[levionlyyours]

Insult to Injury

☆ Summary: Levi Ackerman has never been good at flirting, which is unfortunate, because insulting you is no longer enough to hide the fact that he’s hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.

☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

☆ Genre/Tags: Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, Levi Ackerman is Bad At Feelings, Soft Levi Ackerman, Flirting, First Kiss, Love Confession, Humor, Fluff, Smut

☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected piv, creampie

☆ Word Count: 9.0k

☆ AO3 Link

☆ Check out the other fics in this collection!

☆ a/n: this is day 2 out of 7 for my birthday week celebration! thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts <3 also please don't ask for a part two i will take a sledgehammer to my laptop if you ask for a part two

Levi first sees you in the morning in the hallway outside of Erwin’s office. You’re holding a stack of reports tucked under one arm, your cloak clasped crookedly, and a half-finished piece of bread pinched between your teeth because you realized eating breakfast and walking to your briefing is an efficient way to multitask.

Levi sees you from the end of the hall and stops walking. His entire body locks up for the stupidest reason—because it’s you. He immediately thinks There she is. Then, because his mind is determined to ruin him, it adds, Her hair looks nice. He almost turns around and walks directly back to his office just to avoid facing you, but because he’s Captain Levi Ackerman, a man who has faced Titans without blinking and therefore shouldn’t be taken down by a woman holding paperwork and chewing bread, he keeps walking forward.

“You look like hell,” he says as soon as he’s close enough.

You stop and look at him, taking the bread out of your mouth as you lift your brows. “Good morning to you too, Captain.”

Levi stares at the bread, then your mouth. He tries to find something else to focus on. Maybe he can tell you your cloak clasp is twisted and Erwin will absolutely notice. Maybe he could ask whether you slept, because the shadows beneath your eyes look darker than yesterday, and yesterday they had already irritated him enough that he left a cup of tea outside your office and convinced himself he only did it because your exhausted handwriting was difficult to read.

“You look better than yesterday, though,” he adds, because he doesn’t know how to shut up around you.

You half-smile. “That might be the closest you’ve ever come to saying something nice to me.”

He feels his stomach drop. Was it? Was that nice? Had he been too obvious? No. No, that’s impossible. No one could hear “you look like hell” and think it was sweet unless they were deranged. But you’re not deranged. In fact, you’re too competent and too observant for his peace of mind.

“You’re insane,” he says, reaching forward before he can stop himself to fix your cloak clasp. The moment he brushes his fingers against your throat, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. 

You freeze out of surprise, then lift your chin slightly as his knuckles graze the skin beneath your jaw. Levi’s mind goes blank in the most humiliating way possible. He hears the scratch of your breath, feels your pulse at your neck, smells the soap you use—because of course you would be the only other person with proper hygiene standards—and everything he’s learned in life to survive abandons him. He steps back as if you’d burned him.

“There,” he says, voice flat. “Try dressing yourself like an officer next time.”

You glance down at the straightened clasp, then back at him, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Are you always this charming before breakfast?”

“No.”

“Only with me, then?”

He turns and walks away. Behind him, you laugh, and Levi immediately knows by the burning of his cheeks and the repeating Stupid, stupid, stupid in his mind that this is going to be a very long day.

He insults you again five minutes later inside Erwin’s office, where Erwin stands at the head of the table. Hange lounges over a chair, looking as if they’ve only slept for either four hours or not at all. Miche stands near the window quietly, as always. You take the seat across from Levi, who keeps his eyes on the meeting notes. He refuses to look at you. If he does, he won’t be able to stay composed.

“You’re quiet,” Hange says to him after Erwin begins explaining the revised training schedule for the week. “You’re either listening or plotting something.”

“Unlike you, I can do both quietly,” Levi says.

Hange grins. “That’s what I admire about you, shorty!”

You snort under your breath. Levi looks at you without meaning to. You’re clearly trying not to smile, one hand pressed over the bottom half of your face, eyes lowered to the table. He sees it all, because he always sees too much where you’re concerned. That’s the problem. It means he notices the loose strand of hair against your cheek, and the warmth in your eyes when you catch him looking at you. Levi looks away immediately, thinking to himself Idiot.

“Something wrong, Levi?” Erwin asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“No,” Levi says.

“You were staring into nothing.”

“I was just assessing whether her paperwork is as sloppy as her uniform.”

You mock an offended gasp. “My paperwork is pristine.”

“It’s tolerable.”

“From you,” you say, pointing your quill at him, “that is basically a marriage proposal.”

Everyone in the room goes quiet. Hange inhales like they’re about to burst. Levi goes completely and utterly still. Marriage proposal. You said it as a joke. Obviously, right? It’s just a harmless, casual joke, banter shared between squad leaders when too much paperwork has turned everyone’s brains into horse feed. There’s no reason for his mind to take the phrase, drag it and him into an alley, and start beating him with it.

Marriage proposal. His mind races before he can stop himself, supplying a series of images: you standing at an altar, you and him in his office alone, your laughter at breakfast, your hand in his, your mouth on his—

No. He’s not going there again. Not now.

Hange’s grin grows wider. Miche looks out the window, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. Erwin, who is the worst kind of friend to you both, simply looks between the both of you, silently filing this moment away for later to use against either of you when the time comes.

Levi picks up his teacup. “You’d make a terrible wife,” he says.

You grin and rest your chin on the top of your linked hands, elbows on the table. “Why’s that?”

“You’re loud, annoying, and you don’t even know how to chop a carrot.”

“You notice the strangest things about me.”

Levi drinks his tea to avoid having to answer, and even though the tea is too hot, he refuses to cough. Unfortunately for him, you notice his eyes squinting slightly, and your smile softens so much it nearly kills him on the spot. No, he thinks. I can’t let her do this to me.

He spends the rest of the meeting saying as little as possible, which would work better if Hange didn’t keep sneaking glances at him with barely contained excitement. 

Levi expects the week to improve after that. It doesn’t. The problem is that you’re everywhere. You’re in the training yard in the afternoon, walking between your squad members to correct their positions. You’re at the stables in the evening, arguing with someone about your saddle in disrepair. You’re at the mess hall the next morning, laughing with Nanaba over something silly, your head tipped back in a way that fully exposes your throat and immediately makes Levi think of how nice it would be to kiss it.

It’s nothing. It’s not attraction, it’s not a crush, because he’s a full-grown man and he has no use for romantic attraction. It’s just… a normal appreciation of competence. It’s nothing.

Then you bend to pick up a dropped training knife, showing off your ass perfectly, and Levi walks straight into a wall.

So, not nothing, then.

.

By the fifth day, he’s found numerous excuses to pass through the training yard—at least three times.

The first time, he claims he’s merely checking formations and whether the recruits are holding it correctly. The second time, he claims the training dummies aren’t being raised correctly. The third time, he says nothing at all because even he knows another excuse won’t fool anyone.

You catch him near the fence line with his arms crossed, watching as you demonstrate a disarming technique to your squad. “Captain Ackerman,” you call, breathless from your exertion. “Are you here to criticize my form again?”

His mind immediately says Yes, then No. Tell her she moves well. Tell her that her squad trusts her. Tell her she can command a room without having to do anything. Tell her—

“Your stance is less terrible than usual,” Levi says. He slaps himself in his mind. Stupid.

You turn slowly. “Less terrible? Are you praising me?”

“It wasn’t praise.”

“Definitely sounded like praise,” you sing.

“Get your hearing checked.”

You grin. Levi looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. Your squad disperses after another hour, groaning with exhaustion, and you remain behind to gather the practice blades, humming under your breath while the wind blows through your hair. 

Levi knows he should leave. He has reports, he has inspections, he has an office to clean and tea waiting for him that’ll oversteep if he continues standing here like some lovesick idiot. He finds himself walking toward you anyway.

“You’re wearing that wrong,” he says.

You look down at yourself, squinting your eyes. “Wearing what wrong?”

“Your harness.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’ve worn ODM gear for years.”

“Then it’s embarrassing that you managed to fuck it up this badly.”

You put both hands on your hips, cocking your head at him. “Alright, then. Fix it if it bothers you that much.”

His soul practically leaves his body, but because he has absolutely no self-preservation, he mutters, “Fine.”

He steps behind you and reaches for the strap crossing your back. It’s only slightly twisted, barely enough to matter, but he focuses on it as if the fate of the Walls depends on that strip of leather lying flat. Focusing on the strap is easier than focusing on how warm you are, how close you are, how you freeze when his hands settle at your waist to adjust the lower buckles.

This is normal, he thinks. You’ve adjusted soldiers’ gear before. He pulls and tightens. Then, he finally realizes this is not normal at all. He’s too busy thinking about your waist. How nice it feels under his hands. How nice it would be to hold it while he presses up against you from behind. Goddamnit, get it together. He tightens one strap, loosens another, checks the angle, then checks it again because he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“You’re awfully thorough,” you say.

Levi freezes. He hears the smile in your voice. A small one. Possibly innocent. Probably innocent. He can’t lean forward and investigate, because if he sees your expression, he may just blurt something stupid out like I like standing this close to you, and then he’ll have to desert the Scouts and live alone in a cave for the rest of his life.

“If you fall out of your gear, I’ll have to hear about it,” he says.

“Ah, so this is precaution.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“More like annoyed.” You laugh softly, and he finishes the adjustment too quickly, stepping away in an attempt to restore whatever part of his dignity just died. “There,” he says. “Try not to embarrass your rank.”

You turn to face him, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just survived an internal war. “Thank you, Levi.”

He blinks at the use of his name. You usually don’t say his first name. It’s always Captain, Captain Ackerman, or Captain Levi. Never just Levi. He looks away before his expression can give him away.

All he says is a simple, “Tch.”

.

You still don’t realize that Levi thinks of you differently, even weeks later.

Levi is rude to almost everyone, blunt with everyone, sparse with praise and allergic to any kind of emotional displays, so it doesn’t occur to you immediately that the insults he gives you are not the same as the ones he gives everyone else. You just assume Levi tolerates you, perhaps even respects you. You don’t assume Levi watches for whether you’ve eaten, or that he’s memorized how you take your tea, or that he once spent ten minutes deciding whether he should knock on your door with medicine in his hand when you were out sick one day.

Hange assumes all of it, and unfortunately for you, Hange assumes very loudly.

In the mess hall, you sit alone at the end of one table with a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a stack of formation notes you’re trying to read without dripping broth on them. Even now, you don’t know how to stop working. Hange slides into the seat across from you so quickly that the table shifts. You look up, raising your brows.

“Hello to you too,” you say.

“You and Levi,” Hange says.

You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. “Me and Levi what?”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t noticed.”

You stare at them, and Hange stares back, eyes bright behind their glasses, their expression so gleeful it’s almost terrifying.

“Hange,” you say slowly. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Their smile falters, then returns even wider. “Oh, that’s even better.”

“Why am I scared?”

“You should be. I know something.”

“You say that a lot.”

Hange waves that away, then leans closer. “Levi has a crush on you.”

You almost drop your spoon into your lap. Surely they must be joking, right? The words don’t even make sense at first. They enter your brain, bounce around for a few seconds, then immediately get rejected by every sensible part of you.

“Levi,” you repeat.

“Yes.”

“Captain Levi Ackerman.”

“Yes.”

“Humanity’s strongest soldier. That Levi.”

