The Paths We Didn't Take (cl16)

don't worry about posting vee! I have the same problem (a lot of thing happening in life plus writing in Spanish ans rewriting in english) Im curious, do you have a writing routine? 🤍

Hi and thank you so much for understanding!

And yes, I do have a writing routine as it isn’t only the best for me and my pretty busy life (uni, work and also some other classes and having a social life), but also because I really wanted to write more this 2025!

If you wanna know it detailed, here it is! Also, if you have some questions about it, or you want me to post more about this, or even some advice (i'm not an expert), just tell me :)

‧ First of all, I try writing daily at least 1k words a day. This is not always possible, but my intention is what actually counts. ‧ My writing time is during the mornings (if i have them free), after lunch time and also, at night. ‧ Before writing, I spend time doing a detailed planning of everything i'm going to write. This might seem stupid, but for me is so useful since I don't have to stop and think if I get blank at some point (even I change certain details while writing). ‧ From Monday to Thursday I write series chapters, while from Friday to Sunday I write one shots/individual fics. ‧ Also, I use weekends to do a detailed planning on all my series as I have many of them, and all of them are settled in the two different Formula 1 universes created by me and some of my fellow F1 writers friends. ‧ And don't forget all the time I spend correcting my fics after writing them in Spanish, and then translating in English and doing corrections! ‧ Last, but not least, I also publish on Wattpad, so I have to promote my fics on social media, specially TikTok and soon, on Instagram too! I have to make content to post, as well as covers, gifs and every single piece of media for my readers, if I have some of them, to like the story better)

Overall, writing takes me too much time so I hope you understand if sometimes I can't post! However, I'm absolutely grateful because all of this is so worth it since lots of you seem to love my fics <3

Surgery

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Ex! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Seb and her didn’t part on the best terms. The breakup had been tense, marked by unspoken words and lingering hurt. She’d moved forward, focusing on her career, he did the same, but some connections never fully disappeared.

Recently, she’d undergone a surgical procedure, something personal she’d chosen to keep private. Only her family and closest friends were in the loop. Yet, somehow, Sebastian had found out through a mutual friend.

The operation had gone smoothly, and now she was resting in her recovery room. Her family and a few friends had been with her all afternoon, their quiet conversation filling the space. She was sitting up, sipping some water and trying to distract herself with their chatter, when there was a knock on the door.

Her best friend opened it, and there he was—Sebastian. He stepped inside with a small bouquet of various flowers in hand, his expression steady but thoughtful.

“Hey,” he said gently, his eyes scanning her for signs of discomfort.

Her family exchanged a few glances before politely excusing themselves to give them some privacy. Seb approached slowly, setting the flowers on the table beside her.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said, though her voice carried no resentment.

“I know,” he replied, sitting in the chair beside her. “I just… I wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”

She studied him, his calm demeanor making the moment feel less like an intrusion and more like a quiet reunion. “How did you even know?”

“Emma told me,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “I wasn’t going to bother you, but… I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. He was the last person she would expect, yet for some reason she felt pleased about him caring about her enough to come. 

“So… How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence that had been settling.

“I’m feeling fine,” she admitted, as she did not feel any extraordinary discomfort after the surgery, “you guys act as if I’ve been through war,” she joked, hoping to make the moment less awkward.

His lips tugged into a half-smile at her attempt to lighten the mood. It was a classic move of hers, this bantering, and it was both endearing and annoying at the same time. “Oh, you know we worry about you,” he teased back.

Sebastian glanced at the flowers he'd brought, then back at her. His voice lowered a bit. “Seriously, though, are you in pain?”

“I’m fine, Seb,” she repeated with almost playful exasperation.

Sebastian nodded, his expression warm but attentive. “Okay, okay,” he conceded, smiling. Then, as if on instinct, his hand reached out, brushing hers gently.

It was such a natural gesture—Seb had always been tactile, a comforting presence for anyone who needed it. But this felt different, even if he hadn’t meant it to be. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she froze for a moment, the familiarity of his touch stirring something in her chest she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Seb adjusted his position in the chair, as if trying to find the right words. “It’s a nice hospital,” he remarked, glancing around the room. “Bright, not too clinical. It suits you.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you seriously complimenting the decor right now?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. Just trying to make conversation.”

