunghoon score 7 cards in one round, it prompts you, Heeseung, and Jungwon to come together, a jittery feeling as you sip from a can of soda and pray your brain works in tandem with both of them. 

Remembering Heeseung’s your describer, you sink in your seat a little, feeling hopelessness consume your mind- but Jungwon doesn’t let you sulk as he cheers Heeseung on. “Last round!” He says, a sparkle in his eye. The teams are so close, and despite your team having the lowest points by being the last group to go, you know you can score the 6 points needed to beat Ni-ki, Ryujin, and Sunoo. 

The hourglass is flipped, and you hold your breath. 

“Naturally occuring formation,” he says smoothly, glancing at you and Jungwon. “Hot stuff.” 

It clicks. “Volcano!” Jungwon smiles, feeling victory running through his veins. Heeseung’s lip curls up. 

“It’s the saying with too many people, ‘three’s a..” He waits for you both to finish the line. 

“Crowd!” Heeseung and you smile at each other as he continues to rush through the cards, briefly glancing over to the timer. 

He falters slightly, before lighting up. “When you’re excited, you’re on ____ 9.” You finish it quickly, burning holes into the back of his cards before he continues. You have to win. 

“Jungwon, we played this game in 2020 on Discord with the guys!” 

“Among Us.” and you laugh at the references he makes to win.

“____, it’s the 60% thing you like at the bakery.”

Your breath hitches, and you almost forget to answer until you see the way he’s looking at you. 

“Chocolate.” You mumble, and he cracks a grin again, relieved to get it in only four seconds. 

With the way he looks at the words and furrows his eyes, you worry that the sand will slip through the hourglass completely before he can finish explaining the sixth and final word. 

Heeseung chooses to deviate from the normal meaning of the words, and chooses to use a different meaning of it in order to not risk using a word on his unavailable list. “When something is more spicy than you expect, you say it has a little something to it.” 

Your heart is beating wildly, and you’re barely in the same spot as you were when you first started, leaning over and closer to Heeseung’s curly fringe. “Kick!” you yell out, and the room explodes in commotion, carefully counting the tallies under every team name. Yeji sighs as she marks down your final tally, and you stand up, all in a group hug before you even realize it. You watch Heeseung, looking up at the way his eyes are closed and his smile’s wide. The adrenaline keeps you jumping with your partners, unaware of how Sunoo observes the carefree way you cling onto his friend, and the supposed bane of your existence. When you two finally stop cheering at your long awaited victory, you shoot Heeseung a glance, noticing how he’s already looking at you with the same gears turning in his head. Although you’ve created space, he’s zoned out, and you can tell he hasn’t noticed that you two once again make eye contact. It takes a raised eyebrow from you for him to look elsewhere, absentmindedly tonguing the inside of his cheek, feeling almost embarrassed to have been so close. 

There’s a bubbling feeling in your stomach whenever you think about how he remembered- how Lee Heeseung pays attention to the little things. You push it down, because it’s nothing more than what coworkers do for each other. He’s cordial, as always. That’s all it is.

“Didn’t seem like you hated Heeseung much.” Sunoo comments, a smile puffing up his cheeks. You roll your eyes, helping him pick up some of the stray trash from the floor after the party is over. 

“Don’t even!’ You start, debating if you should throw a Dorito in his face. “It’s just for the games, he was literally insufferable every other minute.” 

Sunoo is unfortunately the victim to your back-and-forth, trying for you to see with reason but falling short to your simple petty nature. He fails to see how Heeseung has treated you, but deep down, you see it. You see the occasional stare Heeseung finds himself in with you, the frown on his features or the way he always carries himself  as if he’s somehow better than you. It’s exasperating how easily he surpasses you, and always glances back to make sure you know. The looks he gives you are deceptive, and you basically see his thoughts laid out in front of him before he turns away. You swear to Sunoo that he has it out for you, always trying to boost that inflated ego of his by showing you how much better he is at anything. 

“How are you so sure Heeseung just wants to rub it all in your face? Well, wait.” He pauses, tying a trash bag closed. “Why do you look at him so much that you catch him staring?” 

Oh. You think about it, truly emptying your brain to find a proper answer, but deep down, there was none to be found. 

“I don’t know, Sunoo,” you huff. “He just always looks at me.” 

“Maybe he wants to be friends.” 

Violently shaking your head, you smash in a water bottle, feeling a flash of confusion pass through you. “Why would he want to be friends with me? To show he’s such a nice and caring person?” The boy on the receiving end sighs, slumping to the floor in the kitchen. You stare at him, watching how Sunoo deflates before going to wash his hands in the sink. “You’re insufferable.” He calls out, laughing quietly. 

A frown makes its way onto your features unknowingly, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you truly put yourself in your friend’s shoes. 

Surely, Sunoo sees what you mean, right? There’s just no way Heeseung would want to be friends with you either- it’s not like you treat him any better than he treats you. Plus, Heeseung has had it out for you, always by your side for the best and for the worst times, somehow dampening your mood in both. 

Right?

After a tight hug from Sunoo and your efforts to lift his mood after a long day, you get in your car, a random song from your playlist coursing through the stuffy air. 

There is mutual hatred- well, maybe not hatred, but dislike. A definite dislike between you and some part time bakery employee who also happens to be the worst boy you’ve ever met. 

You’re beginning to think that this feud between you two is a small flame that you’re shoveling piles of wood into, igniting from your own hands. 

You have no idea how to prove it, though. You can’t let yourself look like an idiot by simply being nice to him if he really has it out for you and hates you- or else he’ll get some sort of upper hand. 

Your plan goes like this; You’ll give Lee Heeseung one chance to prove himself as an arrogant and selfish person, and when it happens, it’ll be true solid evidence you have to dislike him. It’ll prove that Lee Heeseung hasn’t changed one bit, and that you were always right in your beliefs. 

You trust the universe will help you out one time, and pray for the best. 

So that’s why, when your grandmother invites you to join her at the Lee’s once again, you agree, finally getting to try not just the leftovers of Mrs. Lee’s delicious galbi recipe. 

And that’s how you're standing in front of his doorstep with a welcome mat under your feet, and a porcelain cat staring up at you from the porch. 

You hear the commotion that follows your knock, and you're greeted with a warm smile from whom you can only assume is Heeseung’s mother. After she invites you in, you meet the rest of the family, and make sure your grandmother has taken a seat. Heeseung glances at you from the stairs, before wordlessly joining the table, quickly grabbing bowls in the kitchen before coming to sit down. Everyone interacts, and you’re stuck smiling and shaking hands with his father and bowing to his grandmother, asking if there’s anything you can do to help. 

When his mother brings the steaming aromatic food over, your eyes light up. “Here, Heeseung, sit next to ____!” 

Your smile drops. 

He takes the empty seat next to you, flashing you a grin. “Long time no see.” You roll your eyes, with the distance between the two of you closer than ever, you lean over to make sure your grandma gets plenty of cabbage kim-chi and warm sauces with her rice, helping her whenever necessary. By the time you sit back down, your bowl already is full of food. You glance over at the culprit.

Heeseung just shrugs when you raise an eyebrow, muttering a thank you before digging in. 

“I hear you’re planning to attend the same university as Heeseung.” His mother’s words cause your eyes to widen, choking slightly on your bite before you feel someone’s hand on your back. “You okay, ____?” And the mirth in his eyes tells you he finds your reaction funny.

You shake your head in earnest, feeling yourself lose even more passion for school. She continues, reaching for some grilled meats with her chopsticks. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? You two are basically neighbors, and you’re always super hard working. Maybe Heeseung could learn a thing or two, since I hear so much about how you help out your grandma.”

You’re pleased to hear she likes you, but it all comes out at once, and her confessions leave you in surprise. You glance over at the boy next to you, hoping to gain some wicked satisfaction from it all, but what you see leaves you with a dejected look. Heeseung’s gaze is steely, and you notice the almost glare his mom sends her son after saying it. He feels small, unlike the confidence that surrounds him after test scores or when he got admitted into his colleges. Something doesn’t feel right, and it leaves a sour feeling on your tongue when you try to make yourself bigger than him. 

“Heeseung has always done well. I’m sure he’ll continue to do well both at the bakery and in school.” You don’t mean to disagree with her, but it’s true. You hate to admit it, at least to his face, but Heeseung’s worked just as hard or harder than everyone else. He tilts his head in confusion as to why you’d voice something like that, and you roll your eyes, hoping that he never brings it up again.  