“Do we have another emotionally stunted short man named Levi wandering around?”

You look across the mess hall at Levi, standing near the far wall, speaking with Erwin. His arms are folded across his chest, face blank as always. Nothing about him suggests he has a crush on you. The man looks like he was born to disapprove of everyone and everything. To be fair, he already does.

“He insulted my uniform,” you say.

Hange leans even further in. “I saw him fix your cloak.”

“He told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“Levi considers tolerable high praise.”

“He said I would make a terrible wife.”

“He was totally thinking about you being his wife.” You open your mouth, then close it, because you have absolutely nothing to say in response to that. Hange presses on with a devilish smile. “He brings you tea, too,” they say.

“So?”

“Good tea.” That makes you pause. “He corrects your supply forms before Erwin sees them.”

“So? He corrects everyone’s forms.”

“No, he writes ‘redo this garbage’ on everyone else’s. Yours come back fixed.” You can only blink in response. “He always says something when your squad gets stable duty, and somehow those assignments always mysteriously change.”

“That could be Erwin.”

“It’s not Erwin, trust me.”

“Okay, well… he criticized my gear.”

“That was only an excuse to touch you.”

“Hange.”

“What? I’m observant.”

You sneak a glance at Levi again, and as though sensing your gaze, he looks over. His eyes meet yours across the mess hall, and you see the smallest shift in his expression. A fondness you hadn’t seen before. He then notices Hange sitting across from you, sees the wide grin on their face, and he narrows his eyes with immediate suspicion. Hange waves. Levi looks like he’s considering whether he could get away with murder. Then you notice—and you’re entirely convinced you’re just seeing things—the redness blooming across his cheekbones when he looks at you again.

Oh.

Oh?

That is, unfortunately, very cute.

Then you realize. It all hits you at once. The tea outside your office, the fixing of your cloak, the bread that mysteriously showed up on your desk, the fact that he somehow always manages to appear when you’re carrying something heavy, the way his insults land just a little softer when they’re directed at you.

“You’re enjoying this, you naughty thing,” you accuse Hange.

“Immensely.”

“If you’re wrong, I’m going to look very stupid.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m rarely wrong in matters this entertaining.”

Across the room, Levi pushes away from the wall and starts walking toward you. You feel your stomach drop as Hange stands up.

“Good luck,” they whisper.

You look to them in panic. “Hange, don’t leave—”

“Be gentle. He’s not emotionally housebroken.”

They vanish before Levi arrives, leaving you sitting with your lukewarm stew, your scattered notes, and the sudden realization that Levi Ackerman has been crushing on you for who knows how long now?

Levi stops beside the table. “What did they say?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Nothing usually means something.”

“It means nothing, actually.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

You look up at him and, for the first time, allow yourself to study him with the possibility of affection returned. He looks the same as always: tight mouth, sharp eyes, neat cravat, straight posture. But now you see the tiny tells beneath it. He doesn’t look at you directly for too long. His attention flicks to your tea, your food, your notes. His fingers twitch once at his side before he forces them to be still.

He’s nervous. Levi Ackerman is nervous.

You nearly break into a way-too-obvious smile, but thankfully, you manage to just tilt your head. “Captain,” you say, “are you worried about me?”

“No.”

“Well, that was a quick answer.”

“Because it was an easy question.”

“So you’re not worried about me.”

“No.”

“And if I skipped dinner?”

His eyes flick to your bowl. “You’re eating dinner.”

“But if I did.”

“Then you’d be an idiot.”

“You’d notice, though.”

Levi looks at you pointedly, and you smile. You see the visible tightening around his mouth and the subtle shift in his breathing. 

“Hard not to notice when someone is being an idiot in public,” he says.

You lean your chin into your hand. “You know, if you wanted my attention so badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”

You swear Levi stops breathing. You see the hitch in his breath. His face doesn’t change as much, but you see the subtle shift in his eyes, the catastrophic collapse happening behind them that he’s so desperately trying to hide.

She knows, Levi thinks, then with rising horror, She knows, and Hange told her. I’m going to kill them. “I have better things to do than ask for your attention,” he says, swallowing through the tightness in his throat.

“And yet, here you are,” you say, smiling widely.

Because he doesn’t know where else to look, he peers at your notes. “Your handwriting is messy again.”

“Deflection.”

“Mere observation.”

“You make a lot of those about me.”

“Someone has to.”

You laugh. Levi wishes he didn’t love that sound as much as he does.

You become an absolute menace after that. 

.

You don’t do it immediately—you’re too clever for that, and Levi is too slippery to corner. So, you start with small things, such as sitting beside him instead of across from him at the next briefing, which he notices immediately. He stiffens in response.

“Morning,” you say cheerfully.

He looks at the empty chairs around the table. “There are other seats.”

“I like this one.”

“It’s too close.”

“To what?”

“To me, idiot.”

You look at him innocently, batting your eyelashes. “Am I bothering you, Captain?”

Yes, Levi thinks, because you’re too close that he can clearly smell your divine scent, and because your sleeve brushes his when you reach for a report, and because he can see the little crumb that you must not have fully swept away on your mouth and wants to stupidly wipe it off.

“No,” he says.

“Good.”

Hange bites their knuckles across the table.

Later in the mess hall, you ask Levi to pass you a fork. The utensils are closer to you than to him. It doesn’t go over his head, but he reaches for it anyway, because he’s embarrassingly obedient to you. When he hands it over, you deliberately brush your fingers over his. Levi nearly drops the fork. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he manages to keep his hand steady, even though internally, he wants to run face-first into a wall. 

You lower your voice. “Careful, Captain. You seem distracted.”

He glares at you. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes.”

“That was also a very fast answer.”

“You ask stupid questions.”

“And you still answer them anyway.”

You catch his eyes flicking down to your mouth only once, only for the smallest amount of time, but you see it, and all traces of wanting to tease him escape your body.

For all your amusement, for all the fun of watching him unravel, you’re not immune to him. Levi’s awkwardness is adorable, yes, and his insults are ridiculous as they are normal, but you know how to decipher the way he shows you attention. He’s always fiercely contained. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to crack that composure just a little.

After dinner, he follows you in the always-empty corridor outside the mess hall, the one just around the corner. He positions himself in front of you, standing near a window where the moonlight cuts across his face.

“You’re doing this on purpose now,” he says.

You stop walking. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. I want to hear you say it.”

He clenches his jaw. There’s no one else in the corridor, so surely, he can say it with little repercussions, right? Levi looks at you, then shifts his gaze away.

“You’ve been acting strange,” he says.

“I’ve been acting strange?”

“Yes.”

“That’s interesting.”

“No, it’s just annoying.”

You step a little closer, but Levi doesn’t move. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask softly.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“Then what am I making you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t seem to have an insult resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike. The silence stretches for a moment longer than necessary.

“Annoyed,” he says finally, crossing his arms.

“Ooh, that’s the answer you’re going with?”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

“Levi.”

His name again. You use it gently, and the effect it has on him is visible in the slight flare of his nostrils and his fingers flexing once against his sleeve.

“You can tell me to stop,” you say.

“I know.”

“And?”

“And I won’t.” Levi looks irritated by his own honesty, but he doesn’t retract. His gaze drops to your mouth, snaps back to your eyes, drops again before he can stop it, and this time both of you know. Both of you feel it. Both of you stop denying it. “I can’t think straight around you,” he says very quietly. The words seem to surprise him as much as they surprise you.

Your smile melds into a softer one. “Do you want me to back off?”

“No.”

You take another step closer. “Do you want me to keep teasing you?”

Levi looks genuinely pained when he says, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You shrug. “A little.”

“Brat.”

You raise your hand slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he so wishes, and you touch the edge of his cravat, feeling the fold beneath your fingers. He tracks the movement with his eyes as if your hand is a blade.

“Do you want to kiss me, Levi?” you ask.

Levi’s heart drops straight through the floor. There are many things he can do under pressure. He can make impossible decisions with blood on his hands. He can move faster than fear. He can face death with a blank expression. But this—a direct question, so clear in its intent, asked in your soft voice while you stand close enough for him to count your eyelashes—destroys him completely.

But he’s tired of losing to himself.

“Yes,” he says.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you whisper.

He waits a second longer, just enough to make sure you don’t step back or retreat fully, just enough to give you the chance to change your mind. You don’t, so Levi kisses you.

At first, he’s too careful, his mouth pressed against yours with restraint. It feels like he’s holding back an army, one hand hovering near your waist before he places it there. You feel the tension coiled in him, the uncertainty buried inside him. Levi doesn’t kiss you with any sort of confidence. He’s scared. You can tell. So you help him. You step into him, sliding one hand to his shoulder and the other to the side of his face, and kiss him back hard enough that his breath leaves him in a startled exhale.

Then he changes. Some guarded place inside him finally lets down its walls as his hand grips your waist and his mouth moves against yours with deeper intention, having thought about this moment for longer than he’ll ever admit. Every insult and cup of tea has been leading him here, to this corridor, to this moment, to the relief of wanting you and discovering that you want him too.

And goddamit, do you want him.

When you part, you stay close, your noses brushing, his hand still at your waist, having forgotten to let go—and when he remembers, he still doesn’t pull away. He notices your smile first.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re totally blushing.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Levi Ackerman is blushing from one kiss?”

“You and your fucking ego.”

You laugh, and he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his lips. Then he’s pulled back to exactly how you even got to this point, and his almost-smile curdles into a scowl. 

“Don’t flirt with me in front of Hange again,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because they’ll never shut up about it.”

You tilt your head. “And?”

Levi looks down the corridor once, then turns back to you. “And because I’ll probably embarrass myself,” he almost mumbles.

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you say. He looks slightly skeptical. “Levi. I asked you if you wanted to kiss me and you said yes. That was actually very impressive.”

“Tch.”

“For you, I mean.”

He narrows his eyes. You just laugh and kiss his cheek once before walking away with glee in your steps, leaving behind a very miserable, blushing Levi.

.

The days after your kiss are strange, for lack of a better word. You and him don’t announce anything to anyone else, which Levi appreciates, because if Hange finds out, he’ll never know peace again. But privacy doesn’t mean mercy—you’re too evil for that. You’re gentle with him still, but you’re also you, and you’ve realized very quickly that Levi’s composure is a door with a faulty hinge.

You touch his hand in meetings. You call him Levi and sometimes Vi in passing and watch him stop as his face flushes red. You smile at him over your drinks and soup and bread in the mess hall. You tell him, after one long afternoon of reports, “You know, you’re almost sweet when you’re pretending not to be.”

He looks up from his paperwork and accidentally leaves a line of ink across the page. You stifle a laugh. He’s not going to be happy when he looks back down. 

“I’m not sweet,” he says.

“Almost sweet.”

“Still wrong.”

“You brought me tea yesterday unprompted.”

“I always do. And you looked dead.”

“Aw, you noticed?”

“Hard to miss.”

“Because I looked pretty?”

“Because you looked dead.”

“Pretty dead?”

He stares at you. You stare back. His mouth twitches first.

Another thing that fits into your long, exhausting days are the stolen kisses. A brief one in the narrow hall outside the records room. A longer, messier one in his office after you bring him corrected notes. One in the shadowed stairwell that ends with him muttering, “You’re going to get us caught,” even though he’s the one who pulls you back by your wrist when you start to leave.