His thumb lingered against her skin for a second too long, and she swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was despite the chair between them. “Seb, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You’ve got your own life—things to focus on.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening further. “I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I care,” he said simply. “That doesn’t just disappear.”

Her heart gave a painful twist at his words. His words always had that effect, no matter how much time had passed or what they were or weren’t. “You always did have a way with words,” she murmured, trying to deflect the emotions creeping in.

He smiled faintly, his hand still resting over hers. “And you always did have a way of avoiding them,” he replied.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, and for a moment, the tension eased. “Touché,” she said, her voice lighter.

They sat there for a beat, the sound of distant footsteps in the hallway filling the silence. It wasn’t the awkward tension of earlier—it felt… familiar. Comfortable in a way she hadn’t expected.

Seb’s fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze before he leaned back slightly, as if he could sense she needed space. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice steady but soft.

“Thanks,” she said, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “And thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“I figured you deserved something nice,” he said, leaning back in his chair but still watching her closely. “Even if you think we’re all overreacting.”

“Maybe just a little,” she admitted, a teasing spark in her eyes.

“Hey, give me a break,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I had to make sure you weren’t scaring the nurses with your stubbornness.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”

“Only for you,” he quipped, and for a moment, the weight of the past seemed lighter between them.

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✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3

i want to write something about anakin or kylo but my head is empty, i need ideas 

wreckage - charles leclerc (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional, again ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1676

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say that the hardest part of love is knowing when to let go. The decision to hold on is easy—it’s the decision to release, to trust that the other person will be okay without you, that’s the hard part.

You’ve been sitting in the sterile, white hospital room for hours, each minute feeling like a year. Charles’s body is hooked up to so many machines, monitors flashing with numbers that seem foreign to you. His face, once so full of life, now looks pale, bruised, and still. They told you to prepare yourself for the worst, but you haven’t let yourself believe it. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

You’re not even sure what you're hoping for anymore. Some miracle, maybe. But deep down, you know the odds. They’ve been giving you the numbers—stats you can’t quite process, numbers you can’t make sense of. His condition is critical, and they’ve told you, over and over again, that his survival chances are slim. His organs are struggling, his internal injuries severe. The brain scans were grim at first, showing little to no activity.

But you can’t let yourself fall into that darkness. Not yet.

The room feels too cold, too empty.

"How are his stats?" you ask quietly, though you already know the answer.

The nurse glances at you, her face trying to remain neutral. "Not good. His heart rate’s been fluctuating. His oxygen levels aren’t improving, either. We’re doing what we can, but his body’s fighting against us." She hesitates, looking back at the monitors. "We’re not sure how much longer we can keep him stable."

You nod, feeling the weight of every word, but you can’t give up. Not yet.

Minutes turn into hours. You stay by his side, holding his hand, whispering to him. Every time you speak, you tell him how much you love him, how much you need him to come back. You’re not sure if he can hear you, but it doesn’t matter. You need him to know.

And then, just as you’re beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of your decision, something unexpected happens.

The steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly begins to accelerate, growing faster and faster. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something’s wrong.

The nurse rushes over, her face pale as she watches the monitor. "His heart rate’s spiking," she mutters. "It’s too fast. His blood pressure’s dropping."

The room erupts into action as doctors rush in, all moving in synchronized chaos. You’re shoved aside as they begin adjusting the equipment, calling out orders, but your mind goes blank. You try to focus, but it feels like everything is spinning.

"His stats are crashing," one doctor says, his voice tense. "We need to stabilize him now."

"Is it time?" you ask, barely able to speak over the noise. "Should we—"

But before you can finish, a loud, sharp sound cuts through the room—the unmistakable alarm of a failing heartbeat. The doctor turns toward you, his eyes filled with grim determination. "I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where his body might not be able to hold on much longer."

Your breath hitches in your throat. Everything feels like it’s slipping away. You squeeze Charles’s hand tighter, as if willing him to come back to you.

But then, as if the universe is playing some cruel game, the chaos calms, just for a moment.

The alarms start to fade into silence, and the doctor presses his fingers to the side of Charles’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Your heart lurches, praying for any sign of life. The seconds feel like hours.