You continue to talk with his mother, laughing at her comments and going along with whatever she has to say, no matter how traditional her views might be. You thank her profusely for the meal, and she waves you off with a bashful look. ‘It’s nothing,’ she communicates through her laughs and small hug when you two are about to leave.

“See!” Your grandma says on the walk back, as you carry tupperware of marinated meats and soup. “Hee isn’t so bad after all.” 

“I guess.” You really have nothing else to tell her, not wanting to ruin the delicate moments between you two as the sun casts down a slim glow. “He didn’t really say much.” 

His mom, however, made you realize just why Heeseung performs at the standard he does- because he really has no choice but to be the best, or to accept failure in front of his parents’ eyes. It’s a corrosive treatment, one that slowly digs away at anyone’s ability to be passionate about truly anything. 

She changes the subject. “How’s the bakery?” 

You want to tell her that Heeseung is annoying, that he runs around always telling you to do things, that he’s always too busy covered in flour and coconut cream to help you out. You want to tell her that you hate Heeseung, and that your quality of life decreases whenever he’s around. He messes with you, sends jokes and digs your way, and you don’t know how to get him out of there faster. 

“Heeseung’s fine. I know he’s a big help to you.” And maybe, he’s become a big help to you, too. 

There is one thing you’re not sure you can perfect- macarons. 

They’re dumb, take so little ingredients yet such precision- and to be honest, do they even taste that good? In your personal opinion, they’re nothing amazing, and honestly, the scraps of chocolate cake that you don’t use for cake pops serves you well. 

The night before, you and Heeseung both mutually agreed to stay for a bit longer, starting on the macarons so neither of you would mess up tomorrow morning in a rush. It’s a large order, and you get them relatively often. You try to get tips from your grandmother the night before that, writing them down in your phone and making sure you listen to every piece of advice she says. You write down the last thing in your notes, ominously typed out in bold text. “don’t overdo it.” it reads, and you stay up watching videos on how other people make them look so perfect. 

Staying late for the shift meant you shifted your routine by a few hours- showering later, eating a bit later, and sleeping less than you should’ve. You were tired already, but the extra work only added to it, making you feel less and less confident in every piped macaron. 

The alarm reads 8:00am, a criminally late hour if you want to get to work on time. Sending a quick apologetic text to your coworker, you rush out of the house, driving as carefully as you can to make it there while scraping as much time off as you can. Rushing in, you see Heeseung, leaning over and assessing your yellow batch. If the grid you used was supposed to be a 5 by 11 sheet, then there should be 55 macarons- but you notice, in a few places, there are missing confections. 

One culprit. “How childish do you have to be to eat the ones I’ve made?” The immediate accusation has Heeseung looking up at you, straightening his back to narrow his eyes. 

“Some of your macarons were hollow shelled.” 

“What, so you go and throw them away without even asking me?”

Heeseung hates how the mood is immediately dampened, finding himself getting more heated around you. “We literally need 25 of each- only four of yours were hollow- I had to start making another batch because I didn’t want to risk mine being hollow, too.” He tries to explain, tapping his fingers on the counter. Your skin feels hot- how dare he mess with the batch you already worked so hard to pipe and fold? If you were to fish out the shells from the trash right now, you would be positive that they weren’t even that empty. You grab one of the tools from near the sink, going to inspect his red ones. 

His attempt to make himself look human is shattered when you notice that none of his, are in fact, hollow like how he presumes they were. 

“You didn’t even check yours!” You exclaim, feeling targeted. 

He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t even matter who’s batch it was- why do you care so much that I was trying to help you out because you were late today?” 

That- that was your reason. Lee Heeseung once again spelt trouble, by meddling in your macarons when you could’ve so easily examined them yourself. He turns around to start washing the utensils in the sink, as you stand there and seethe. Blame it on the sleep, or on the stress of rushing out this morning, but all of it makes you walk out of the building, feeling the hot tears fill your waterline before they spill and cascade down your skin. 

You worked so hard to make them- and even if they weren’t perfect, even if what he had to say was right, you just wished you could’ve seen it for yourself. You haven’t worked there much prior to the summer, and macarons have always been something you’ve wanted to nail, so to see Heeseung set the standard according to his own feelings and just throw out the ones you wanted to see- well, it hurts. It’s a jab at your pride, at all the effort you’ve put into learning and watching videos, sacrificing sleep to listen to people croak advice after advice on one of the greatest baking feats. It hurts to see once again that you’ve failed to be like Heeseung, and that he took matters into his own hands by assessing your tray for you

Fishing out your phone, you look for one contact to offer comfort. “Grandma?” You ask, sinking down to rest your head on your knees without sitting on the cement. You’re next to your car, not wanting to go through the efforts of finding your keys. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks immediately after hearing your sniffle, and you tell her. You tell her about how your shells were uneven, and how you worked so hard for them, and how Heeseung threw them away before you could even see for yourself. She understands your pain, and tells you that no one can perfect something as difficult as macarons- and that during spring break, she had seen Heeseung go through the same thing. It helps, just a little, to know that he started from the same place as you, too. You calm down with her further reassurance, and wipe your puffy eyes before coming back in. You’re afraid the patrons will notice something’s up, and ignore Heeseung’s worried looks to pat cold water onto your eyelids in hopes of helping them look less red.

He sees all of it- Heeseung Isn't stupid, he knows what he’s done, but he can’t get himself to apologize. And as you knew, he went through the same heartbreaking process, and in his thorough reassessment of the situation, he doesn’t know why he didn’t see it from your perspective until you stormed out. 

‘I'm sorry,’ he writes on the bag of lemon curd he made for your macarons. But it does little to salvage your disposition for today. You ignore him, never asking for any help, or any opinion even in the times you usually would. It’s quiet throughout the whole day, like a gray cloud has dampened the colors in the sky, and you clock out at exactly the right time after everything is done, put away, and cleaned. you refuse to leave a mess for Heeseung to point out, but you leave feeling angry, sad, but mostly, disappointed. 

The next day, you arrive at the bakery to find Heeseung sipping from a dangerously large cup of instant boba and taro milk. His eyes dart up to witness all of your struggling glory carrying a shipment that came to the house instead of the shop. In a hurry, he grabs a few boxes from the top and sets them down on the counter, and whatever you were carrying follows suit. He treats you as if you didn’t fight, as if you two aren’t filling the room with tension the more you steal glances at each other. He grabs his drink, one that he’s prepared 15 minutes ago, and finishes almost another quarter of it in one long sip.

You want to tease him for how much taro he’s had when it’s barely 8 o’clock, but it’s not the right time. Days like this are always slow, only dragged out longer by the silence and lack of tasks. The awkward silence between you two fuels him to grab scissors and start opening the boxes. 

“I thought your grandma might’ve told you I could handle it.” Heeseung comments, refilling the crushed water and oreo toppings. “I was checking the delivery updates pretty often.”

“Not often enough,” you snap. You fight back a glare, and proceed to open up your own box of extracts. “I’m her granddaughter. Maybe you should go enjoy summer with your friends. Don’t you have a beach trip to thirst trap at or something?” It’s meant to be an insult, but Heeseung quietly chuckles, finding it a little funny. 

“Yes, we are having a beach trip soon. But i already told your grandma I’ll work in the morning before your aunt comes to take over.” You frown, wondering why your grandma never reaches out to you and asks you to help.

With emphasis on the syllables in his name, you fire back, “Let’s be clear, Heeseung, she wants my help much more than she needs yours.” He glares, stirring a cup with his eyebrows furrowed and lips curled down in distaste. 

“I’m sure that’s why she was so enthusiastic about coming over to our house and talking to me.” It’s your turn to scowl, and you’re afraid Heeseung’s comments will only take years off your life and produce wrinkles on your face much quicker. 

“Funnily enough, I heard she didn’t want you working there at all.” You cross your arms to look at him as a way to further your point. 

He responds defensively. “Yeah. as if.” Even the way Heeseung rolls his eyes at you is annoying. “She just wants me around more than you.” 

You can’t feel offended, especially when his tone is so light. It probably isn’t even true- how much your grandmother prefers Lee Heeseung over you, just like anyone else. The feeling burns you and you shrink away from the heat of the sudden fire accompanied by the implications of his words. Heeseung catches on to the sudden shift in your demeanor. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean that.” He tries to apologize, watching you carefully.