Every kiss teaches you something. Levi likes to pretend he isn’t affected by you, but he’s always betrayed by his hands. They start almost formal, then grow bolder when you respond, fingers spreading along your waist, your back, the side of your neck. He doesn’t make much sound unless you surprise him, and once you realize that, you become silently determined to surprise him every chance you can get.

He learns too. He learns that you like when he says your name softly, in the low, rough voice he uses when he’s too flustered to hide behind composure. He learns that you laugh into kisses when he deepens it out of nowhere. He learns that if he cups your jaw and tilts your face toward his, your breath catches so beautifully that it makes his heart flip.

One night, after a late strategy review, after Erwin dismisses the squad leaders and Hange leaves with an extremely pointed and suggestive look, Levi mutters, “Walk into a Titan’s mouth,” under his breath as soon as the door shuts and returns to his office. You join him because Levi still has your patrol notes. It’s just an excuse—both of you know it.

Rain taps gently against the windows. Levi stands behind his desk with your papers in one hand while he scans the revised schedule. Meanwhile, you lean against the edge of a cabinet and try not to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You changed the rotation,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“It’s better.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Was that praise I just heard?”

“Observation.”

“A positive one.”

“You’re making it weird.” 

He looks up, but there’s a different look to his eyes, something worn down by days of wanting you and stopping and wanting you again. You feel your body answer, a warm pull in your lower stomach, the ache that’s been building every time he kisses you longer than you expect. Levi sees your expression shift, and he grips his papers tighter. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to start trouble.”

You push away from the cabinet slowly. “Would you like me to stop?”

He hates that question with a passion. Every time you ask it, it matters. You give him enough space to refuse, to breathe, to get himself together, and it makes him want you more than any stupid flirtatious remark ever could.

“No,” he says.

You approach him slowly. Levi sets the papers down, aligning them with the edge of the desk, as he always does. When you reach him, you don’t smash your lips against his—even though you desperately want to. Instead, you touch his sleeve first, then his wrist, then the back of his hand where his fingers rest against the desk.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you say.

“It’s what I’m used to.”

“I know.”

His gaze drops to your mouth. “You make it worse.”

“Good worse or bad worse?”

“Depends on what you do next.”

You kiss him, and there’s nothing quick about it this time. Levi’s hand rises to cup your face almost instantly, gripping your jaw firmly. The little sound he makes when you press yourself up against him is so involuntary, it makes your pulse jump and heat spread through your limbs. You back him into the desk by accident or maybe not, and he reaches up to grab your waist with his other hand. The desk creaks behind him.

Levi breaks away first, breathing unevenly, forehead nearly touching yours. “Wait,” he says.

You freeze immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, not—” He exhales sharply, frustrated with himself, then looks away. “Not stop. Just wait.”

You nod, sliding your hands down to rest against his chest. “We can wait.”

“That’s—no, that’s not what I—I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s no insult waiting on his tongue this time. Levi looks down at your hands against his shirt, at the simple intimacy of being touched without being grabbed or wanted without being cornered. He swallows. You watch the anxiety move through him, which might not be visible to anyone else, but it’s obvious to you now.

“I’m not…” He stops, then sighs. “I’m not inexperienced, but I’ve only done this once before. A… a long time ago. It wasn’t—” His mouth twists. “It was fine. But it wasn’t this.” Levi looks angry with himself for even saying it. “And now you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I—I don’t know. Like I’m—like you could break me.”

“I don’t think that. But you are nervous, aren’t you?” His silence answers for him. You lift one hand to his face, touching him with enough care that he nearly closes his eyes. “That’s okay.”

His laugh is barely a breath. “Doesn’t feel okay.”

“It is. I promise you.”

“I don’t want to be bad at this.”

You smile and brush your thumb along his cheek. “Levi, you’re not being graded.”

“That sounds like something you say before giving a bad grade.”

You laugh softly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I want you,” you say, and your directness makes him freeze. “I don’t want a perfect version of you who knows exactly what to say or do. I want you. Nervous you, awkward you. A you who insults me because you don’t know how to flirt—”

“I know how to flirt,” he frowns. “I told you that you looked better than you did yesterday.”

“That is the worst excuse for flirting I’ve ever heard, baby,” you whisper. His ears turn red, and you grin.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You kiss him again. His hand comes to rest on your waist, your fingers slide beneath his jacket, and his breath hitches when you move closer. Levi’s anxiety doesn’t just disappear, but his nerves settle under your touch. With your comfort, he’s able to move through them instead of having them stop him. 

When you begin taking off his jacket, you pause, waiting. He nods once, so you continue, and the jacket falls from his shoulders. Levi catches it before it can hit the floor, and in a motion that stuns you, he turns, folds it once over the back of the chair, smooths the fabric out, then turns back to look at you.

You stare at him. He stares back. “What?” he says.

“Are you seriously folding your clothes right now?”

“I’m not leaving them on the floor like an animal.”

“Levi.”

“What?”

“We’re having a moment.”

“And I can have a moment and have basic standards too.”

You look at him for a second, then you start laughing, almost too loudly. It spills out of you before you can stop it. You don’t know what you expected, but you honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Levi Ackerman can be flushed, breathless, visibly aroused, and still be a clean freak.

“If you laugh at me right now, I’m leaving,” he mumbles.

“No, you’re not.”

“No… I’m not,” he says, irritated that he’s proven your point. 

You catch his face in both hands and kiss him before he can recover, and that completely breaks his restraint. He grips your waist as he turns you and presses you back against the desk, enough to make you gasp and make his breath shudder in response. You feel him tremble once, or maybe it’s just you, or maybe it’s both of you. When you slide your fingers into his hair, ruining his neat parting, he makes a low, strained sound against your mouth.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You tell me if—”

“Yes.”

He searches your face for any hesitation. “Don’t just say it because—”

“Levi,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “I promise. I’ll tell you. You tell me too.”

He swallows, then he nods. He folds his cravat next, because that’s also non-negotiable, and you bite your lip so hard to keep yourself from laughing that he points at you and says, “Don’t.” You help him with your own clothes and he tries not to stare too obviously until you step closer and guide his hands to you.

“You can touch me,” you say.

He flexes his fingers. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not trying to be an idiot.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“But I trust you.”

Levi pulls you into the adjoining room—his quarters, a space you’ve only seen in glimpses before. He leads you there with your hand in his, fingers laced tight. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you both stare at each other. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you both begin shedding the rest of what you’re wearing.

Levi pauses, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes flicking over you with that same mix of hunger and hesitation that’s been building for weeks. “Can I… undress you?” He sounds like he’s asking for permission to breathe.

You nod. “Yes.”

He exhales, the sound shaky, and steps closer. His hands rise to your shoulders first, sliding your shirt off. He follows the path of the fabric with his mouth, soft kisses pressed to the curve of your shoulder, then the side of your neck. His breath is warm.

Then you feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they roam lower, tracing the line of your ribs, the dip of your waist, mapping you without looking. He tugs at the rest of your clothes, peeling them away until you’re bare before him. His eyes are dark and wide with want. He can’t believe that you’re real, that you’re here, that you want him. The anxiety spikes again, making his hands shake just enough that you notice.

You reach up, covering one of his trembling hands with yours. You whisper against his ear, “It’s okay, Levi. Breathe. I’m right here with you.”

You see his shoulders loosen by a fraction. He presses a longer kiss to your neck, sucking gently at the skin until a bruise blooms. He then pulls back to finish undressing himself. You don’t pay attention to where the rest of his clothes end up, because by the time they’re off, he’s guiding you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he climbs over you.

He doesn’t hesitate when he shifts lower and settles between your thighs. Without warning, he dives in, mouth hot against you as his tongue strokes in a long, slow lick. It sends a jolt straight through your core. You jump, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through his locks and gripping tight. The sensation is overwhelming despite its lightness.

Levi pulls up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, then you see the panic overtake him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe out quickly, your grip on his hair easing but not releasing. “I was just surprised. It felt good—really good. Please, keep going.”

You see the relief wash over him. Something hungrier takes its place. He nods once, then lowers himself again. His tongue teases your clit in firm strokes, alternating pressure that makes your hips twitch upward. At the same time, one hand slides between your legs, fingers slicking through your folds before one presses inside, curling just right as he adds a second.

The combination is devastating—his mouth sucking and licking with growing confidence, fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm that gathers heat in your belly. Levi’s thoughts race. He wants you to feel good. He wants to make you fall apart—and it shows in the way he devours you. His tongue flicks faster over your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers work deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you.

Your moans threaten to spill out too loud, so you grab the corner of the pillow and bite down hard, the fabric muffling the sounds as your back arches. Levi notices, glancing up with a small, breathless laugh. 

“Cute,” he says, the word soft and fond before he doubles his efforts. His tongue presses flat and broad, then flicks rapidly while his fingers pump in time. The wet sounds of it mix with your muffled gasps. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling around his head as he pushes you higher.

Your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your body clenches around his fingers as you ride it out, hips rolling against his mouth. He doesn’t pull away, licking you through every pulse, drinking you in with appreciative sounds until the peak fades and you’re left panting. The pillow is still clutched in your teeth.

Only then does he ease back. He presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs before crawling up your body again. His lips find yours in a deep, lingering kiss. The taste of you is shared between you. He presses against you, hard and aching to feel you, but he’s content to just hold you close. 

He trails kisses from your jaw down to the middle of your throat. You feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, matching your own. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are dark and wide, but you can see the flicker of anxiety within them—the hesitation that he's been dragging with him the moment you stepped into his quarters.

“I want to,” he says. His fingers trace your hipbones. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t—” He stops, clenching his jaw, searching for the right words that won’t make him sound as vulnerable as he feels inside. 

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “We go slow. We stop if anything feels wrong. I trust you, Levi.”

The sound of his name seems to unlock something in him. He exhales shakily, nodding once, and shifts his hips to align with you. His length presses against your entrance. You feel the tremor that runs through his arms as he braces himself above you. He’s trying so hard to be controlled, to be careful—but you can see the strain in his shoulders and his breath hitching.

He pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense. Your breath catches, back arching slightly as your body adjusts. He’s thicker than you anticipated, filling you almost overwhelmingly. Levi notices instantly and freezes, his eyes snapping to yours with panic.

“Are you—should I stop?” he gasps, already starting to pull out.

“No!” you manage to say, gripping his shoulders tight. You wait a moment, letting yourself relax around him. Then you let out a breathy laugh that’s half wonder and half sensation. “You’re just… you’re big. Really big.”

Levi scoffs, though the sound is strained and his face is flushed. “Stop exaggerating,” he mutters. He’s still holding himself perfectly still, afraid of causing you pain by moving.

“I’m not exaggerating,” you insist, squirming slightly beneath him, which makes him groan low in his throat. “I need a minute to adjust. You’re filling me up so much, Levi.”

The explicit confirmation completely breaks him. His face goes red—truly, deeply red, even coloring the tips of his ears—and he lets out a choked sound of embarrassment. He ducks his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, hiding from you. You feel the heat of his blush against your skin and his chest rising with mortified breaths.

You can’t help the small giggle that comes out. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “Hey,” you whisper. “It’s a good thing. I promise. Just… give me a second.”

He mumbles something unintelligible against your neck. His hands slide down to grip your waist. You feel the slight shaking of them. Even now, while he’s joined with you, he can’t shake his nerves. It’s almost endearing.