Suddenly, the doctor looks up, his eyes widening. "Wait… there’s something." He leans in, checking the monitors again. "His blood pressure’s stabilizing. His heart rate’s slowing down to a more normal rhythm."

You barely dare to breathe, your eyes never leaving Charles’s face.

The nurse who’s been working on him moves closer, shaking her head in disbelief. "It’s like he’s coming back."

You don’t know what to think. The last few minutes have felt like an eternity, and now, you’re afraid to believe it. "What’s happening?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks up at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It seems like he’s fighting. His body’s responding… it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good sign."

You stare at Charles, trying to process the sudden shift. Is this the miracle you’ve been waiting for, or just another false hope?

The minutes stretch on, and then, just as you begin to allow yourself a small breath of relief, the monitor lets out another shrill, jagged alarm—the unmistakable sound of a fatal arrhythmia. A shocking wave of panic shoots through you as the machine flashes with an erratic, spiking rhythm.

"V-fib!" The doctor shouts, his voice urgent. "We’re losing him. Get the defibrillator ready."

The nurse scrambles to prepare the machine, and you feel your stomach drop out. This can't be happening. Not now.

"Charles!" you whisper, gripping his hand harder, your eyes welling up. "Please."

The doctors are already on him, paddles in hand, but it feels like time is standing still. Your eyes dart from the monitors to Charles’s face, feeling as if your heart has stopped with his. Then, the shock.

The force of the defibrillator sends a jolt through his chest, and the monitor flickers. Nothing.

You close your eyes briefly, bracing for the worst.

"Again," the doctor orders, and another round of defibrillation. This time, there’s a slight blip, a change. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The doctor presses the paddles down once more, adjusting the settings. "One more time. We need him back."

The seconds stretch as they try again, and then finally, the heart monitor begins to beat again—slowly, but steadily.

"Heartbeat stable," the nurse breathes.

Your breath escapes your lips in a shaky exhale. You look at Charles again, feeling a rush of relief flood through you as the panic of the past few minutes settles into a wary calm. But it’s still not over. His fight isn’t done.

Just as you think the worst is behind you, Charles’s mother bursts into the room, her eyes frantic as she surveys the scene. Her voice cracks as she calls out his name, "Charles!"

You feel a flash of guilt. You should’ve called her sooner, but there had been no time. The doctors had been focused, and you’d been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

You step aside, giving her space, but you can’t look away from the man you love, still unconscious, his body fighting to survive.

The doctor steps over to you both. "We’re stabilizing him, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make some decisions."

Charles’s mother looks at you, her face pale with concern. She reaches for your hand. "Whatever it is… I trust you. You’re his wife, and you know him better than anyone. What do you think we should do?"

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. He’s… he’s still fighting. But we’ve been here for so long, and I don’t know how much longer we can wait."

Her gaze softens. "You don’t have to do this alone. I trust you. We’re a family. We make these decisions together." She squeezes your hand tightly. "But if you think there’s still a chance for him, then we have to keep fighting too."

You look back at Charles, uncertainty and fear clouding your judgment. How do you even begin to make this decision? His body is failing him, but his heart—his spirit—is still trying.

"Let’s give him more time," you decide, your voice shaking with fear but firm with resolve. "But if his chances are too slim… if we’re just keeping him alive on machines, then we need to think about letting him go."

The doctor nods solemnly. "We’ll run more tests. But if things don’t improve soon, we may need to consider other options."

As the minutes pass, the machines continue to monitor Charles’s every movement, every breath, and the room remains tense, every decision weighed in silence. But then, something begins to shift.

"His blood pressure’s coming back up," the nurse announces quietly. "And… there’s more brain activity. His oxygen levels are improving too."

You feel like you might be dreaming. "Is this really happening?"

The doctor steps forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen anything like this. His vitals are stabilizing. I think… I think he’s fighting."

"Fighting?" you ask, still not quite believing what you’re hearing.

The nurse, who’s been checking his monitors, speaks softly, her voice a little hopeful. "He knows you’re here. I think he’s holding on for you."

And in that moment, you realize: you’re not alone in this fight. Charles is fighting for you too.

The room fills with a cautious optimism, but the road ahead is still uncertain. Will he wake up? Will his organs continue to improve?