The flames leave you angry with his response, feeling once again belittled by him. “Bullshit. Are you glad you’re the favorite for every single person you know?” 

His eyebrows furrow, feeling the bite of your words, and the mood instantly changes. “That’s not what I meant, ____.” 

You roll your eyes. “Of course that’s not what you meant, Heeseung. Of course you’re the one who’s perfect, and I’m simply the one who misinterprets all of it. Of course you have never had a bad intention ever and you are loved by everyone. Why can’t you just go? Do you really have to take one more thing away from me and make it your own?” The years of resentment pile up in the words you throw at him, and the built up wall you’ve created finally shows just why you should despise him so much. “Or was it not your intention to do that either?” 

It’s too early, to be honest, to be fighting like this, and you’re definitely saying things that you’re going to regret. But you’re tired of being second to him- tired of never getting the recognition you so badly deserved from those who you actually wanted to hear it from. You’re tired of never being heard by your teachers, getting grades that swoop right under a certain someone’s. All on purpose. (right?)

Despite the sudden urge to bicker with you about how you think everything is about you, and how you’ve never given him a chance, the boy beside you is observant to how hurt you sound being so vulnerable. Heeseung finds himself trying to rethink the past ten years of shared childhood experiences. He’s never really thought about what he’s done to deserve such resentment from you, but the more he says silent, the more he realizes that he’s always so graciously soaked up praise from everyone, and because of it, you were always left sulking in his shadow. 

“I’m sorry.” But it’s more than that. 

You feel stupid for expecting anything deeper. “Is that all you have to-“

He cuts you off, trying to articulate the words and form reason. “No, there’s more. God- let me just think.” You hear how badly he needs to get it out, and you stay quiet, having let all of your anger out already. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m not going to apologize for all of the things I’ve achieved,” he says firmly. “Because that’s never how things were for me- I have no reason to feel bad about what I did.” And you can respect him for standing his ground in a situation full of misunderstanding. “I never did it to hurt you, and I never did it to get in your face and show I was better. But I’m sorry for hurting you unintentionally. I’m sorry I never realized that those things were just as important to you, and I’m sorry for always assuming the worst when we’d talk. I’m sorry I never apologized, and held all of this against you, and made this thing between us worse than it was supposed to be. And, I’m sorry, too, about the macarons. That was stupid. I really should’ve known.”

You feel overwhelmed, your mind trying to undo the years of built up feelings towards him under the assumption that he meant to do those things. “I thought you did it because you genuinely didn’t want to see me happy. Like that time you did the extra credit in biology just so you could score better than me.” You breathe, words coming out without really realizing what you’re saying. “Or like that time in first grade where you spilled your applesauce on me, and never apologized. I kept thinking, what the fuck did I do to deserve it? What had I done to make you feel like we had to compete?” Your open ended questions continue to resonate within your co-worker’s mind, and the more you ramble, the more he sees just how twisted he looks. 

“In first grade, that was because the boys said I’d get cooties if I went to talk to you. Believe me, ____, I tried. But every single time I try to fix things between us, you never let me, I swear.” 

It’s your turn to be confused, swearing that you never saw him apologize. “When have you ever tried to be nice to me?” 

“I tried to let stuff go. Like all the little things we’d say about each other- I tried to understand why you were always so unhappy around me. But you always said I was meddling in your business or that I just wanted to find another way to get under your skin.” 

It settles, then, the realization that you’ve turned him into the villain a bit more than you should’ve. You know there’s always been mutual dislike- there are certain times where you know Heeseung had it out for you, with his sneers, his comments or the way he’d smile at your defeat- but you weren’t a saint either. There were other times that maybe, he wasn’t out to get you, but you were always so consumed with the idea of hating Lee Heeseung that you hated the idea of him being a decent person, too. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, leaving your emotions to witness. “I really should’ve paid attention to your genuine efforts back then, too.”

And you’re not the only one who’s at a loss for words this time. Heeseung is in uncharted territory, unsure of how to process the way you’re apologizing, and being so open. And he’s antagonized you too; made you out to be a mood killer and party pooper in every event imaginable, despising the idea of being around you because you two always disagree somehow. 

“But, why do you do it? Why do you come here if it’s really anything personal?” 

He answers in the only way he sees fit. “I want to help her out, she’s always cooked for our family, she’s let me come over a few times, just little things for my family and I. I never meant to take your grandma away from you like that, I promise. She’s just so kind, and she cares so much about me, so of course I want to care for her, too. I just didn’t think it’d be at the expense of you.”

Despite still feeling hurt, you nod, trying to be mature and talking about it rather than burying it deep. “All I hear about is how she wants you to come, and how she never needs my help anymore because she has you already volunteering. It’s like I barely mean anything to her.” Your words sting for Heeseung, but not because there’s any anger directed at him. Heeseung feels a pang of relatability in his chest, the inability to ever be enough for those around you gnawing away at your self-esteem. 

He shakes his head, begging you silently to understand. “She doesn’t want you to work so hard.” He starts, running a hand through his hair. “She tells me about how she’s worried if you’re eating, or if you’re stressed. She’s watched you through-out your whole life, ____. All she’s ever wanted was for you to finally enjoy the summer you worked so hard for.”

“I just wish it felt that way.” You admit.

To hear such high praise from his lips feels foreign- the idea of Lee Heeseung noticing how hard you’ve worked, realizing the amount of effort you’ve put into your standing and accomplishments, it’s weird. You know he understands completely how stressful it’s all been, considering he was stuck to your side the whole time in highschool whether you liked it or not. Lee Heeseung has worked hard, if not harder, than you, and for him to be able to admit that is so much different than what your perception of him would think. It’s awkward to meet his gaze, and his small smile eases the tension a little when you laugh at his attempt to soothe things out. 

“I feel dumb, for thinking so horribly of you. I honestly never thought you looked at me like I was an equal, just someone you could surpass.” He shakes his head, about to reach out and grab your wrist before he realizes just how intimate it would be. 

“You’re not dumb, _____. You never have been. I’ve always looked up to you.” 

There are knots in your chest- the ones that make it feel as tight and hard to breathe as you do right now- that slowly become untangled the more he speaks of you. His words undo them, little by little, and even if it takes a long time to fix the rift between you two, at least you know you have help. 

Internally, your heart begs you to ask. “Why do you even care?” 

He pauses, mulling over his words, and looking for a proper response. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I just want to, we’ve been around each other since we were kids, and if there was someone who I’d hope to have by my side, whether or not we’re close, it was you.” 

Your breath hitches at his confession, and your mind runs in a hundred different directions, without ever expecting those words to tumble from his lips. You promise yourself to do things differently from now on, not trusting your words to continue the conversation. 

“We should finish unpacking.” And the rest is that. 

When you two leave to go home, the old tension feels different- lighter, almost. As much as you know he would do things to get on your nerves, never understanding just why you were so negative and brooding around him, your perception of him wasn’t the best, either. And still, you may be a bit mad at him, and not exactly friendly, but at least you’ve both let go of the unspoken baggage.  

When you sit in the passenger seat, you’re less inclined to turn away and face the window, and make small talk with the radio on. 

Things aren’t perfect- the years of hurt he’s done to you doesn’t dissipate in a day, but it’s getting better, and you can only hope it continues that way. 

A week passes between the two of you, and time flows easier now that you two talked things out. You don’t dread going to work, and you didn’t refuse when he offered to buy food on the way home a few days ago. Sure, some topics between you two are sore, and you’re not best of friends, but it’s light years ahead of what it was like before. 

You can never truly get rid of the banter between you two- there are clever insults you’ve crafted in your head that you love to see his reaction to, and you’re just the right person for Heeseung to bicker with. 

“Do you ever stop drinking that soy milk?” Your coworker asks. You nurse your cup, keeping it close as you rush to defend your end of shift drink. “You’re like, a baby.”

“It’s lactose free. And a very good basic drink.” You explain, frowning at yet another large cup of taro tea he holds in his hands. “Your drink probably tastes like nothing.” 

He holds it out, and you raise an eyebrow. “Just use the same straw,” he insists. You truly don’t mind, but it’s so weird now to know that Heeseung, like, your friend. But you take a sip anyways, cringing at how your suspicions were right- There’s barely a hint of sweetness in there. 

“Don’t make that face!” He comments when you grimace, and also feels the need to protect his opinion on 15% sweet options. 