Once the initial burn eases into a pleasant ache, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper. “Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, move. Please.”

Levi lifts his head slowly. His expression is still flushed, eyes glassy with arousal. He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to move. His first thrusts are almost torturous in their gentleness. He rocks into you with shallow rolls of his hips, testing the rhythm and depth, watching your face carefully for any adverse reactions. 

“You feel,” he starts, then stops, letting out a sharp breath. “You feel too good. I can’t—”

“Then don’t hold back,” you tell him, dragging your nails down his back. “Let go, Levi. I can take it.”

The leash around his neck snaps. His pace quickens, thrusts deepening as he loses himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. The bed shifts beneath you, the frame groaning as he moves faster and harder. The sound of your skin meeting grows louder in the quiet room. He’s still trying to maintain some control—you see it in the strain of his neck muscles. But it’s slipping, eroding with every clench of your body around him.

You look up at him, watching the first bead of sweat forming on his forehead. His hair has fallen into his eyes. He’s beautiful like this—undone and desperate. 

“Captain,” you whisper.

Levi’s eyes flash. He responds with a single, brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs and causes you to throw your head back against the pillow. You cry out, hands flying to grip his biceps. Your nails dig in hard enough to leave marks. 

He doesn’t apologize. He leans down, kissing you as he continues to drive into you. His tongue sweeps through your mouth, devouring, and you meet him eagerly. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he increases his pace. The kiss becomes messy, teeth clicking, breaths mingling in gasps. He pistons his hips, each thrust rocking the bed against the wall.

You’re his. That’s the only thought in his mind now, primal, washing away the last of his nerves. You’re here and you’re his and you want this, want him. He can’t focus on the kiss anymore, can’t split his attention between the taste of your mouth and the heat gripping him so perfectly. He breaks away with a low sound, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His eyes squeeze shut. He surrenders completely to the need pounding through him.

His hips become relentless, a rhythm that has you gasping and clutching at him. You feel the tension coiling low in your belly again. The friction of him drags against your walls, building you toward another peak. The sounds coming from you are embarrassingly loud—moans and whines that seem to echo. You instinctively raise a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the noise.

Levi’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can hide your sounds. He pins your arm back against the pillow, then does the same with the other. He traps both wrists in one of his hands above your head. His eyes open, burning into yours.

“Don’t,” he growls, voice gravelly. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you. Need to hear you.” He ruts in particularly hard, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “Louder,” he demands, practically begging. “Please, let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Let me—fuck—let me hear it.”

His words, the desperation in them, the way he’s holding you open and vulnerable while he pounds into you, has your toes curling and back arching off the bed. You let the sounds come freely, cries of his name breaking from your lips. He groans in response, a visceral sound of satisfaction. His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in circling strokes.

“Levi—” you gasp, straining against his grip. “I’m close, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me,” he pants. His own rhythm falters slightly as his own peak barrels down on him. “Cum on my cock, let me feel you—”

The coil snaps. You cry out loudly as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your cunt clamps down on him so tightly he curses, a strained, filthy sound. He keeps thrusting through your climax, dragging out the bliss until his own control breaks.

With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his body locking into place above you. You feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release flooding you as he cums with a ragged groan. He collapses forward, but catches himself on one arm. The other releases your wrists to cradle your face instead. 

He kisses you messily as he empties himself into you, his hips giving small, involuntary jerks with each pulse of his orgasm. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He kisses you through the falling peak, his tongue languid against yours now. When he finally pulls back slightly, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed. The anxiety has been completely washed away and replaced by something sated.

“You okay?” he mutters, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You laugh and press a kiss to his jaw. “Better than okay. You?”

He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. He hides his face in your neck again. “Yeah,” he breathes against your skin. “Yeah. I’m good. We’re good.”

When he pulls back again, you see the color high on his cheeks again. He slowly withdraws and falls beside you. The room is dark except for the grey light from the window. Levi lies stiffly at first—as if sharing a bed with you is somehow more intimate than the sex. You almost laugh again, but then you see the uncertainty in his expression. 

You touch his bare chest, fingers stroking his skin. He looks at you. “You can relax,” you whisper.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re all tense like you’re on trial.”

His mouth twitches, so you move closer, resting your head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arm wraps around you, tentative for half a second before it relaxes, drawing you against him.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“Tch. You’re annoying.”

“You like me.”

He’s quiet for long enough that you think he’s either asleep or just ignoring you, but then his arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” he says.

.

Morning arrives. You don’t know where you are at first. There’s a strange warmth at your back, light pouring through at an angle that you usually don’t see in your room, the faint smell of black tea and clean linen, and an arm resting around your waist. 

Then Levi shifts behind you, and everything comes rushing back to you so fast your only response is a small squeak. You remember the office, his confession, his stupid folded jacket, his mouth and hands, his body fitting against yours.

You turn carefully. Levi is awake, his hair slightly disheveled as his eyes fix on you, less guarded than usual. “Morning,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a few seconds, then, because he’s Levi and doesn’t know what else to say, he says, “You drool.”

You open your mouth in offense. “I do not.”

“You did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“On my pillow.”

“You’re lying.”

“Badly, apparently, since you’re not convinced.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, but he grabs your wrist without the intent to stop you. He brushes his thumb over your inner wrist once. You look past him and notice his boots aligned near the wall, his pants half-folded on the chair beside it. Then, on the floor near the foot of the bed, you see his shirt. Wrinkled and abandoned and scandalously unfolded. Your eyes widen with joy. He follows your gaze, then freezes.

“Oh,” you say softly, “Captain.”

“No.”

“You left that on the floor.”

“Stop.”

“Like an animal.”

He groans and closes his eyes. You start laughing before you can help it, and he rolls onto his back with a long sigh. He knows it’s way too early in the morning for such nonsense. You know it too. Will you stop? Absolutely not.

“I—I was distracted,” he stammers.

“You? Distracted?”

“Don’t sound so happy about it.”

“I’m incredibly happy about it.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters.

Levi realizes what he said at the exact same moment you do. He opens his eyes, but he doesn’t turn to look at you yet. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if it’s possible to just disappear off the face of the earth forever. You turn toward him slowly, your grin widening and softening at the same time.

“You love me?” you tease.

His face changes in increments: irritation, realization, horror, resignation. “No.”

“Really? You just said it though.”

“I’m tired.”

“So am I, and I’m talking just fine.”

“Fine. Then I was… vulnerable.”

“That’s even worse for you.”

“Shut up.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him while your heart beats hard. “You love me.”

Levi stares at the ceiling, hoping it’ll fall on him and crush him at this very moment. Then, with a sigh that sounds like it was dragged from the very bottom of his soul, he reaches for you and pulls you down against him, hiding his face near your neck where you can’t see the color in his cheeks.

“You’re making this weird,” he says.

“It is weird.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“It definitely does. You insulted me for months because you had a crush.”

“I brought you tea.”

“You called me sloppy.”

“You were sloppy.”

“You also fixed my cloak. What was that about?”

“It was crooked.”

“And you told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“It was.”

“Marriage proposal,” you whisper.

He groans into your shoulder. You laugh, smiling into his hair. Levi doesn’t tell you to stop, and instead just holds you there, letting the morning continue in all its noise and duty, while the two of you exist in the aftermath of your surrender to each other.

Levi still has no idea what to do with romantic feelings. They’ll remain inconvenient for now. Messy and, quite frankly, a nightmare. But when you trace circles over his shoulder and whisper that he’s the sweetest man you know, when you laugh softly against his mouth after he tells you not to push your luck, when your hand finds his beneath the blanket and he squeezes without thinking, he decides that maybe being terrible at feeling doesn’t mean he can’t learn how to feel.

After all, if you’re the one teaching him, he might just survive it.

MASTERLIST ♡ JOIN THE TAGLIST ♡ AO3 ♡ WATTPAD ♡ KO-FI

tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @hoebuns @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @ddilfs4life @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @nerdskillz @angierb05 @elegantmakercoffee @444anya @miaszt @vmxz6 @daisyy-lev @naxymoon @caliope13 @wh0r3f0rchoso @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @starfallenlevi @altpsyche @tea-rae

divider by: angelciide

[thenerdwithadhdanddeppression]

Neil, watching Andrew play subway surfers: hey I've done that

Andrew: you've done fucking what

[pmamtraveller]

Beauty and the Beast by STorA

[neilsdinosaur]

finding out kevin has a gf gotta be like top three most unbelievable reveals in history

[tummywilliams]

my moon my man montage you will always make me dizzy

[darlingbubble]

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

[theneverendingwaterfall]

this should be a crime cause I’m sorry what

[doolet]

SIENNA - L.FX

paring: idol!l.fx x makeupartist!fem reader

summary: after years of no contact, you suddenly bump into your childhood best friend on the job

warning(s): angst, fluff, nsfw(༊*·˚), pinv, unprotected sex (wrap it up), happy ending

wc: 29k

🎧: sienna

a/n: I had this one cooking up for like 2 weeks straight💔

2017

“What do you mean you’re moving?”

He’s quiet, doesn’t even look at you.

Your voice is breaking and rising with every question— you can feel the disgusting way your stomach churns every second he stays silent. It’s dark out, the wind is blowing harder as the hours go by and the trees are swaying in the wind, but you can’t feel it, not under his hoodie that smells like him and fits you just right. Suddenly, the feeling of the coarse roof shingles rubbing against your bare feet intensifies by a million percent, and you feel like your entire body will shut down.

“Felix?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your throat closing as tears brim in your soft eyelashes. He’s clearing his throat, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a guilty look on his face, the way he licks his lips over and over again in an attempt to find the right words to say— he runs a hand through his hair, running right over his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you when it happened a few weeks ago— I got scouted. I need to leave for Korea in two days.” He's quiet, eyes closed and elbows resting on his knees.

You’re looking at him with disbelief written all over your face— betrayal. He’d been keeping this a secret for weeks, having every opportunity to tell you before it would become too much. Tears are falling from your eyes, you don’t say anything, you can’t. Because if you do, it’ll just be incoherent words and sniffling. The wind carries an uncomfortable silence along with the cold chill. It doesn’t normally get cold in December, not here in Sydney— but it reminded you when he’d take you out to the beach, swimming against the waves until you both got tired and wanted ice cream.

But now it’s too cold for the beach, at this time anyway. The sun's setting a soft pink and you’re both sitting on his rooftop. This was meant to be a place where you both could just sit in silence and watch the sunset before going home. He’d lend you his hoodie like normal, letting you keep it for a few days before you’d return it— smelling like the laundry detergent your mom used and a slight hint of your vanilla perfume.

You met Felix on a hot day, your family had just moved in across the street from New Zealand and you were sitting on the porch watching kids your age play with half-deflated soccer balls and busted up wiffle balls. He had come up to you, soft hand extended out to you, and his dark hair plastered to his sweat-covered forehead.

“Wanna come play?”

You cheerfully accepted, taking his tiny hand in your even smaller one and running off to join in the game. He stuck by your side— until now. He’s only a year older, seventeen, and you’ve known him since seven. It’s safe to say he’s been your whole life like how you’ve been his, you talked about everything, the little crushes you had on each other's friends, crying over difficult homework— and even telling each other the biggest secrets you couldn’t tell anyone else. So why had he hidden this from you? For what reason?