Only time will tell.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"His breathing," the nurse says, voice shaky, "it’s improving. He’s trying to breathe on his own. We can extubate him. He doesn't need the tube anymore."

You stare, wide-eyed, as they carefully begin the process of removing the intubation tube, your heart in your throat.

Everything changes in a moment.

There’s still a long way to go, but for the first time in hours, you feel a flicker of hope.

He’s still here. And he’s fighting.

But you know deep down that the next few days will be critical.

You stand there, feeling like you’ve crossed a line between despair and hope. But Charles has always been a fighter. And if he’s fighting, so will you.

For him. For the life you built together. For love.

You look down at him, and the smallest of smiles begins to tug at your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… he’ll make it through.

And for now, that's enough.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

fuck new regulations

choices- c.sainz

summary: charles gives you an ultimatum.

pairing: carlos sainz x fem! leclerc! reader

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When Carlos overtook Charles you knew he was racing purely for himself. You both knew it could be his last podium, and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to share it with his teammate. It just sucked that his teammate was your brother. 

Charles had never been good at sharing when it came to racing, but he was a Ferrari driver through and through, he’d be a team player if he had t, and they were boh supposed to be team players. Carlos was done with it, and you understood why. He’d been second to Charles his entire time at Ferrari, second to Max in Toro Rosso, ousted by Danny Ric in Renault, and now he’d be in Williams. He was sick of being seen as less than his teammates, when, if he had that same backing they did, he could’ve been a World Champion. 

You waited at the barricade for the both of them, not quite sure how they would react. Charles came out first, you’d heard his radio message. 

He walked over to Alexandra with a sigh. “It’s such bullshit,” he scoffed. Then his eyes met yours. “You have to make a choice now, and it isn’t about love. It’s about blood, it’s about dad. He’s not welcome in our home. He’s not fucking welcome at Christmas, at birthdays, ever. You need to pick.”

You stared at him for a moment. He’d never been so harsh. He’d never given you an ultimatum before. Alexandra looked at you, concerned. “Charles, no. That’s not fair-”

“You’re not in this conversation,” he quipped. “Y/n. Choose.”

“Don’t talk to her like that-” 

“Y/n,” Carlos was in front of you, looking at you, practically pleading with you to choose him. You loved him, he loved you. Charles was your brother. 

You looked at your brother. “Carlos,” you said, your voice strong and clear. Carlos wrapped his arms around you as you stared at Charles. He nodded, his lips a line, before he walked off. 

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin. You could feel the mix of sweat and tears against your neck. He pulled back with a smile. “Thank you. I love you.”

You smiled, tears welling up in your eyes. “Congratulations,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too.”

If Carlos had taught you one thing, it was that love shouldn’t hurt. Charles hurt you time and time again, always playing the older brother card whenever he wanted you to do something. Carlos never did that. He actually loved you. 

He wiped the tears off your cheeks as they fell, “We’ll work it out,” he promised you. “I’ll speak to him.” 

You shook your head. “Enjoy tonight my love,” you smiled. “You’re a winner. I love you.”

He offered a gentle smile. “I love you too.” 

You’d figure it out. Together.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

I just love the scenery of you and Anakin holding hands, like after a long time without seeing each other, you can't wait to go to a private place and touch his hand slyly you feel euphoric.

wtf why this have so many likes???? I made many mistakes stop reading please 😭😭😭

@ Anakin Skywalker × Female!Reader

— english is not my first language; I'm just trying to practice don't pay attencion to this please

⚠️ mentions of rape and violence

tags: angst and a little of confort

Summary: Someone tried to rape reader while Anakin was on a mission, the last thing that the reader wants, is to talk about it. — ao3

Anakin was coming back from a successful mission, joking around with Ashoka about how many droids they destroyed, a normal habit. He was so excited from coming back home that he couldn't suppress his smile; but Obi Wan, who received them, wasn't happy. 

While the others masters looked like always, serious. Obi Wan looked at Anakin with worried eyes. 

" Is something wrong, Master? " Anakin asked, a little disappointed for not seeing you on the platform waiting for him, he wanted to be with you so bad. Stepping far from the others, finally his master answered. 

" Promise me that you are not going to freak out " Obi Wan pursed his lips, while Anakin frowns with a confused look.