“Anyways,” you change the subject, determined to get him to see your sweet tooth ways. “Help me make some creme brûlée for my grandma. I’ve never tried.” And he sets his cup down, and for the first time possibly, Heeseung joins you to do something. 

“It should be easy, right?” He says, and with a look of determination, you set off. 

“Heat the cream.” You tell him, reading the instructions from your phone. 

He retorts lightly, “So rude.” and you turn around to scoff, all in good fun. 

“You’re insufferable.” And he tilts his head, offering you a small pouty smile when he turns on the stove. 

The mood feels so much less stuffy than it did before when he says, “Must suck to always hate me like how you do.” 

“I have an egg yolk in my hand that i’m willing to throw at you.” He chuckles, and peers over at your bowl. 

“You’re pretty good at that.” He notes, and you fight the urge to beam at his compliment for your yolk-separation skills. After he’s poured in enough cream, he grabs the sugar and a measuring spoon, fishing your phone out from beside you and reading the measurements. 

He adds so much less than what the recipe says, and you only know this because when you glance over, the scale reads a number much lower than 65 grams. 

“Heeseung,” You call out, in a playfully stern manner, and the boy in question turns around like he’s been caught. “Bring back the sugar.” 

“We’ve run out.” He says, the lie appearing as a wide smile on his face. Unconvinced, you walk over, and in turn, he holds the jar up out of your reach. You refuse to reach for it, knowing that the boy in front of you is much taller, but also that you don’t want to break the glass with some horseplay.

Your voice goes from demanding to reasoning. “Give it back. God, I can’t stand you and all of your low sugar preferences. The sugar is literally needed for the texture!” He simply shakes his head, walking over to add just one more unmeasured spoonful. “You didn’t even weigh it.” 

Heeseung mocks you- a high-pitched and garbled version that follows the intonation of your words, and you let out a surprised scoff at his immaturity. Getting a whisk, you make sure the newly added sugar is fully dissolved. He returns with the pot of cream that bubbles slowly, with an oven mitt around the hot handle. Without a look in your direction, Heeseung holds out his arm between you and the heated cream, and it really doesn’t do much- but yet, at the same time, it does. It’s something he does subconsciously; and something you do your best not to pay attention to in order to properly reach for the whisk.

He slaps your hand away lightly, and you mumble an ‘ow!’ in response. “Don’t touch that. Let me whisk it. It’s hot.” He reprimands gently.

Yeah, you’re still doing your best not to pay attention to it. 

When the mixture transforms from a deep yellow to a pale banana color, he leans down and checks the side of the bowl for any egg and sugar he’s missed. “Here,” you reach out. “Let me get the pot.” Heeseung glances up, and shakes his head quickly.

“No it’s okay-“ and it happens quickly, the hand that was whisking leaves to swat your hand away, but it instead makes contact with the rim of the metal appliance when he doesn’t pay attention to where his hand is placed. Although Heeseung only hisses quietly at the pain, you immediately feel bad. 

“Just give it to me,” you demand, and pry the pot out of his hand to let him nurse his wound, leaving it in the sink and quickly going to the medicine cabinet for burn relief cream- the same one you used a few weeks ago. After you grab it, you return to him, reaching out your hand and waiting for him to show you the puffy red skin. 

He slowly puts his hand on your palm, and you twist around his finger to apply the ointment, doing your best to spread it without pressing too hard. 

“Thank you.” 

You glare. “Don’t hold hot things if you’re not fully attending to them.” And he puts his hands up in surrender, taking a step back. 

“I’ll be preparing your ramekins, boss.” The nickname has a nice ring to it. 

When it’s done, the creme brûlée comes out with a slight wobble in the middle, indicating a well-cooked perfection. “Grab the blowtorch!” You shove him into the direction of where it is, and he complies. You sprinkle sugar over five of the six dishes, using a spoon to shape the sugar in the last dish into a heart since you thought it looks cute. 

Heeseung comes back from your right, leaning over to watch you intently. “A heart? You make it seem like you’re in love, or something.” He jokes, evading a jab with your right elbow. 

“Shut up.” 

“You shut up.”

“You argue like a-“ you’re about to finish your sentence with ‘child,’ but when you turn your head (in hopes that saying it directly would add more emphasis), you’re face to face with Heeseung, with a proximity between you two that’s far less than expected. 

He takes a quick step away, and you glance somewhere else with a nervousness in your eye. 

Neither of you say anything, not really sure if you should apologize or if he should, and you return to your current task, a small churning turning in your stomach. You take a step back to let him caramelize the sugar, and he holds the blowtorch with his non-burned hand. 

It’s good, is the only thing you think when you crack the sugar and scoop a bit, admiring the texture. When you and Heeseung finished one each, you begin to clean up and wash the equipment you used. 

“It’s late, _____. I’ll take you home.” He states the obvious, and for what?

“How else am I supposed to get back?” You laugh, and in response, he shrugs. 

“Just a reminder as to which one of us is so graciously kind to drive you too and from the bakery almost everyday.”

“If I had a choice, I could’ve easily taken my own car. You know my grandma needs it for her errands. Like her Wednesday bingo night, or whatever.” He chuckles, holding the door open and unlocking the car. 

Being in the same space as Lee Heeseung isn’t as excruciating as how it used to be- and now, it’s just an opportunity for you to finally ask your burning questions. 

“Heeseung, I’m just curious. How did you even meet my grandma?” 

He furrows his eyebrows. “I think it was the mailbox,” he starts, trying to remember. “She dropped her mail, and it blew out into the street, so I went to get it for her. And on the walk back, she just started asking me questions. Apparently she and my mom were closer than I thought.”

“And that’s how you started working?” 

“First, it was community service. Just using the cash register- since we’re cashless, it’s nothing illegal to have me manage orders.”

“And she just thought you were an angel from the get-go, or something?” 

“Who doesn’t?” And you glare, mocking him like what he did to you earlier. Heeseung’s lips curl into a grin at your antics, never taking it to heart. 

“Me, obviously.” And it’s a half-lie, because secretly, Heeseung isn’t so bad. 

“Well,” he starts, motioning. “I don’t think there’s anything I do or could do that you’d like.” 

You splutter, “That’s not true!” And he raises an eyebrow at your indignant words. 

“Name one thing that you like about me.” 

“No!” You refuse, crossing your arms. “You already have a large enough ego from the teachers.” 

Heeseung rolls his eyes at you, tapping his hands tapping on the wheel impatiently. “That’s lame, ____. You’re just further proving my point.” 

With a sigh, you tell him, “I like how you helped us win in Taboo.” And he gives you a look. 

“Cop-out.” 

“What-? No!” Emptying your brain, you try to find something you truly like about the boy who makes life a living hell- or, well, used to (he still kind of does). “Okay, fine. I like that you care about my grandma.” 

Heeseung stays kind of quiet, not really sure what to do now that you’re once again being sincere. “Well, she’s like- the only person who doesn’t expect something from me.” 

Confusion floods your thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“I’m grateful for everyone in my life,” He prefaces. “But it’s no fun having to always work for people’s approval, sometimes, I wish that someone could just appreciate me for me, and that’s how your grandma is. No expectations with her. She’s just happy I’m still around- which, I know, is bare minimum, but at least I don’t have to try so hard for her to like me.” The light turns green, and the car rumbles as he slowly accelerates.

You mull over his confession. “Do I expect something from you then, too?”

“You expect me to perform well, because I always have- and therefore, I have to do well, or else you’ll just rub it in my face.” He states plainly, and you grimace for the second time today. 

“Sorry, I won’t do that anymore.” Heeseung waves you off. 

“It’s no big deal- plus, you weren’t the only one who thought I’d do well all the time. It’s something everyone thought of me. If anything, you were the one who just motivated me to always work harder.” 

“But isn’t that a good thing? To be the best?” 

He shakes his head and when you take a good look at him, Heeseung has a glassy look in his eye. “Sometimes, yes. A lot of the time, no. I just want to do well without anyone forcing that on to me. I don’t want the expectation to be perfect, because then, it’s so much easier for me to stumble.” You don’t realize just how much weight Heeseung carries on his back from the words of his peers and his family. And to you, he resembles a diamond; perfect, but from pressure. 

“Well, from now on, I won’t expect it from you. And if I do better, then I won’t rub it in your face. So that’ll make two people you won’t have to worry about.” The response he gives you is non-verbal, but his change in expression is first laced with surprise, and then silent appreciation.