The anger doesn’t die down, doesn’t turn into acceptance— you stand up as best as you can on the slanted roof, heart pounding when you look down at him.

“How could you not have told me sooner? Did you just think one day you’d leave and everything would be okay? Christ, Felix, nothing's going to be the same, you're going to be too busy—“ you’re cut off before you can finish.

“I’m not going to be too busy, not for you, not for my family. I’ll make time.” He’s looking directly into your eyes, his hair catching in the wind.

You scoff, hand raking through your hair, “Sure, because becoming an idol doesn’t mean giving up every second of your life.”

He doesn’t respond to that, just turning away from you and looking back into the sunset. There’s a pink glow emanating from the setting sun, and it’s cascading a warm glow into his face— highlighting every feature on his face. You don’t bother with him anymore, too mad at the situation to think— you’re climbing back into his room, throwing his hoodie off of your figure, and opening his door. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t look back, just lets you leave.

You’ve been crying in bed all night, eyes red and puffy in the morning when you wake up. There’s no text, no missed calls. Nothing from him. You feel like giving up, like the past ten years of your friendship have amounted to nothing. The ache you feel in your chest is heavier than anything you’ve felt in your life— but it’s the silence that hurts you the most. He’s always been the one to reach out after fights, even when you fought over the stupidest things as kids like who’d get to go on the swings first during recess. You both swore to never hate each other, always accept the other's apology, and act like it never happened after. But now, you guess he had only followed one of those rules— pretending like it never happened.

The phone stays off on your nightstand, the screen cold from being untouched. There's a day left, one more day of him staying here with you before he’s moving his entire life away from this place in hopes of becoming what he’s wanted to do his whole life. You couldn’t blame him for that— how could you? He’d always talk about one day becoming someone who’d be well known around the world, performing for people he’d never met and loving the recognition. You supported him the entire time, but never once did he mention to you about getting scouted. And you couldn’t understand it either, if he had told you, you would’ve told him to reach for the stars— take any and every chance possible. But now? It just felt like he was trying to leave everything behind, forget about it. Forget about you. Sure, maybe you’re being dramatic, a classic teenager. But it hurts when it’s coming from the one person you’ve cared for your entire life, loved with everything inside of you.

So when hours go by with no text, you begin to lose hope. He’s right across the street, you could put on your slippers and walk not even fifty feet to his front door and see him— but you don’t. You lie on your back instead, the creaking of your ceiling fan filling the empty silence. Each tick on your little clock seems to grow louder and louder every passing minute, dragging you closer to the inevitable moment where he leaves. You glance out of your window, and the thought of him packing his life into four tiny bags, zipping them up, and pasting the airport stickers on them in preparation for tomorrow fills your head. He’s probably doing it by himself— too nervous to let his mom help him, but you think he’d let you help. Maybe.

The longer you lie there, the harder it feels to breathe. You keep glancing at his semi-open window, his navy curtains are closed, but you can see the light from his ceiling fan seeping through the fabric. A part of you thinks he’ll come running out of his front door, padding across the empty street barefoot, and come knocking on your front door like he used to at ten. But the curtains stay closed and the door never opens. Silent.

You’re clutching your phone in your hand, the soft plastic of your phone case creaking underneath the pressure. It’s fifty feet. Just fifty feet and you’d be standing in front of him, forcing him to look at you and remind him that you support his dreams, forcing him to listen to you when you’d talk about how you felt, how much you loved him. But your legs don’t move, weighed down by hurt, pride— fear.

So you let time move on.

The night drags on unbearably slow, you never even turned on the lights when you woke up so now you’re just lying in the dark, curled underneath your blankets and letting the quiet eat away at your body.

And then there’s a short buzz.

Your heart drops but your hand picks up your phone faster than you realize, the bright light illuminating the dark room when it turns on. It’s him.

Lix

I’m leaving tomorrow morning at 6 for the airport

I hope you’ll be there

12:37am

That’s it, no apology, no reason as to why he chose to tell you so late. Nothing. You stare at it, throat tight and hurting. Your fingers tremble over the keyboard, debating whether or not you should even give him a response. Maybe a thumbs up would just be enough— petty. So that’s what you do.

The drive is a blur, you don’t even remember getting up in the morning and getting dressed. You’re moving through the terminal, the sky outside still dark, the sun still making its way up. There are families with small kids passing you by, sleepy couples, and the occasional businessman making his way through the crowd with a cup of hot coffee. You're looking at every departure gate that’s heading for Seoul, South Korea— hoping to see his dark brown hair and freckles.

Then you see him, he’s sitting by the window looking out at the planes, he has the same hoodie you were wearing two nights ago, and a backpack lying at his feet. He somehow looks different, tired, stressed even. For a second you don’t move, just staring until he looks up from his phone. His eyes are wide, almost like he’s surprised you came. You’re awkwardly walking towards him when he gets up, making his way to you so you meet halfway. He doesn’t hug you like usual, or give you his signature smile you’ve come to expect.

“You came..” he breathes out.

You nod, looking at everything but him. The ten years of unconditional friendship, the late-night talks and promises you’d make to each other, the memories— it’s all built up to this moment. Your face grows hot and you fight the loud urge to cry. You want so badly to be angry, to scold him for making you feel this way so soon because sometimes you think you won’t know how to survive without him by your side 24/7.

But when he steps closer to you, you realize that you don’t want the last time you see him to be a bad memory. He exhales, his hands sitting comfortably in his pockets,

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I almost didn’t,” you hate how fragile you sound, “ I didn’t know if it’d make a difference.”

He looks confused for a second, his eyebrows knit together and his lips part, but the expression is replaced with something else, regret. “I’m sorry” he’s quiet, “I’m so sorry, for everything.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard “You’ve always wanted this. I’m proud of you. I just didn’t think it’d be today, not now.”

His jaw tightens, “I know.” He’s opening his mouth to say more, but he closes his mouth before anything comes out, before he opens his mouth and practically begs you to “Please tell me not to go.”

“Will you—“you clear your throat, you can’t ask him to stay, “You’ll text me when you land, right?”

He smiles softly, finally reaching his hand out for yours, his cold hands meeting your warm ones. “I always will.”

The boarding call blares through the room, he’s giving you one last look— one last smile before he drops your hand and pulls you into him. He smiles like his cologne, soft and something sweet. You’ve always liked it. He’s pulling away, muttering a small “goodbye, I’ll text you.” Before picking up his bag and moving in line with everyone else.

You stand there even when you watch him disappear behind the doors, and you stay there even when you watch his plane take off. Your heart still aches from the goodbye, it doesn’t feel real— like a dream you’ll wake up from at any moment. But that time never comes because this is real, he’s gone and he won’t be coming back for god knows how long.

The drive back feels long and grueling, and this time you feel every moment of it. You remember the slow songs playing in the background, the way the AC was making your hands cramp up on the steering wheel, everything. When you’re finally back in your room, everything feels the same. Because it is, the clock is still ticking with time, and your bedsheets are still unmade from this morning. You sit on the edge of the mattress, head pounding as you stare at the screen of your phone. The flight there is at least ten hours, so you know better than to wait up all day for his text.

Eventually, exhaustion takes you, sending you into a deep sleep. And when morning comes, there’s sunlight peeking through your open curtains, your eyes are burning from the abundance of sleep and your bones ache. You roll over, turning in your phone and looking at the empty Lock Screen. There’s nothing there.

Nothing. It’s been more than ten hours.

You let the phone drop from your grasp and back onto the sheets. Staring at the ceiling until that all too familiar feeling overtakes your mind. Hot tears are filling your eyes and for the first time, it hits you. He’s gone and he won’t be coming back.

2025

It's raining outside, something that some people hate but it's something you've grown to really like. The sound of the droplets thumping on the glass of the windows, its soft rhythm practically singing you to sleep sometimes. You barely sleep anymore, there's no time— you're moving from one city to another, some days you have to be in different provinces at different times for important clients. The curse of being the most loved stylist is biting you in the ass.

You're sipping on your watered down iced mocha latte, the sweet liquid coating your throat. You're sitting in the biggest lounge you think you've ever seen, you were recently sent to work a job— getting some idols ready for their comeback photoshoot. It seemed easy enough: do their makeup, make some small talk here and there and then never see them ever again. Easy as cake. The only problem? They're late. Ten minutes to be exact, and you're not sure why. You're pursing your lips, an attempt at hiding your annoyance even though no one was in the room with you. This was supposed to be a one-and-done thing, put on their stupid makeup and send them on their way. That's how you survived this career— by not attaching, not lingering. Just moving from one to the other.

Suddenly the door opens and there's a man who looks your age walking in looking stressed out of his mind. You don't even guess that he's stressed, it's written all over his face. He's soaked in water and panting like he ran a marathon,

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. We got stuck in traffic— it was this whole thing.”

You smile, nodding like you weren't the slightest second away from crashing out before he ran into the room. “It's okay, we have an hour or so before your shoot.”

He runs a hand through his dripping wet hair and lets out the biggest sigh you've heard all day, “I'm sorry, they should be here any minute— I kinda ran ahead to make sure you knew.”

You nod again, offering a polite smile before you stand up and head over to the studio table where all of your makeup sits, you grab a hand towel, offering it in his direction, “Right, well, you should try to dry off.”

He laughs awkwardly, taking the small towel and peeling off his damp zip up, “Thank you. I'm Chan, by the way.”

You chuckle a little, “it's nice to meet you, Chan.”

He's rubbing his bare face with the towel you gave him, muttering things under his breath in Korean that you don't really hear— then he glances back at you, a sheepish look on his face, “Sorry for running in like that, so much for first impressions, am I right?”

You shrug, giving him a small smile before turning back to your makeup kit and taking out products you'd need for the day, “You're fine, I've seen worse.”

Before he could respond, the two of you are startled when the door opens. This time it isn't just one person, it's seven more. The room fills with heavy footsteps and deep laughter overlapping, the rain brings out the scent of their cologne mixing into the air, they smell expensive. You glance up, your practiced smile already plastered onto your face as you get ready to greet a group you'll probably see again after this session.

But then you see him.

He's taller now, hair bleached and long, shoulders broader and arms muscular. He steps inside into the room behind the last guy, he's pushing back his hood and shaking the water out of his hair— letting it fall messily onto his face. He looks every bit the idol he's always dreamed of being. The air in your lungs feels like it's been sucked out entirely.

Your fingers go slack on the table, your perfected smile faltering.

Eight years vanish in a second, and for the first time since the airport— you're looking back at the boy who promised he'd never forget you. He's brushing back his hair with his fingers, and the way he freezes when he finally looks at you tells you that he remembers too.

The room feels entirely too much, too loud— Chans saying something about splitting up, half of them getting their hair done and the other half with you. You're ripping your eyes from him and back down to the desk, taking in a small breath to calm your nerves. But you can feel the way your heart slams in your chest. You can still feel his haunting gaze on you, but you don't bother to acknowledge it, not now.

You're not sure what you expected after eight years, maybe he'd walk past you without a hint of recognition, maybe he'd pretend like everything was fine and dandy— but instead, he's looking at you like you're a ghost, like he's not sure if you're actually standing there right now.

“Good morning,” you say, voice steady and warm, “you all ready?”