" Why? " Anakin tried it to make a smile to hide his bad mood , if he was going to be sent to another long mission, he was not going to be able to bear it. Obi Wan gave him the look—I'm not going to answer until you promise—. " Okay, I promise. What happened? "

Obi Wan sighs before telling him that in the last gathering you showed up trying to hide some bruises on your body, and when Obi Wan interrogated you about it, you only said that it was nothing. Obi Wan couldn't just ignore it, you were a Senator and if you were in some kind of danger, he should inform it.

And he knows that you are close to Anakin, probably more than you should,  seeing how his padawan left barely he ended the sentence, confirmed his thoughts.

In your room, a sweet cup of tea aromatizes while you're reading papers from work. Your clothes hid the bruises on your skin, even though it had been a few days they still hurt when you pressed them. Knowing Anakin was arriving today, the concerning feeling about how you were gonna pass unnoticed makes you wanna throw out. 

Lying to Anakin wasn't one of your favorites activities, at all. However, telling him the reason for your bruises could ruin everything, could make him hate you. And that was the last thing you wanted. 

Even though you spent the last few days figuring out how to deal with this, when Anakin appeared in front of you, you realized that you weren't prepared at all. Getting inside of your room, Anakin didn't hesitate in grabbing your hand and lifting up the sleeve of your dress, watching the bruises of differents colors caused a huge impact on the jedi. You tried to hide them with your other hand but Anakin didn't allow it. 

" Who did this to you? " His eyes full of anger made you swallow, trying to keep calm.

" It's okay, Anakin. It's not a big deal" with a smile you stand up, your heart beat painfully. This was not going to work. 

" It's not okay, and you know it. Tell me who the person is." He wasn't asking, you avoided his touch, feeling that your disgusted skin didn't deserve to be touched for no one you loved. Maybe If you revealed a little of the truth he would let you forget it. 

" I really don't know" 

But Anakin didn't let you get away, trapping you between the desk and his body, your hand covered by his gentle touch made you wanna cry. 

" How did this happen?" He was so close that you could feel his breath, your eyes down revealed that you didn't want to look at him. Nevertheless Anakin wasn't going to give up "Love, how did this happen?" 

Feeling like you were collapsing, your cheek was held by Anakin, you looked up with a miserable expression.

"Can't we just forget about this? I really don't want to talk about it." You wanted Anakin to hold you close enough to wipe the dirt off your body.  He did, he hugged you around your waist and hiding his head on your shoulder.  After a long time, you finally felt safe.

You weren't prepared to relive that night, and Anakin could feel your pain, promising himself that he would find the person who hurt you and pay for It.

I was talking with a friend about fanfics and when I said that when I like an author I write down their username and that sometimes I even write phrases about them SHE CALLED ME CREEPY

✦ Kim Young Jo y Keonhee

Extencion: 2.2k 

Tags: enemies to lovers, students, sexual tension, no-smut, spit kink

Kim Young Jo fue popular desde que tenía memoria, su belleza era motivo de comentarios halagadores que levantaran su ego. Su pelo castaño claro, la sonrisa engreída y su increíble talento para ser bueno en todo, eran las razones principales por las que en su propia escuela tuviera un club de fans. Kim Young Jo es una persona amada.

—Me gusta otra persona—su novia de hace más de cuatro meses estaba terminando con él, por alguien más.

—¿Eh? ¿Estás segura?—la voz de Kim Young Jo tembló—¿Estás segura de que no estás terminando conmigo por otra cosa? ¿Por qué soy engreído? ¿Quizás no soportas que sea más lindo que tú?

—Kim Young Jo… Realmente eres lo peor—río Jinhwa, su ahora expareja—Pero no, estoy segura. Hay alguien que tiene mi atención.

Este era un tipo de crisis que Kim Young Jo no conocía. No le importaba su relación con Jinhwa, aceptó tener una relación porque no era celosa y casi no tenía tiempo para ambos, ya que se la pasaba estudiando. Sin embargo, esta ruptura y la razón detrás, lo dejaba ansioso. ¿Habría alguien más hermoso que él? Imposible.

—¿Puedo saber por quién me estás dejando?

—Lee Keon Hee, del equipo de vóley.