“Thanks,” he says, once again at a loss for words. “I appreciate it.” 

You send Heeseung a smile, understanding how it feels to always have to do good. You can only hope that he gets his break from the pressure before he burns out. 

“Oh, I should tell you now. I can’t make it next Friday. I have plans, and I’d figure I’d let you know now so you could find someone to replace me.” He announces. When he looks over to see your response, you nod in understanding.

“What are you doing?” 

“Grad party.” Heeseung says plainly. “It’s Jake’s, so if I’m hungover, I’ll try to let you know if I’ll be good by morning.” 

“So considerate.” You comment, albeit a bit teasing. He scoffs, making the final turn before reaching your house. “To be expected from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He questions. “And what kind of person am I?”

“Someone who’s going to have to work alone for the next two weeks if he doesn’t shut up.” He laughs, his eyes scrunching up as unlocks the car. “Thanks for the ride.” 

“Of course, ____.”

A few days go by, but one morning, you walk outside to see Heeseung parked in his car, scrolling on his phone- and it takes you walking up to him to roll the window down. 

“You didn’t even text me you were coming,” you start, pouting slightly. 

Heeseung pats the passenger side. “Just- get in, will you?” And you comply, never one to refuse a free trip to work. 

“So why today?” You ask, fiddling with your fingers and bag. “You usually never pick me up on Thursdays.”

“Since it’s your grandma’s birthday and all, I figured I could just pick you up, and drop you off. She called me yesterday asking to come over, and invite my parents, too. And they couldn’t come because of a work trip, but I promised her.” 

You stay silent. “Fuck, that’s today?” And Heeseung laughs- not at you, just at the situation. 

He nods, eyes still glued to the road. “Have you decided what you want to get her?”

“Flowers, definitely. Probably these treats she’s been thinking about getting from the store. I have this really nice collection of kitchen appliances that I know she’ll like.” And you’re rambling, but Heeseung makes no effort to stop you. “She loves to peel stuff by hand, but I was trying this thing out in the store and it actually works perfectly. Here, I’ll pull it up.” And he takes a quick look at the overpriced appliance, realizing that you also care immensely, but in different ways. “I still need to get her stuff, though- I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get to the flower shop if they close when we close.” And it leaves you dejected, since you know what flowers are her favorite, and how happy she’d be if she saw them on the table for a while. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Heeseung promises, and you nod, believing his words. 

You close a bit earlier than usual, and Heeseung writes on a small sticky note for patrons to come tomorrow. The bakery closes at 8:00 PM everyday, and usually 30 minutes can’t hurt- or at least, you hope it doesn’t. 

When you continue to anxiously check the clock, he comes to your side, rubbing your shoulder and telling you that “30 minutes is plenty of time.” 

“We have to walk there though, and clean up. There’s virtually no parking there ever since that other place opened up nearby.” And he curses, not taking something like that into consideration. While you might be ending earlier, you can’t just leave anything out in fear that someone’s going to try and break in, but you also don’t have nearly enough time to properly wash the dishes and wipe down the tables and counters. Instead, you both opt for putting away the large equipment and the food, turning off the lights so anyone who looks in gets the impression it’s closed with the lack of displays or people around. Then, you two can come back to finish organizing and preparing for tomorrow. 

His reassurance is easy to listen to, and Heeseung’s ability to figure out a plan is comforting in and of itself. You’re grateful he’s even willing to come with. 

“You can just wait in the car, really-“ 

Heeseung looks at you like you’re mad. “We talked about this,” he pressed. “It’s dangerous to go out alone. I have nothing to do in the car anyways.”

Finally, you shut off the lights and start dragging Heeseung’s arm, who’s still taking the key out of the lock as he’s being taken away by your impatience. Setting off in a brisk walk, you continue to check your phone, trying to beat time. Heeseung promises you once more that it’ll be okay, and you ask him what he got for your grandma to change the conversation. You both know her well, and your gifts reflect what qualities you care for most. You realize that Heeseung always keeps others in the back of his mind- like his thoughtful gift to Sunoo, with a handwritten card that Sunoo read a bit of to you guys before Heeseung stopped the further embarrassment. You didn’t realize it then, but the people in his life feel wanted all the time because he has the love to give them. 

You get there barely five minutes before 8:00 PM, and the discontent that washes over the shop owner’s face is apparent. “We’re closed,” she says, and you can’t imagine it’s easy to stay by yourself in a room so stuffy and full of pollen. You walk up to her with Heeseung following behind you, observing the way you practically beg for her to let you find some flowers. You promise you won’t take long, and she sighs, unraveling some of the wrapping paper she knows you’ll want. 

There aren’t many left now that the day is over- and you wonder what kind of people frequent the flower shops. Is it apologetic husbands trying to win over their disappointed wives? Is it children buying flowers for their parents and elders? Or is it people like you and Heeseung, who want to gift it to someone they care about?

“Can you trim the thorns?” And she shakes her head, continuing to ring your bouquet up. You feel horrible, understanding exactly how it feels when someone at the bakery asks for something so grandiose near closing, when your social battery has depleted and you don’t have any more smiles to give. And you know this, but you’re willing to go above and beyond if the shop owner is okay with it. The effort she’s put in already to cut the papers and ribbons to accentuate the flowers is already plenty, but it’s your grandma, and you make sure to come back to support her generously again. 

“Please,” you exhale, desperation and anger mixing in your tone. “I’ll pay extra.” With that, the shop owner sighs, taking your forty dollars and looking up as she opens the cash register. “Just keep it.” You say, in apology for earlier. She doesn’t decline the offer, and slides the crumpled bill into the slot with the rest of them, and ties a purple ribbon around the bouquet. 

You almost forget that he watches the whole ordeal, until the owner of the flower shop mutters a “couples these days” under her breath, and your eyes widen.

With profuse thanks, you grab the neatly wrapped flowers and leave, but the moment you turn the corner, you gawk. “Did you hear what she said?”

“That we’re a couple?” Heeseung brushes it off like it’s nothing. “Yeah. But- what kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t the one paying for them?” 

Heeseung paying for flowers to give to you- it’s a thought that leaves you quiet as your feet follow the same steps you took to get there. Of course he would- and you wonder if you’d ever want to be on the receiving end of it from him- or, actually, anyone for that matter. You’re not sure your mind automatically wants such a sweet gesture from Lee Heeseung himself.

“Thank you for coming, again.” 

“Quit worrying about bothering me,” and it’s like he can read your mind. “Believe it or not, I don’t mind being around you.” His sarcastic comment still holds that undercurrent of honesty, and it’s like he knows just what you need to hear. 

The walk back is much less stressful than the walk to. It falls back to that simple dynamic between two people who have begun to tolerate each other, full of little insults, hits to the side, and laughing. You finally make it back, and the sun paints the sky with swirling blue and pink. The sunset illuminates Heeseung’s side profile as he unlocks the door again, and when you finally pay attention to his jawline, or the gentle purse of his lips in concentration, you come to the conclusion that Heeseung is more than easy on the eyes. 

And as you two clean up, the flowers sit in the passenger seat; a symbol of care for your grandmother, and Lee Heeseung’s time well spent with you.

The trips with leftovers become more frequent, and his parents always remember who you are every time you come bearing gifts. “____!” They exclaim, returning the old tupperware with more dishes on top. It feels like at this point, your grandma cooks for them, and they cook for her just as much. 

“Go bother Heeseung, won’t you? We have dinner in a moment, but he’s been so busy with his work.” You smile at her, curious as to what he even has to do now that school’s over. “It’s the room to your left when you go up.” 

You knock on his door and he yells in response, telling you to come in. Under the assumption that it’s his family, Heeseung goes wide-eyed when he notices it’s you in his messy room with his pajamas and old t-shirts strewn here and there. 

“I did not expect it to be you,” he mumbles, quickly getting out of his chair to fix his covers and pick up a sock. A laugh bubbles from your throat with the way he’s scrambling to make things presentable right before you. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll be staying long anyways. Your mom told me to drag you downstairs because you were too invested in your work.” He looks sheepish as he mumbles a quick apology, and after the quick tidying, he shuts his laptop and organizes his desk. “What do you even have to do anyways?” 

“I’m just making music- I started this internship with an entertainment company where they let me shadow a producer and offer input on some unreleased songs for their artists- so I’m just looking at the tracks and making demos.” 