The group shuffles further into the lounge, couch cushions sinking under their weight and the sound of friendly banter bounces off the walls. Even as you move to finish unpacking your things, your skin prickles under his heavy gaze. Even after eight years, none of you make the first move to reach out.

You move on autopilot for the first fifteen minutes, greeting the other members one by one, shaking their hands and nodding when they tell you their names. Their smiles are polite but tired, something you’ve seen on countless of the idols you’ve worked with. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you through the mirrors, awkwardly trying to play it off like he wasn’t just staring into your soul.

There’s a shuffle as a few of the boys head over to the hairstylists while the others linger by your station. You offer the first one a seat, Han— slipping easily into the rhythm you’ve come to know so well. Small talk, questions about what they think about their makeup, the smell of the loose setting powder against their skin. You’re professional, hands steady with experience, but on the inside you’re going crazy.

And then the chair next to you scrapes, you don’t even need to look to know that he’s the one sitting in the makeup chair.

“Hi” he says, low and careful.

Your hands twitch the slightest bit when you mix some foundation, forcing yourself to keep working, detached, professional. That’s the rule.

You glance up, finally meeting his eyes once again. He’s giving you that all familiar look, soft and warm— but this time there’s a hint of regret hidden somewhere behind that. You swallow, managing to give him the faintest smile you can manage, not the kind you usually give to your clients.

“Hi..” you murmur back, steadying the foundation brush in your hand when you start to swipe the mixture onto his skin.

He doesn’t look away, he never did. Even back when you both still lived across from each other, you’d always find his eyes on you somehow. He made himself obvious.

“How’ve you been?” He’s quiet when he speaks, and his voice is deeper than you remember. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and scoff, but you don’t.

“Busy,” you reply after a beat, switching from brush to pad blush high onto his cheekbones. You speak with too sharp of a tone, but you soften it with a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes.

He huffs a small laugh through his nose, “yeah, me too.”

It’s quiet after that, you don’t respond and you don’t try to continue this pathetic excuse of small talk. You’re just doing your job, blending, painting, careful and precise. And when you finally reach for the powder to set his face before you continue, he’s opening his mouth again.

“I never thought you’d be here, doing this.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you continue your movements like what he just said didn’t make your hand freeze. You dust the powder onto his face, “Neither did I.” You mutter, eyes fixed on covering every inch of his face.

There’s a beat of laughter moving around the room, low incoherent chatter and the gain hum of hairdryers on the other side of the room. It should make things less heavy, break the tension— but with him this close? It feels like he’s suffocating you.

He’s looking at himself in the mirror when you step back to let him take a look, tilting his head slightly, “ you’re good at this.” He says it casually, but it feels like he wants to say more.

You purse your lips together, “That’s why they pay me.” You say flatly, stepping back in front of him and picking up eyeshadow with your flat eyeshadow brush.

He doesn’t let you shut him down, “that’s not what I meant."

Your hand tightens around the small brush, gliding over his crease with a warm peach. You can smell his cologne, something sweet— floral. Similar to the one he used to wear, it sends memories into your head that you don’t want to think about right now.

“You know—“ he starts, but you don’t let him finish, “Not the time.” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear you.

He doesn’t look at you anymore, just looking straight forward and giving you the slightest nod.

The rest of the process goes by in a blur, you flit between members, brushing, blending, touch ups— all while keeping an eye on him. He’s walking around the room and loudly joking around with the others. It’s maddening, the way your chest tightens every time you see him smiling, the same way he used to as kids. Hours pass, and people move out of the room when they’re called. There’s managers calling out instructions and assistants running around to make sure everything is running smoothly. You don’t bother to watch, just focused on cleaning your brushes with antibacterial wash and drying them with a clean rag. It’s quiet for a moment, but there’s a shuffling near the door that catches your attention, it’s him— Felix.

He looks nervous, hands in his pockets and slowly walking over to you, “Hey, could I get your number?” He pauses, “Before I leave.”

You pause, turning to look into the mirror at him, “You don’t have it?” There’s confusion written all over your face.

He’s sucking in a breath, hand rubbing his arm up and down like he’s trying to soothe himself, “Uh, no. Not anymore. I got a new phone awhile back which meant a new number.”

You don’t even bother to ask why he never asked anyone for it when he did get a new number, you just fish your phone out of your pocket and open it to the messages app, “here,”

He leans closer, taking your phone into his hands and punching in his number, sending a message to himself before handing it back to you. He’s stepping back, careful to not invade your space anymore than he has to, “Thanks, uhm— I’ll text you?”

You glance down at the brushes in your hands, and all too familiar rising in your stomach, “Sure.”

He smiles, but it’s one of guilt— before he’s walking back out of the room where everyone else is. And now it’s just you and the empty room once again.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Your phone buzzes to life less with unknown numbers but with familiar pings— texts from him, Felix. They’re awkward at first, but then they drift into the familiar rhythm you used to go through everyday as teenagers. Sometimes you’ll catch yourself smiling at the simple texts he’ll send at random everyday,

“Have you eaten?” “How was your day?” “Text me when you’re home”

Such simple words made your heart flutter, but not because of the context— but because it was him. You think about how easy it feels to talk to him even after all of these years, and yet, beneath the lightness of conversation— there’s always a hint of heaviness looming overhead. Something unsaid, a tension that lingers. You haven’t said anything to him, and he hasn’t brought it up either. The eight years separated, the eight years he left you behind. Sometimes you think this is his way of apologizing, fluffing you up so much to the point you forget there was ever a time where he wasn’t there by your side. When he didn’t completely erase you from his life.

Your phones buzzing to life as you’re washing the dishes,

Felix

Hey! Are you heading back home for the holidays?

was wondering if you’d wanna go down together since they still live across from each other

12:37pm

You take your hands out of the hot water, shaking them dry before replying:

Yeah

I still need to buy my ticket and everything but I’m planning on leaving the 20th

Felix

Don’t bother buying a ticket im leaving the same day

Just come w me on my jet it’ll be faster and cheaper

What time is good for you?

12:40pm

Anytime

Felix

Okok

I’ll book us a flight for 10am

I’ll text you details

See ya :))

Your heart is racing when you stare back at his messages, you don’t respond, just putting a little thumbs up reaction onto his last message and leaving the app. You chuckle thinking about how he dropped “his jet” so casually into the conversation—yea, he’s rich but he dropped it on you like it wasn’t the most insane offer of the year.

Still, there’s no denying the way your stomach flips at the though— going home with him. Hours trapped inside a little metal tube flying around in the sky with him in the same vicinity, thousands of feet in the air. No excuses to walk away. Just him and you, just everything you’ve been dancing around these past few months. You haven’t met up with each other since the day he walked through those doors, so just thinking about being in a plane with him felt extreme— going from zero to one million all in a few days.

But for the first time in forever, the holidays are actually going to mean more than they usually do to you.

The days that follow are restless, you’re driving around the city, running every errand you can think of before packing for your flight the next day. The nerves are just eating away at you, ten hours and six days with him would sound fun if you were sixteen again and on summer holiday. But you aren’t, you’re twenty-four and on holiday leave.

Your phone buzzes for the millionth time that day, but this time it’s Felix again:

Felix

Bring your swimsuits I wanna go swimming down at the beach when we’re there

I’m gonna bring some snacks for the plane.

also do you still hate sitting by the window??

6:32pm

That last question makes you pause for a second, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, he still somehow remembers the littlest things— the way you hated sitting my the window because watching the ground get smaller and smaller would always make you shirk. You don’t reply right away, setting the phone down and leaning back onto your couch, taking in a breath. A part of you wants to think he’s doing this on purpose— bringing up the small things, weaving the memories back into your brain, and you smile when you think of all the times you had. But you know better. You’re slowly typing out a response:

Still hate it. Aisles mine

6:35pm

He sees it instantly, typing out a response in seconds,

Felix

All yours

It’s such a simple thing, but it makes you smile.

The morning of the twentieth arrives in the matter of hours, you’re tossing and turning in bed the night before— reading old messages until you’re pulled into a deep sleep. And by the time your alarm is startling you awake, your eyes are dry from tiredness and you’re rubbing them awake.

He texts you as you finish putting all of your bags by the front door, slipping your shoes on:

Felix

Here. No rush

8:00am

When you step out of your apartment, the cold wind is biting at your nose. There’s a light sprinkle of rain falling from the sky and into you when you drag your bags out of the front door and onto the sidewalk. He’s leaning on a sleek black car, hands in his coat pockets, when he notices you he’s walking in your direction— arms extended out and already taking your bags from you before you can tell him otherwise.

“Good morning.” He’s cheery, sending you a sweet smile before opening the back of the car and luging your heavy bags into the back.

“Morning.” You echo, adjusting the loose hairs on your forehead.

The drive to the airport is oddly normal, sure, there was some small talk in the first few minutes but as soon as the driver put his window up you two started talking like usual— like the past. He talks about how excited he is for the hot weather— how he wants to go swimming until he feels like he’s going to pass out from exhaustion. And he talks about how this is his second time going back home in a while. He makes you laugh here and there, and of course you’re responding when needed, nodding when he talks about something.

And then all of a sudden you’re there, being led through empty hallways that are removed from all of the holiday travel and before you know it, you’re standing on the tarmac and staring up at the sleek white Jet staring back at you. You swallow hard, nerves making your stomach churn.

Felix glances at you, noticing the nervousness written all over your face. He’s giving you a small, reassuring smile, “Ready?”

You’re nodding, “Yea.” But when you say this you’re not sure if you mean being on the plane itself or being with him.

The inside of the jet is nothing like you expected, it’s cleaner than the word clean, the walls are a nice wood marble and the seats are cream colored, the hum of the engine is oddly calming and it's vibrating the floor you’re walking on. You set your bag down at the foot of the nearest seat, fingers grabbing at your necklace out of nervousness— a habit you’ve had as a kid.

Felix throws his hoodie into the empty seat across from him, sitting next to the seat you’ve claimed for yourself. The flight attendant is walking over, giving her practiced safety speech before disappearing somewhere into the jet. It doesn’t take long for the plane to start moving, but the feeling of it slowly moving has your heart falling to your ass and your hand slightly gripping the armrest— you’re fucking terrified of flying.

He notices—because of course he does, “still hate takeoff?” He smiles

You exhale out a small laugh, but it's more nervous than out of amusement. “Hate isn’t a strong enough word.”

He’s laughing at your words, reaching into his carry on bag and fishing out a red and yellow bag. It’s cola gummies, your favorite.

“Well it’s a good thing I have these, it’ll keep you busy.”

You take them without a word, dropping the gummies in your lap and staring at the packaging. The jet lifts up and you keep your eyes locked on the empty seat in front of you, fighting the unease in your stomach. Only when the plane levels out is when you relax and open the bag of gummies.

Thirty minutes into the flight and you’re already wishing you brought sleeping pills because there’s no way you’re surviving ten hours— you barely survived on the plane ride there when you first moved. You both have fallen into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable but also isn’t comfortable. Neutral. He’s scrolling on his phone every so often, liking his friends posts and watching tik tok but every so often you feel his gaze on you like he’s checking to see if you’re okay.

Finally he stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

You turn to him, brow arched, “what does?”

“Us” he’s pointing between the both of you, doesn’t look away from you and doesn’t cushion it with a small laugh or smile. Just saying it how it is.

You just blink at him, “that’s vague.”