En cuanto Jinhwa se fue, ese nombre le quedó resonando en la cabeza, pero su ego en las nubes le dijo que solo era una chica equivocada. Que no había nadie mejor que él. Así que por ahora solo se preocuparía de cómo lidiar con las personas que lo invitaran a salir ahora que estaba soltero, solo espera que las bocas tardaran de hablar sobre ello.

Camino por los pasillos de vuelta a sus clases, donde se encontró con su fiel amigo, Seoho. Le contó sobre lo sucedido con Jinhwa, mencionando vagamente al chico.

—Sí, Lee Keon Hee se está haciendo popular—agregó Seoho dándole una mirada rápida a su amigo—Ya tiene un club de fans con más de dos mil seguidores.

El castaño casi se atraganta con el agua que estaba tomando, club de fans… ya tenía un club de fans. Él tardó casi tres años en que se formara un buen grupo de fans y, sin embargo, llegaba este chico de la nada y ya andaba armando revuelto por todas partes. Que molesto. Respiro profundo, se dispuso a no prestarle atención, que lo que nacía rápido también moría rápido.

O eso pensó, los días pasaron, y no solo los alumnos hablaban de Lee Keon Hee, los profesores, quienes siempre fueron su máquina de adulaciones, solo le decían palabras dulces para compararlos entre sí. Pronto también se hizo público la separación de la pareja, y en las páginas de confesiones de la escuela hablaban de que Jinhwa lo había engañado con Lee Keon Hee. Las páginas de fans de ambos chicos se pusieron a la defensiva, defendiendo y atacando al otro. Dentro y fuera de la escuela, la tensión creció entre dos chicos que ni siquiera se conocían.

Kim Young Jo siempre fue popular, acostumbrado, se encontraba. Sin embargo, cuando ya no pudo caminar por los pasillos de la escuela sin que diez personas le preguntaran sobre Lee Keon Hee, empezó a hartarse.

Terminaría con la estrella naciente, Lee Keon Hee.

✦

Esto era terrible, terrible. Kim Young Jo se encontraba escondido en las gradas del gimnasio, el equipo de vóley estaba practicando y las pelotas volando por todas partes ya lo estaban mareando, poco acostumbrado a los deportes. Sabía que no era el único espiándolo, un grupo de chicas lindas susurraban entre sí mirando al joven.

Lee Keon Hee era guapo, no tan guapo como él, pero tenía su propia belleza. El rubio lo resaltaba, su sonrisa era agradable y sin duda tenía una buena estructura corporal. Le ardía la sangre, tenía tantos celos que el calor lo inundaba, deseaba ocultar a ese chico.

La clase terminó con ruidos jadeantes, las chicas se fueron avergonzadas y Kim Young Jo decidió que iba a enfrentar a ese descarado. Salió de su escondite apretando los labios, y ni siquiera se dio cuenta de que estaba cegado por la furia hasta que casi cae rodando por los escalones, tuvo la suerte de poder disimularlo cuando el equipo de vóley se dio la vuelta ante el ruido seco.

—¿Oh? ¿Ese no es Kim Young Jo?

—¿Eh? ¡Sí, es Kim Young Jo-sunbaenim!

Los ojos que no habían mirado hacia atrás, al escuchar su nombre, el cuerpo del bastardo se dio la vuelta con desespero. Kim Young Jo no lo entendía, no entendía la mirada curiosa de ese chico, le molestaba.

—¡Y-a, Lee Keon Hee, bastardo!—el castaño se levantó tambaleándose y enfrentando a la estrella naciente que le robaba su popularidad. Kim Young Jo se acercó a zancadas encarando al chico, que solo era unos centímetros más grande que él—¿Quien te crees que eres?

Lee Keon Hee miró a sus compañeros, y con una sonrisa les dijo que sigan, que él los alcanzaría en un momento. Los chicos se fueron entre murmullos, y cuando los ojos de Lee Keon Hee volvieron a posarse en él, tembló. No podía dejarse apretar de esa manera.

—¿Quién crees que eres para robarte a mi novia?—verbalizo el castaño tocando con su dedo índice el pecho del contrario.

Maldita sea, se nota que va al gimnasio.

Lee Keon Hee ladeo la cabeza con una sonrisa engreída, muy diferente a las sonrisas que dio cuando estaban las chicas y sus compañeros de equipo. Así que estaba sacando su verdadera actitud.