“They let you do that? I figured shadowing wasn’t possible for a company so big.” He nods, a smile dusting his features, and you can tell he takes pride in what he’s accomplished.

You’re about to ask more, but a call of your names from downstairs leaves you two quickly walking down. 

“Have dinner with us!” His dad tells you, and you want to tell him you already ate a bit, but the noodles look delicious, and you agree to only eat a little bit. You glance over at Heeseung, but he offers a small smile as he pulls out a chair for you. 

And so it begins again, but just without your grandmother. 

“____, what are you planning to do in the future?” Heeseung’s dad starts. 

“I’m planning to study Biology in the fall at uni.” You start. “I had an internship last summer before senior year, and I really learned a lot from it, so I knew what I wanted to do by the time I applied for schools.” His mother praises you, as all Asian mothers do, and you can see why Heeseung is so kind-hearted by the way his parents speak to you. 

The conversation naturally switches from your plans to Heeseung’s, as they talk about his pursuit in music production. 

“I’m sure he’s doing a good job, I’m always in classes with him, and there’s nothing you need to worry about.”

His mother continues, however. “I mean, there’s always ways kids can get ahead. I always tell him to apply for things early, and he could’ve gotten more scholarships and finished his internship last summer if he wasn’t so behind. But he’s doing it now, so there's nothing we can say about it.” Her words rub you the wrong way immensely. While your own parents were never the most involved in your high school academics and were supportive of any career path you chose, they never placed an expectation on you to do the best and overachieve. But you get the sense that for Heeseung, no matter how supportive they were, it was never really good enough. It’s torturous.

But, you don’t really know how to respond, humming to ease the growing silence instead. “That’s always true, but I know a lot of people look up to him, including me. He’s doing great regardless of when he does it.” No matter how gently you put it, you know it’s in total opposition to how they think and feel when it comes to their own son, but you can only hope that it helps ease the tension.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, with the discussion of your summer and how things have been with friends, parties, and planned trips. You finish their food quickly, complimenting Heeseung’s mother’s cooking once again and watching her face light up. 

“You should head home, we don’t want your grandma to be too worried.” His dad starts, and you agree, quick to grab your bag. Heeseung takes the containers from your hand and starts putting on his sandals. “I’ll walk you home.” Despite your refusal to let him carry your things, he insists, and you miss the way his mom stares fondly at you two from the kitchen island. 

The warm summer air gives you the illusion that it’s not so late, and with the way light still peaks from the horizon, you feel less tired the later the summer nights get. 

The boy next to you speaks up first. “Did you mean it?” You sneak a glance at his relaxed posture, a hand in his sweatpants and bangs on his forehead. 

“What part?” 

“Any part.” 

You nod, feeling almost incredulous that he thought you’d make up something like that after you two agreed to be on good terms.

“Of course, Hee- I wouldn’t lie about that stuff, especially not to your parents.” 

“I’m sorry about them, by the way.” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “They have high expectations sometimes, I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable to hear them talk about me like that so openly.” The first instinct you have is to reach for his shoulder, making eye contact with him and offering a semblance of comfort before you walk across the street. 

“No, you don’t need to apologize for stuff like that. I’m sorry your parents hold you to those kinds of expectations.” 

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” 

“But the problem is, you shouldn’t have to be used to it. You’ve genuinely done so much and you deserve some recognition rather than someone always telling you to do better.”

It goes quiet, but you don’t choose to bring anything else up, enjoying the crickets chirping and the gentle breeze that carries you home. 

You stop outside your door and unlock it, inviting him in to say hi to your grandmother.

“Thank you,” you tell him as he’s leaving. “For walking me home.” 

Heeseung simply shakes his head. “It was nothing, really. Thank you for seeing my parents again and whatnot.” He smiles, waving at you before walking back, and a grin makes its way onto your face before you even notice it. 

Your phone dings at an hour earlier than you expected to get up, and it leaves you in an annoyed mood while you turn off your alarms.

hee: dude you HAVE to come in we just got a huge order for triple chocolate cake they said they’d pay extra if we finished by today

y/n: help wtf r u doing at the bakery 

hee: i was making brownies i asked ur grandma this morning if i could

y/n: what for…

hee: because i had a craving ??? what else..

y/n: oh LOL ok ill be there in 30

Originally, you and Heeseung were going to have the day off, and your aunt and grandma were going to work instead- but the tempting offer from Heeseung leaves you explaining why you have to come in for work, and that they should stay at home. You say anything that comes to mind, but they know you wouldn’t let them come with the way you were dressed and already grabbing your shoes and keys.

When you finally rush to the doors, you see Heeseung cutting into the chocolate treats, and when you two make eye contact, he shoves the piece in his mouth and nods. 

“Gross.” You comment, laughing. 

He says something intangible, and you shake your head, putting on your apron.

The amount of work you two have put in is simply criminal to be fake. 

You voice your concerns. “Do you think they’re lying about the tip?What they told you seems like much.” 

Heeseung shrugs, and sprinkles sea salt over the piece he picks up. “I’d hope it’s true. They seemed pretty desperate. I called them back today telling them their order would be done soon, so if they show up and pay more, that’d be great.” 

“I’m glad you’re so optimistic.” You laugh. 

“I have to be, because you’re definitely not.” Heeseung laughs when he sees the scowl on your face. 

“Oh yeah? I think I’m at least a little better than the time you spilled the tapioca pearls and then talked about how everyone had it out for you that day.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Between the two of us, I’ll always hear you saying ‘fuck, i dropped the spoon’ more.” His teasing has you smiling. 

“Focus on your lettering. Or do you need someone to hold your hand and help you?” You lean over to look at him spelling CONGRATS with brown icing. “You messed up.” Nitpicking, you point out a random loop and make fun of him for it despite it not looking bad at all. 

“I did not!” He huffs defensively. “I want to see you try.” He passes you the bag, and you get a piece of plastic wrap on the counter before starting. 

“Lee Heeseung sucks.” He reads. “Did you seriously write that?” You laugh at how offended he is, and the boy next to you is quick to pull the bag from your hand to start piping. halfway through the word ‘hate,’ you elbow his side, and it causes his letter ‘t’ to be dragged too far.

“Hey!” He runs over, smearing a bit of icing on your forehead before you duck and try to avoid all his other attacks. The laughs bubble from your stomach, the adrenaline causing you two to chase each other around the kitchen. You’re not even sure what Heeseung would do if he catches you, but you don’t want to find out. 

“I think we should package those cakes!” You remind him, albeit as a distraction. He sighs, crossing his arms in defeat before agreeing and heading back over. You narrowly avoid his glare, a wide smile on your face as you hum in victory. It’s a bit past closing, and he makes sure to flip the sign, still keeping the light on. 

The customer rings the phone, telling Heeseung that she’ll be there in a few minutes. By the time you’ve boxed all three cakes and cleaned up any edges, she walks in. You ring her up at the counter, and she pulls out her largest bills, telling you to take the change as a gift. You two both thank her immensely, making sure she can carry the cakes out to her car before closing for the night. 

When Heeseung enters through the front door, immediately you start cheering. “We just got paid tonight, Hee!” 

The boy grins, subtracting the total from the amount she gave, and it’s clear that she was being serious when she said she would pay extra. “I think this calls for celebration.” 

You don’t really have an excuse to see him outside of work, and the idea of being alone in a non-bakery setting feels scarily new. 

And you’re about to make up an excuse about how you have to be home (you don’t), but your stomach makes a low sound, and it serves as an answer in place of your faltering words. 

“I’m thinking Korean.”

You don’t expect to learn something new about Lee Heeseung, until you see him order two bowls of stir fried ramen despite the restaurant serving much more elegant dishes. 

“Ramen?” A glance at the menu has you reading one of the more expensive meals offered. “You could’ve had- I don’t know, their Honey Garlic Short Ribs.” 

He scrunches his nose in disapproval as a testament to how much he adores his instant noodles. “It’s just not the same. We barely have noodles at home, since my mom always insists on making it from scratch or boiling them in those big packages. Never just ramen.” You take a sip of your water, surprised. 

“You don’t have ramen? God, come over more often, I’ll make you some.” You suggest lightheartedly. 

He glances over, taking you up on the offer. “Woah- me, in your space?” You send him a glare, looking away and ignoring his laughs. 