His mouth curves into a smirk, he’s leaning forward to get more comfortable and rubbing his hands together like he’s thinking of what to say next, “I mean,” he pauses, “sitting in that car and talking to you again, it feels like time hasn’t passed at all. It feels the same but different at the same time, y’know?”

Your stomach twists, you knew this would come up at some point.

“I didn’t mean for things to..” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling like it’ll give him the words he’s looking for, “I didn’t mean for us to end the way we did.”

He’s letting out a shaky breath as he continues, “ I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear— or maybe ever, I don’t know. But I thought that if I kept texting you, then maybe it’d feel normal again. And—I don’t know”

Then there’s a beat of silence before he’s tilting his head to look at you— to actually look. “I was stupid for cutting you off. I thought I was doing the right thing then,” he exhales sharply, “ I didn’t realize how much it’d hurt to do that.”

Your throat tightens with every word he says, your hands are gripping onto the fabric of your sweats.

“Felix.” you finally say, voice empty.

He doesn’t respond to that, just shuts his mouth and he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for permission to speak again— a worried look in his eyes.

“That’s it? You disappear for eight years, act like I never existed and all you give me is that?” You’re fighting back tears at this point— fighting so hard for your voice to stay strong.

His eyes widen, “that’s—“

You cut him off, “You don’t just get to waltz back into my life and start texting me and think that’s going to make everything better. You didn’t leave me for a week, or a month, but eight years. Do you realize what that was like for me?”

Your voice is cracking and he flinches, running a hand through his hair and tugging the ends— a habit he does when he’s frustrated. “Of course I do, you don’t think I hate myself for doing it?”

“Then why?” You demand, voice rising.

After a moment, he finally exhales— low and shaky, “Because I thought I was protecting you.”

You want to laugh, “Protect me? From what? You?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyebrows are knitted together and he’s taking in a breath before speaking up again, “From everything, the cameras, the fans, the training, the contracts. It was so suffocating— it is suffocating and I didn’t want to put you in any position. I didn’t want you waiting for me, waiting years on someone who wouldn’t be able to come back the same. So I told myself cutting you off would be the best option.”

“You can’t decide that for me.”

His throat bobs when he swallows. And when he speaks up, his voice is rough like he’s also trying not to cry, “ I know. I know and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. I lost you the second I made that decision.”

Your pulse is racing, throat raw from fighting back tears. “You don’t get to say that like it means something. Because the only reason we’re here talking to each other right now— the only reason I’m sitting next to you is because we just happened to run into each other by chance. If I hadn’t been assigned to that job that day I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t have reached out. You wouldn’t have even looked for me.”

His expression falters, color draining from his face, “ No, I..That’s not—“

“Not what? Not true?” You cut in, anger lacing your tone, “you didn’t try, Felix. Not once in eight years did you ever try. You didn’t text, didn’t call, god— you could’ve sent a letter to me by pigeon carrier for all I cared. You never picked up the phone to ask how I was, and now you’re here telling me how much you regretted it. But you know what? The truth is, if life hadn’t shoved us into the same room that day then you’d still be out there living your perfect life without me in it.”

He opened his mouth but nothing comes out, nothing but the sound of the low hum of the jet engine filling the awkward space.

You laugh bitterly, looking away from him and out at the window across the way, wiping your eyes before they spill out with tears.

“You think it was fine for me? You think I was happy cutting you out from my life?” His voice is cracking, breaking through his usually calm demeanor, “ I wasn’t fine— god, I missed you everyday of my life, and yeah, I didn’t have to do it but I thought I was doing the right thing—for you and me.” His voice is quivering, “and if we hadn’t met again the day at the studio I would still be trying to convince myself that it was all for the best. But I’m not fine. I haven’t been for years, not without you.”

“Then why didn’t you come back sooner?”

You look at him this time, meeting his eyes and he’s looking at you with something raw, hurt, guilt, longing all tangled up into one, “Because I didn’t think you’d want me back.”

The words hang heavy in the air, fragile and impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t.” You don’t hesitate in saying it. “I didn’t want you back, Felix. Not after everything. I forced myself to stop checking my phone for you after a year. You know how pathetic that is? I held out for you for a year.”

Your throat tightens but you keep going, “so, you were right about that. I didn’t want you back.”

He’s dragging a shaky hand over his face, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back against the head rest, “But you’re here now.”

“We live across from each other. We’re traveling for the holidays on the same day. That’s the only reason.”

He’s looking at you again, “You’re right.” His voice is low, “I didn’t come back for you. I didn’t even allow myself to think about coming back because I knew that if I did then I wouldn’t be able to do what I had to do.”

You scoff, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he’s shaking his head, “but I need you to know it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you, it was because I cared too much.” He’s wiping his eyes dry before speaking up again, “I knew that if I gave in and reached out then I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from running back to you. And maybe that’s selfish, but it was the only way.”

His fingers are brushing loose locks back behind his ears, “but now? Now that you’re here again, I don’t want to let that go. Not again. Even if all you’ll let me have is awkward texts and small talk then that’s what I’ll take if it means it's with you. But please,”

His eyes are softening, and he’s reaching for your hand that rests in your lap, “ I know I can’t take back eight years, I know I can’t change what I did. But I can try to make it better now, I can get to be there, really be there. Only if you let me, and please, let me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” He continues, his pretty brown eyes steady on yours, “ I’m asking for a chance, a chance to show you I’m not that seventeen year old boy who left you. I’m not the same person who left you standing there in that airport. I never stopped thinking about you, never once. And I don’t want to waste another second thinking that it doesn’t matter.”

His warm hand is over yours, and your hand is clenching in your lap. The hum of the engine once again fills the silence before you speak.

“I don’t know.” you mutter. He gives you the slightest smile, shaking his head and squeezing your already tense hand, “I don’t expect you to allow it right now, I just want a start.”

And for the first time in years, you consider it. Not forgiving him, not forgetting, but letting him in. Just this once.

By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. The hum of the engine has disappeared and is replaced by the sound of seatbelts coming off and flight attendants cleaning up around the jet. You’re stepping off of the aircraft and being met with the warm air of Australia— a feeling you’ve been dying to fee for a while. There's workers beside you unpacking your luggage from the underside of the jet, placing it gently onto the tarmac for you to grab. You’re squinting at the bright lights reflecting off of the ground, Felix is next to you and grabbing your luggage for you with a smile on his face.

“Got everything?”

You nod, adjusting the strap of your backpack and grabbing the handles of your suitcases in hand as you follow him closer to the airport.

He turns back to you, “You sure you don’t want me to carry your bag for you?”

You smile, “No, it’s fine. I’ve carried around this much every time I travel.”

He shrugs but there’s a soft chuckle in his voice, “Whatever you say.”

He’s slowing to fall in step with you, the moonlight is reflecting off of his light colored hair— perfectly complimenting his features.

“You missed this, huh?” He asks, nodding towards the surroundings.

You nod, “yea.”

He’s quiet the rest of the time you’re in the airport— busy on getting everything checked out and calling for an uber. The moment the car arrives, he’s mirroring the same thing he did when he picked you up— packing your luggage in the back with his and then sitting next to you in the car. You’re glancing out of the car window and taking in the familiar streets of your hometown. The moonlights bouncing off of the buildings and there’s store banners flying in the wind. It feels the same way you left it.

Felix keeps a hand close to your on the center seat, but not close enough to touch. Suddenly, he’s speaking softly, “It’s kind of funny we were going to travel on the same day.”

You shrug, still looking out the window, “Yea, life’s crazy like that sometimes.”

Felix lets out a soft laugh, barely above a whisper and he’s looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world, “You’re always up in space whenever you’re in a car— always looking out the window.”

You glance at him with a smirk, “I just like being in my mind. It’s relaxing” you murmur, “sometimes it’s fun to not think and just watch.”

He’s leaning back in the seat, streetlights catching in his face at a weird angle but his eyes still don’t leave yours, “Yea, I get it.” He says, his smile growing sly, “but it’s also fun to pay attention to the people around you.”

You raise an eyebrow at his teasing, “So you’re saying I should pay attention to you?”

He’s chuckling softly, the sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter, “Yeah, I like when you pay attention to me.”

You look away from him after that, pretending to really be focused on what color the car was driving next to you,“ You’re annoying.”

“Am I?” You don’t respond, exhaling through your nose and shaking your head with a smile.

And for the rest of the twenty minute ride, your conversation lulls into small smiles and stolen glances. Watching the streets of your hometown pass as you get closer to the suburbs. It feels surreal, the warm air, the smell of the city— it brings you back.

“It feels weird having it be summer.” He says, looking out of his window.

You nod, shoulders relaxing when you watch the driver pull into your street, “Yeah, it does.”

The driver pulls up to your house, rolling up near the curb and parking. He’s gently picking up your luggage and handing it to Felix as you’re getting out of the car, you’re taking them from him every time he hands you bag after bag. You wait for him, watching him close the trunk of the car and handing the Uber some cash he had taken out. You step into the familiar driveway, and Felix is one step behind you the whole way.

You turn to him, standing in front of your front door, “You’re not going to your house?”

He smiles, a small laugh falling from his lips, “I have to say hi to your parents too, don’t I?“

Your heart warms at that, and you’re tilting your head before you start digging through your backpack for your house keys, “You don’t have to. They probably don’t even know you’re coming.” There’s no edge in your voice, it’s just a soft murmur.

“Nah, I want to. I’ll make it a surprise.” He’s shaking his head, rocking back on his feet and watching you.

You finally fish your keys out of your bag, sliding the right one into the lock and opening the creaky door. The house feels the same, The smell and looks never changing in the five years you've been gone. You're stepping inside, hauling your bags to the wall nearest to the door and Felix is lingering at the door before he steps inside after you— leaving his luggage outside. His eyes are scanning the familiar hallways of your childhood home, the way the picture frames sit perfectly on the wall— untouched.

He gives out a small exhale when his eyes land on a picture of you and him on your first day of grade six, “still looks the same.”

You're slipping off of your shoes and throwing them by the mat near the door— they make a thudding noise when they land on the floor. “Nothing really changes here.”

And for the slightest second you feel like you’re sixteen again with Felix trailing behind you after a long day of school.

Your moms voice rings out from the living room, “Honey, is that you?”

You sigh out, slowly walking towards the living room and revealing yourself, “it’s me, ma”

She’s already flying off of the couch and over to you, arms wide open and with the biggest smile on her face. But the second she spots Felix behind you, she’s stopping in her tracks and her mouth is falling wide open like she’s just seen a ghost.

“Felix? Oh my goodness!”

Your mom doesn’t hesitate in doing a complete 180 and pulling him into a hug, squeezing him tight as if he were her own child. He practically was anyway. You’re frozen, watching the two of them, the way he’s towering over her even when he hugs her, the way he’s leaning into her touch.

When she finally lets him go and looks up, her eyes are a little glassy and half open, “look at you, all grown up.”

Felix glances at you with a smile on his face, a look of “she’s never not going to be like this” all over his face.

Your dads voice calls out from the kitchen, “who is it?” And when he appears from around the corner his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the two of you here.

There’s laughter and hugs being shared between the three, an easy familiarity. You’re just standing off to the side, still clutching your keys in hand and faintly smiling at the warmness of the interaction. Your mom fusses, asking the both of you if you've eaten at all the entire day, and she's shaking her head when you tell her no because of the early morning flight. She lingers anyway, interrogating Felix with questions, asking about if he's gotten a girlfriend, or how his friends are doing back in Korea. Your dad throws in a few jokes here and there, and Felix rebuttals them with ease and a gentle laugh.