—No pensé que hyung fuera tan tonto—Kim Young Jo se sorprendió cuando el rubio le toco la barbilla acercando sus caras, algo irritante en su abdomen hizo que quisiera arrancarle el pelo rubio cenizo; lo insultaba, se atrevía a tocarle su hermosa cara y encima siendo menor que él, ni siquiera espero a que hiciera un movimiento más, simplemente escupió en el rostro del jugador para luego sonreír. Lee Keon Hee se alejó con repugnancia—Ni que le gustara escupir a la gente.

—Eso es especial para ti, maldito, estúpido—Kim Young Jo peinando sus flecos salidos de lugar se acercó al menor que se limpiaba con la manga de su ropa—Aléjate de Jinhwa, no me importa cuanto la quieras.

El castaño sonrió en triunfo y se dio la vuelta con sus últimas palabras dichas. Estaba satisfecho, no pensó que Lee Keon Hee lo alteraría tanto, pero por suerte pudo tomar su venganza. Una mano agarró su abdomen por detrás que lo terminó de tirar, pero no pegó contra el piso como pensó, fue mucho peor, golpeó contra un cuerpo duro que lo mantenía inmovilizado.

—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?—Kim Young Jo ni siquiera pudo quejarse porque el menor susurro esas palabras que acariciaron su oreja y mandaron descargas eléctricas por toda su columna—En realidad no me interesa en absoluto Jinhwa, hyung. La rechace esta mañana, puedes quedarte tranquilo.

Kim Young Jo estaba rojo, de la rabia suponía. Golpeó con su codo la costilla del menor que se quejó de dolor. No pudo decir una palabra, lo habían desafiado y avergonzado. Justo cuando estaba por salir del gimnasio escucha.

—¡La próxima vez escúpeme en mi cama, hyung!

—¡Cállate maldito idiota!—lo último que pudo oír antes de salir corriendo fue la risa sonora del rubio cenizo.

✦

Kim Young Jo se arrepintió de sus acciones, no sabía que tipo de bestia era Lee Keon Hee, pero sin duda la había liberado. Lo seguía a todas partes, la mirada del menor estaba sobre él, siempre. En la cafetería, cuando se encontraban en los pasillos y cuando se escondía en las gradas del gimnasio, no sabía por qué seguía yendo, pero sus tardes se sentían aburridas si no veía al rubio. Había algo que lo mantenía interesado en pelearse con el menor. Lee Keon Hee lo acorralaba y él lo insultaba, una rutina que ninguno de los dos se cansaba de tener. Pronto la rutina fue aún más lejos, y el establecimiento educativo no les daba suficiente tiempo para molestarse, así que en un día de lluvia, Kim Young Jo empapado, es invitado a la casa del menor.

—¿Qué? ¿Hyung tiene miedo de que le haga algo?—y Kim Young Jo no se dejó vencer, aunque sí tenía miedo. La actitud del menor era inesperada, él no-saber que iba a decir, cuál iba a ser su siguiente movimiento… lo mantenía alerta. Siempre se encontraba nervioso si Lee Keon Hee estaba cerca.

La casa del menor se encontraba a unas pocas cuadras del edificio estudiantil, apenas llegaron, se dio cuenta de que estaban solos, no había ruido ni luces prendidas, Lee Keon Hee aunque era joven ya vivía solo; no lo admitió en voz alta pero para Kim Young Jo eso era impresionante. Le dijo que esperara un segundo mientras lo tapaba con una toalla, sin preocuparse por su propio bienestar.

Cuando volvió le trajo unos pantalones grises, una remera negra de manga cortas y boxers del mismo color, olían a vainilla. El castaño se desvistió ahí, de todas formas, Lee Keon Hee seguramente estaba acostumbrado a ver a hombres cambiarse por el equipo de vóley. Pero cuando terminó y se dio la vuelta agradeciendo por el conjunto, el menor estaba rojo, fue la primera vez que lo vio sonrojarse. Kim Young Jo no pudo evitar burlarse de él.

—¿Te has puesto rojo por ver a tu hyung cambiarse?—rio sonoramente mientras se tiraba en el sofá como si fuera su propia casa; sin embargo, se calló cuando notó el silencio y la cabeza baja del rubio—¿Qué pasa?