The food comes relatively quickly, and he looks over what you’ve gotten to judge it. “It looks good. Let me have some.” He says, reaching over with his wooden chopsticks. 

You gasp at his suddenness, quick to refuse and to drag your plate away from him as you pick up a short rib and eat it before he can. The meat tastes wonderfully marinated and tender, and you don’t realize that the haphazard way you tried to eat it left some sauce on your mouth. Heeseung glances over with a frown, about to comment on how incredibly stingy you are until he notices there’s red sauce on your chin, and grabs his tissue. 

“Here.” He says, tapping you on the shoulder. And silently, he wipes it off, to make sure you won’t have to walk around with people seeing and saying anything. 

“Oh- thanks.” It’s pathetic the way your throat dries up, and how you force yourself to drink your water and move on. You hear about this only in movies- about male leads you turn to burns and wax poetic about how much they love you. You don’t expect it to happen so suddenly.

“Is yours any good?” You ask, averting your gaze. His fried eggs and boiled shrimp sit neatly on his stir fried noodles, the presentation better than you could ever make it at home. 

With a shrug, he replies, “We’ll see.” He tries some, and you see a satisfied grin on his features. 

“Is ramen really that good, Hee?” His enthusiastic nods tell you all you need to know as you continue eating, your pile of bones growing ever so slowly. You two make small talk, about his recent beach trip, or about you rafting with your friends. He talks of college- about going away and his fears of growing up. You tell him you’re scared to dorm, since you’ve been around your family for so long, and you share each other’s sentiments about the rapidly approaching adulthood you’ll both have to face. It’s nice like this, not to bicker and to argue and to despise him. It’s nice to just exist around Lee Heeseung, and you wonder why you haven’t done something like this before- sitting next to him and being able to talk freely about the interests and questions you share. 

You guess that it was just the timing- you were both always so stressed from school, unable to properly sit down to sort out your emotions. And yeah- summer is a new slate, and this year feels just a bit more life-changing than the rest of them. 

“You eat so slow.” And you shoot him yet another scowl, picking up some rice. 

“You ordered ramen and you eat like you’ve been starved for three years.” 

“Whatever. I’ll cover the bill?” 

Narrowing your eyes, you try to remember if you two had discussed anything about payments before. “No- I thought we were just going to split the bill.”

He doesn’t seem to care too much. “I’ll pay for you, since I couldn’t have done it without you,” refering to all the baking you did today.  

Exasperated, you refute his horrible reasoning. “I wouldn’t have even found out about her order if you weren’t there. Just let me split it.” You reach out expectantly, and he retracts the receipt, clutching it close. 

“Just pay me back sometime for something else,” and it’s the last thing he says before turning on his heel and leaving you with your agape. 

When you clean up and join him in the car, the first thing you tell him is that he’s ‘annoying,’ and ‘so stubborn it hurts.’ 

Heeseung just laughs at you, telling you it’s nothing special- like he’s used to paying for others. And thinking about how many people come in to ask him for his number or hope for a date, your assumption makes sense- that he does these things for everyone, and you’re not an outlier in any way. 

When the bakery is one chestnut haired boy short, things are much less interesting. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me.” You joke when Heeseung begins to undo his apron. 

“You can come,” He offers with a small yet sincere smile on his face. “I asked, you all know each other anyways.” You feel your heart stir with the way Heeseung keeps you in his thoughts. 

All you do is refuse his offer. “I have to rewatch my rom-coms.” You wave him off, and within minutes, you’re left alone. The quiet music plays and the bell jingles every so often as patrons come for pick-up orders or drinks. Thankfully it was slow for a Friday, and you weren’t rushing around the shop.

There’s a girl who’s around your age who walks in, curious as to who’s taking her order before making eye contact with you emerging from behind the curtain. 

“Where’s the boy you usually work with?” She says, getting a list of what her and her friends wanted. “I’ve been meaning to ask for his number.” 

You can’t lie and say you’re indifferent to her question, but nonetheless, you take her order and give her his phone number saved in his contact. “He’s not dating anyone, so don’t worry.” You tell her, handing over the receipt. She smiles, and your heart tightens a little at the thought of Heeseung. One of you two is well-liked, one out of the two of you is perfect in every way, and it wasn’t you. 

Without any of your usual weekly plans with your friends, the drive home was quiet as you figured out what to do for the weekend. You would feel bad every time your grandma had to take a shift despite her recovering quickly, and despite her being excited to work again. When home, you decide to make dinner, change, clean up around the house, and retreat to your old room. The show you were catching up on until the wee hours of night was interrupted, and a familiar contact flashes on the screen. 

“Heeseung?” You ask, confused. It’s 12:00 AM. 

“____-ie.” The line giggles a bit before you hear some shuffling. “My head hurts.” 

You’re a bit shocked to hear him like this, but you’re not going to hang up on him and leave him confused. “Did you drink too much?” You ask, trying to choose your words carefully. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung responds, sighing. “I lost a bet, _____. And I lost cup pong, too.” He sounds dejected, like a hurt puppy as he elongates his syllables and pauses between thoughts. “I was going to tell you something.” 

“That you can’t come in for work tomorrow? You sound out of it, Heeseung.” 

He groans, and more shuffling comes from his side. “Yeah, but I can’t drive, ____-ie.” You cringe at the nickname, but refuse to say anything about it with the way he’s acting now.  “No one else can take me home, and my parents can’t know.” He sounds stressed, and you’re quick to reassure him before he starts crying. 

“Where are you?” 

“You’ll pick me up?” Heeseung asks, his tone filled with elation. 

“Maybe. Depends on how I feel in the next 10 minutes.” 

“I’ll cover your shifts anytime, I’ll drive you home, I’ll buy food for you, I’ll sneak you out…” He continues to ramble about all the favors he could do for you, and you laugh before getting out of bed.  

“You better mean it.” 

“I want to see you.” You know he just wants to go home, you know he doesn’t mean anything else with his words. You know he just wants to sober up and go to sleep. 

You know it’s nothing more between you two, yet your heart still beats wildly with every minute you drive, the words echoing in your head. 

“I got you water, and some food- I have no idea if you ate or not.” Is the first thing you tell him when he stumbles out of the house and into your car. 

Heeseung’s one drowsy blink away from falling asleep, and you have to shake him away to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep with a hangover. “Hee!” You rush to park on a random sidewalk before unbuckling your seatbelt. 

You brush back his red hair, pushing his curly bangs away and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He slowly blinks, adjusting to the proximity between you two. You shove a water bottle in his hand before getting a tissue to wipe the light sheen off of his skin. 

“What are you doing, hm?” And his voice, rough with exhaustion, has you quiet for a moment as your skin gets hot. 

Despite your heart thrumming faster, you force yourself to answer simply. “You’re going to have a hangover.” 

He opens his water, drinking almost a third before he leans back. “My head still hurts.” He whines, and you have to laugh. 

“Here,” you suggest, opening the tupperware of fried rice. “Eat.” 

He refuses, continuing to drink from his water, and you don’t have it in you to be annoyed at him. Instead, you grab a spoon. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” You mumble, starting to break up the fried egg and mix it all together.

After the first bite, “It’s good,” He says simply. “I’m glad I got to see you.” 

You feel the incessant pounding in your eardrums and your whole face feels hot. “Eat, before you throw up.” 

“I missed you.” Despite the harmless intention, you can’t stand to let Heeseung sweet-talk you, and it almost frustrates you to know there’s no weight to his words.

You roll your eyes at him and force him to finish his water. “Sober up before you get home.” 

In the quiet of the night, in the small neighborhood with everyone asleep, no one would know about the loudness of your chest, about how his eyes still hold his twinkle as he gazes tiredly at you, letting him dote on him. 

You continue to make sure he drinks and eats, and you’re so engrossed in taking care of him that you don’t realize how little the distance is between you. Making eye contact with him leaves you stunned into silence, but Heeseung says nothing to dispel what’s between you two. He reaches up, his palm cupping your jaw, and you swear, past the alcohol, there’s the faint fresh scent of the ocean, one that you recognize from being around him so often. 

You hold your breath, keeping the box in your steady as you wait for what he’s about to do next. He stares in silent question, glancing only to your lips and back up. It’s like time doesn’t even pass anymore, like a moment written in eternity when you brush away some of his hair.

You swear you’re about to kiss Lee Heeseung for the first time in your life. 