—Si Hyung lo sabe, no necesita fingir sentirse cómodo—la voz del menor fue apagada, no lo desafiaba. Lee Keon Hee no lo estaba desafiando, y él no sabía contestar porque no tenía idea de que hablaban, le dolía el corazón, sintió un desespero en el pecho, no levantaba la mirada. Quería que lo mirara.

—Lee Keon Hee, no sé de qué hablas.

—¿Hyung, está seguro que no sabe?—el menor levantó la mirada, con los labios rectos y unos ojos oscuros—¿O esto es parte de su venganza por robarme a su novia?

Nunca volvieron a mencionar a Jinhwa desde ese día en el gimnasio, y tampoco él había pensado en eso. En realidad se había olvidado del problema con ella, en el último mes simplemente estuvo con Keon Hee. En cambio, el otro aún parecía perseguido, él fue el que rechazó a Jinhwa y aun así seguía pensando en ella, de repente estaba molesto.

Si, en la escuela los rumores seguían, pero supuso que ninguno de los dos le estaba prestando atención.

—No me interesa Jinhwa, si tanto te gusta, estoy seguro de que ella te dará una segunda oportunidad—contesto sin más Young Jo prendiendo su celular, fingió que sus palabras no le importaban pero se le hundía el corazón. Más le dolió cuando Keon Hee se fue del salón a pasos retumbantes, dejándolo solo.

Sentía un nudo en su garganta, una picazón en sus ojos y la boca seca. Estaba tan confundido, debería estar feliz, si Keon Hee empezaba a salir con ella ya no lo molestaría, ya no lo miraría en la cafetería y no lo acorralaría después de las prácticas de vóley. Sin darse cuenta entró a la página de confesiones, las lágrimas empezaron a caer y el nudo se desató.

Su sollozo era ruidoso, Keon Hee tenía razón, era un Hyung tonto. El más tonto de todos. Tapo su cara con las manos, sentía que se ahogaba, que no podía respirar, que no podía soltarlo. Le gustaba Keon Hee, mucho. Él, por más de estar molesto, lo cuidaba, y él nunca se lo devolvía. Nunca se daba cuenta. Se paró de su lugar y entre los pasillos buscó la habitación en la que se encontraba el menor, sin embargo, hizo tanto ruido que Keon Hee asomó su cabeza por la puerta.

—¿Hyung?—vio su cara lagrimeando, y se acercó con preocupación agarrando su cara entre sus manos—¿Qué pasa?

—No salgas con Jinhwa—pidió entrecortadamente el castaño, los ojos de Keon Hee se oscurecieron, pero aun así asintió.

—No lo haré, Hyung, no te preocupes—Young Jo pudo respirar, y agotado se apoyó en el hombro del menor.

—Bien… Solo sal conmigo, ¿si?

Fueron segundos silenciosos de Young Jo sollozando, hasta que el menor lo agarró de los hombros.

—¡Espera!—exclamó el menor—¿Quieres salir conmigo?

Young Jo se limpió las lágrimas.

—Claro, eres la segunda cara más linda que conozco—sonrió—Si me hubiera enterado antes que eras gay, lo hubiera dicho antes.

Keon Hee estaba en blanco.

—Hyung, el día en el gimnasio—titubeo—Te dije que estaba interesado en ti.

Young Jo frunció el ceño, hasta que recordó.

—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?

oh.

—Pensé que… estabas bromeando—rio nerviosamente Young Jo.

—Hyung, no bromeo—Keon Hee posó una mano en la cintura del mayor—¿Estás bromeando?

—¡Y-a! ¿Por quién me tomas?—cruzó los brazos—No lloro por cualquiera.

—¿Es así? Entonces me alegro—el menor con su otra mano terminó por rodear la cintura del castaño, apretando con su dedo pulgar los costados que hicieron a Young Jo gimotear entre los labios del rubio que lo atacaron inesperadamente. Era el primer hombre al que besaba, y no podía imaginar que hubiera otro, porque la calidez que Keon Hee le estaba dando no podría encontrarlo en otro lugar. Le mordió los labios, lo humedeció y Young Jo sentía que se moría de calor cuando se separaron.

—Keon Hee, realmente eres una bestia.