Instead, you cough and duck from his intimate stare, and he pulls away. The heat of his thumb still lingers on your cheek, and the way he looks at you doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“You’re feeling better, right? I’ll drive you home.” 

The wind whips against your window and the streets lay bare as you turn into his neighborhood. It’s all you can do. You can’t be in love, not with Heeseung. 

Heeseung texts you profusely the next day, apologizing before he leaves the house to see you in person. ‘i’m sorry if anything happened last night, please let me know if I overstepped a boundary,’ and despite his words being through text, your mouth feels like it’s dried up, and that you have no idea what to tell him. You send him something vague about driving yourself, nothing that alludes to how your heart raced and skipped a few beats, and how you still think about the gentle way he caresses your jaw. 

How are you supposed to pretend things were the same? Like you weren’t watching him, like his gaze wasn’t with care, and his touches were not electric. How could you pretend that you weren’t slowly falling for Lee Heeseung?

“Did I,” He starts as he rushes through the door. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Shaking your head, you continue to crush up the cookies in their topping container. “I just don’t want to bother you with driving me around anymore.” 

“But you’re not a bother.” Heeseung can barely recall what happened yesterday, and he doesn’t know what caused your sudden lack of interest with your texts from the morning. “Look, ____-” 

In a desperate attempt to push down your unreturned feelings and return things to how they were, you cut him off. “Heeseung, drop it.” 

The day stretches for an eternity, and Heeseung knows something’s wrong. As one last chance to fix things before he goes, he speaks up. “Please, what did I do?” 

And you want to oh-so desperately tell him that last night, you were about to kiss, that the distance between you two was so finite and the way he looked at you had your stomach churning with butterflies. That somewhere, you realized just how similar you two were- that Lee Heeseung understood hard work, he paid attention to the little things, he related to and comforted you in the times that you felt like you were never enough. And those are just the handful of reasons why. You never knew just how well you truly knew him until you evaluated the years you’ve spent together. Some things you pick up subconsciously; like the way he fidgets or nervously smiles when a girl asks for his number, or the way he always looks back at you when he rejects her advances. It’s weird how quickly the knots that made your relationship so complicated suddenly untangle. It’s really just this long windy string that connects you and him, and within the miscommunication, it’s gone awry. 

You and him are in the same vein, and with how much time you spend with each other, it’d be criminal if you didn’t slowly fall for the way he sings along the radio or how he started to open your door. He cares, in all of the minuscule tiny ways that make your heart ache so terribly. “Nothing, it’s…” It’s almost sick how your mind immediately wanders to some stupid scenario where you and Heeseung ended whatever was going on between you two, and you admitted feelings to each other. Heeseung drives you around in his car, Heeseung comes to your house with baked goods he made himself, Heeseung’s eyes glitter when you two get good scores on a test, telling you how happy he is. “It’s just nothing.” You tell him, not really sure what to make of your feelings at all. And while your emotions towards the boy are new and fresh, they're so real- it snowballs fast.

“It’s not nothing if something’s changed between us.” He reasons, a look in his eye begging you to explain. 

“It should be nothing, Heeseung. We’ve never gotten along, so what’s the difference now?” The words leave a burn on your tongue, and you hate the way Heeseung looks away for a moment before he agrees. 

“Right.” He says, monotone and lifeless. “Why bother?” 

And you’re angry with yourself for the way you nod, taking your things. You want to scream in his face that you’ve begun to tolerate Lee Heeseung, in more ways than one. You don’t just tolerate him- you appreciate him, you care for him, you want him to be yours. 

“Okay- Hee, wait.” You falter in your decisions, your heartstrings pulling you in an enchanting way towards him- against all rational. “I’m sorry.” You can’t let a good thing go, you can’t risk never talking to him again, simply because you don’t know what it’s like to live life without him. You see him in every memory, in every class photo, and you can’t bear to be the reason you two stop talking- all because you were too scared to speak your mind.

He turns around, waiting for you to continue, crossing his arms as he proceeds to lean against the counter. If you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that Lee Heeseung is one of the most attractive people you’ve met. 

“Do you mean it?” You ask, feeling foolish. He should be asking you that- after what you’ve just told him.

Heeseung takes a step closer, his gaze on the ground as he nears the cash register, slowly closing the distance between you two.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, his voice small. There’s still space between you two, and it feels like oceans apart. And you soak up his words for consideration, truly questioning if you did. 

“No, Heeseung-“ You stare at the blinds, looking around the space only to realize just how secluded you two were- that no one outside of the bakery would know just what loops and hurdles you two had been through to get here. “I could never. I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“Is it true, then? That we get along, now?” His slow steps finally leave the crunching of his shoes in front of you, and you nod your head. And after he sees your confirmation, he continues. “How do you feel about me, ____?”

Your surprised gaze meets his, and you see the small smile on his lips, and the almost playful look in his eye indicating that he’s not really hurt anymore.

“I hate you, Lee Heeseung.” You say, emboldened by his teasing. “I hated you for spilling all of that applesauce on me when we were eight, I hate how you get along with everyone, I hate how you act like you’re better than me.” You pause, to think of more, but his hand reaches up to cup your chin, pointing up to make sure you’re looking at him. 

“I hate all that humming you do at work,” you start, your voice small, feeling shy now that he’s forced to make eye contact (which is extremely attractive and turns your legs into jelly). “Or your piping skills, or how good your macarons taste compared to mine.”

Heeseung is so dangerously close, like how you were just last night. “What else?” He goads you on, wanting to hear just how much more you have left. 

“I hate everything about you,” You barely murmur above a whisper with him being so close to you. “But I’d hate it if you didn’t return my feelings, either.” 

He smiles, finally hearing you admit the very things that’s been plaguing your relationship with the idea of more. 

“Anything more to add?” 

You scoff, reaching up and tangling your hands in his hair. The last thing that reaches Lee Heeseung’s ears are the words, “You’re so annoying,” before you crash your lips into his. 

Your kiss with Heeseung satisfies a longing that’s lasted for a while- to know what it felt like to be so close to him, to kiss his rosy lips just once. It’s tantalizing- the way you can’t pull away, and the way he doesn’t let you with how his hand rests on your lower back to pull you closer. When your hold on his hair loosens slightly, he gingerly lets you lean back. Your forehead comes to rest with his as you open your eyes, letting out a slow breath as you think about the ghost of his kiss on your lips. He’s hesitant to separate from you completely, and rests his hand on your waist instead. 

You smile, biting your lip so you don’t giggle like an excited girl who’s just told her friends about a measly interaction with her crush. Your heart feels like a floating balloon, and your lips stretch into a grin, prompting Heeseung to smile at you, too. 

An idiot. That’s what you both look like. But when Lee Heeseung presses a small kiss on your forehead and intertwines your fingers, you couldn’t care less. 

“Heeseung, stop piping heart macarons, it’s embarrassing.” He rolls his eyes at you and adjusts the piping bag with red macaron batter inside. 

He mimics you childishly, and you want to scoop the lemon curd to plop on his head. “Stop piping heart macarons, yeah, okay, so why do I see you eating them?”

“I don’t. I’d never.” You’re lying, and you both know that, but Heeseung entertains your false narrative a bit more. 

“I’ll have you know, the lady at the law firm a few blocks down came here earlier and ordered some of them.” He retorts. You stick your tongue out at him and continue to mix the drink you’ve been preparing.

“What does she want them for, hm? I can imagine she’s in the season of love in July.” He laughs at your childish comment, continuing to pipe out almost identical hearts onto the baking sheet. 

“Maybe she loves her partner so much and wants to shower them in affection.” He grins, alluding to your relationship. You want to flick him across the forehead, rolling your eyes and walking over after finishing your drink for a to-go order. 

With an elbow on the counter, you watch him from the side as he diligently fills in the heart outlines. “You’ve always liked my macarons, though.” He reminds you. “Remember? You said it when we k-“

“Can you shut up about that?” You cut him off, feeling embarrassed. “It was like- a month ago.” 

It’s your exasperation that fuels him to tease you further. “It was a good kiss, was it n-“

You bump his shoulder, and he messes up one of the macarons, pausing before looking up at you. “Hey!” He whines, frowning. “These are supposed to be for that lawyer, remember?” 

You roll your eyes, and you know when Heeseung lies through his teeth. “Yeah, yeah,” You mutter, using a clean finger to wipe at the edge to make it look nice once more. You play along with his lie. “And we definitely fell in love because of cupid.” 

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