But eventually, your mom yawns and waves her hands around. “Alright, alright. It's too late for me to keep up with you. I'm happy you guys came home, I love you, and I'm heading to bed.”

Your dad gives Felix a firm pat on the back, giving him a smile and muttering something about “Happy to see you again, son.”

The house is quiet now, the kitchen light dimmed and the tv off now. Its just you and Felix standing in the middle of the living room, your bags by the front door and in front of the stairs leading upstairs. He's stuffing his hands into his pockets and clearing his throat, “Wanna go say hi to my parents?”

His voice is low and soft, almost like he's nervous. “If I go over there myself , my moms gonna corner me with questions and talk my ear off until midnight, and my dads gonna make me unpack until I can't breathe.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling “So you're taking me over there to be your distraction?”

He's nodding his head and chuckling, “Exactly.”

He's walking out of the front door and rolling his suit cases down your driveway. He tilts his head towards his house across the street, the porch light is glowing warmly and you can already imagine his mom peeking out of the curtains, realizing her babies are home.

You follow him outside, the warm air surrounding you. The air is carrying that familiar coastal scent you've grown to miss, and the streets are quiet except for the occasional honk from a car across the neighborhood. By the time you reach his front door, the lights inside are already clicking on. He doesn't knock, not just yet. He's just staring at the door like it'll magically open for him— and somehow it does. The door is swinging open and his mom stands there, hand already on her mouth to cover her surprise and her glassy eyes.

“Lixie?”

“Hi, mom” his voice is warm like honey, smiling big without thinking about it. He sets his bags down and lets her pull him into the biggest hug— her arms wrapping around him so tight it almost looks like she'd never let go.

You step back, smiling without meaning to, just watching the reunion. His dad appears in the doorway behind his mom, a grin already on his face, “Look who finally decided to come home.” he says, pulling Felix away from his mom and into his arms.

It's only after her initial hug when her gaze flicks over to you, her eyes somehow widen even more in surprise and she's squealing.

“Oh my goodness, is that you my love? Come here honey.” she's pulling you into a hug similar to the one she gave Felix, wrapping you up in her warm arms like you never left in the first place. Like you're still the little girl who would spend all of her time in their backyard.

When she lets go, Felix’s dad is chuckling and patting your head, “Our kids are finally home— just like old times.”

You glance at Felix, his gaze already on you and he's giving you a soft smile, “Yea, like old times.” he mutters.

His mom is ushering the both of you inside in no time, Felix’s dad is hauling his son's luggage inside before anyone else can offer to do it. The house still smells the same, soft laundry powder and a hint of vanilla honey candles— the kind she would always have burning. The familiarity hits you in an instance and you step inside behind Felix. You follow him towards the living room where his mom is waving you over to the couches.

“Sit, both of you. I'll make you tea,” she pauses, looking at you and giving you a smile, “Oh, honey. I still have that mango nectar you used to drink. Would you want that instead?”

You can't help but smile back, “It's okay, tea's good with me.”

As his mom hustles into the kitchen, Felix is sinking down onto the couch, his shoulder relaxing. You take a seat next to him, a comfortable space between the two of you.

You're glancing around the living room, watching his dad disappear down the haul after he put his luggage upstairs. Felix is leaning towards you, “Feels weird”

“Yea, it kinda does.”

Felix studies the way your face looks in the warm light, the slope of your nose and the way your cheek curves— the way your eyes are glued to the family portraits above the TV. His knee is bouncing nervously, and then he murmurs “At least something’s come back with me.”

The faucet is running somewhere is the background, and you can hear the clinking of mugs in the kitchen. You turn to look at him,

“What do you mean “somethings”?”

His lips quirk, but his eyes are everywhere but yours like he's trying to grow the confidence to speak again, “You.”

Your chest tightens at his words, and now you're unsure if its because you want to run away or into his arms. But before you can decide that, his mom is walking back into the living room with four mugs all filled to the brim.

“Here we are,” she says cheerfully, setting the tray down onto the table, “chamomile for me, green for your dad, and peppermint for the both of you.” She's smiling and clapping her hands. “I remembered you like peppermint tea,” she adds, looking at you.

You take the cup from the plastic tray, whispering a thank you, the steam wafting in your face. Felix takes his as well, mirroring you. His dad comes back with a bag of biscuits, setting them down on the coffee table before sinking down into his armchair with a sigh.

“So, how long are you two staying? Just for the holidays?” he asks, looking between the two of you.

You and Felix nod, but he's the first to speak up when he notices you're taking a small sip of your still hot tea, “Yea, just until after Christmas.”

You lean back against the couch, the mug warm in your hands and you're letting the familiar rhythm of his parents’ talking settle you. It feels the same to you, like you're a teenager again, spending the nights after school. Except, this time, everything— everyone is older and quieter.

His dad is chuckling, throwing a biscuit into his mouth, “Back then, I could barely get you guys away from each other. Always running around the street, always jumping into the pool on hot days. Never leaving each other's houses.” he glances at you, eyes twinkling, “sometimes I couldn't tell if you lived here or not.”

Felix smiles faintly at that, sipping on his tea, “Yeah, feels like a lifetime ago.”

The living room settles into a comfortable hum— his parents making small conversation and there's the ticking of the old clock on the wall. You sip at your tea, the steam warming your eyelids for a moment before you put the cup down. Felix’s knee brushes the side of your thigh, it's subtle– but it makes you pause. He doesn't move away, just stays there like it's the most normal thing on earth.

After a while, his mom stands up and gathers the empty ceramic mugs onto the plastic tray, “You two must be tired, we’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest.” She smiles, knowingly. Her eyes are flicking between you and Felix in a way that makes your heart squeeze.

Felix stands, stretching before nudging your shoulder with his hand, “Ready?”

You nod, standing up next to Felix. His dad is humming, “Good to have you back.”

It’s quiet between the two of you when you make your way towards his front door. You go to open the door, but he stops you— his hand on your shoulder. You turn to him, he has some kind of look on his face that you can’t quite gauge. He he opens mouth and says something so soft you barely catch it,

“Roof?”

You blink at him, caught off guard but he opens his mouth again to continue, “ I thought— I thought maybe we could.. y’know? Talk..?”

You glance towards the front door, your hand on the doorknob. You let go, facing him again, “Alright.”

The two of you make your way up, hearing the creak of the floorboards going up the stairs— it brings a pang of nostalgia to your heart. By the time you walk into his childhood room, it feels like you’re walking into a misspeak with the way everything was preserved the way he left it. You try not to pay any mind to it, not looking at the Polaroid pictures of you and him plastered on his wall above his desk. He’s opening the hatch of his window, the night sky is dark and littered with bright stars. There’s a breeze of warm air that hits you in the face when he opens it the full way, his curtains drifting slightly. He steps out first, crouching his way to the spot you two would sit in. you follow, sitting next to him but not close enough to reach out and touch him.

You’re looking out at the view, you can see the city lights and the ocean peaking out from behind. It’s beautiful, more than you remember. He’s leaning back on his hands, taking peeks at you. He wants to speak, to talk. But he’s afraid.

So you do, “I don’t even remember the reason why we started coming up here” Your voice is quiet, soft.

He laughs, his fingers brushing back his hair. “I think we were eleven, or at least I was— but, we had just come back from the beach.” He’s looking at you now, a smile on his face, “ you had your cotton candy ice cream and I got coconut. We ended up coming out here because you kept bothering me about seeing shooting stars so I finally gave in and we came out here. We just talked for hours until my mom found us and got mad.”

You chuckle, still looking out to the city, “Of course you remember.”

Felix smiles wider, eyes flicking to the ocean and then back to you, “always.”

You don’t speak again, just admiring the way the waves crash ever so softly on the shore. He’s shifting closer to you, shoulders almost touching— and for a moment it’s quiet between you both. It’s just the sound of passing traffic and the faint sound of the waves.

“Do you remember what we’d talk about up here?” He asks, voice low.

Now you’re looking at him, crossing your hands in front of your legs and hugging yourself. “What?”

He’s taking in a breath, looking up at the sky again. “We’d make promises up here, talk about what we’d do when we’re older,”

Now you remember.

“We said that if we were single by twenty-five we’d get married.” He finishes, looking back at you again.

You look at him, caught between disbelief and amusement. “We said that?” You’re exhaling a laugh.

He’s shrugging, and you can see a flush moving up his neck ever so slightly. “I mean, yeah. We were maybe thirteen when we made that promise. But I’ve never forgotten it.” His eyes lock into yours, he’s serious.

You shift slightly, “I can’t believe you remember all of that.” Brushing a hair out of your face— heart thudding.

“I remember a lot about you.” He admits, voice just above a whisper. “More than I probably should.”

For a moment, it’s quiet again. The city, the ocean, the traffic— it just fades away into background noise. Just the two of you. He’s leaning a little closer, his shoulder fully next to yours now. “Do you remember Sienna?”

You freeze, your hands tensing up and your shoulders rising. Your breath catches, and you’re glancing back at him, eyes narrowing, “Sienna?” You repeat.

He’s nodding, “We made that promise at fifteen.”

He’s giving you time to respond, but you don’t— so he continues to speak, “I think I brought it up, I don’t remember who did but one of us said that we should have a daughter after we get married. You came up with the name Sienna.”

You hum, “yeah, I remember.” Sucking in a breath before continuing, “I thought she’d look just like you.”

He’s laughing, “yea but she’d have a temper just like yours, be sensitive, like you.”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, “Sure” you look at him, “but she’d probably be childish like her dad.”

He’s nudging your shoulder lightly with his, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes, “She'll make me do everything with her, just like her mom did when we were kids.” He adds, a teasing look in his eye.

You chuckle, “She would’ve been cute.”

He's letting out a quiet sigh, looking back to the water. “Yeah.. she would’ve.” He murmurs.

You feel like your chest could explode at any second with the way your heart is thumping. You’re shifting, shoulder knocking with his and you’re leaning back— mirroring him. “It’s kinda weird.. imagining what our life would be like even at that age. We were barely even living at that point.”

He glances at you, “Yeah.”

Neither of you speak, letting the noisy sounds of life below you fill the air once more.

“Do you think it’ll happen?” He finally asks.

You pause, thinking to yourself before laying on your back to look up at the stars, “Getting married?”

“Yeah, I mean—everything. Us, Sienna.” He’s quiet.

You’re turning your head to look up at him, he’s still looking up at the stars, the moonlight lighting up his hair in the most prettiest way imaginable. “I don’t know, Lixie.” You’re sighing, “With the way our life is going, I don’t think it’ll work out.”

His jaw tightens, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly like he wants to argue but he just doesn’t know how to. He finally drops his head from the sky, looking down at his hands, “I figured you’d say that.”

You shift against the coarse tiles, “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t impossible, y’know?” You add, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them.

That makes him look at you. His eyes linger on your face— searching, yearning, aching. “Yeah?” He whispers out.

And you smile, “Yeah.”

For a moment neither of you look away, you’re pushing yourself up slightly to lean on your elbows, the night feels warmer somehow, and there’s something in the air that makes it feel like there’s something left unsaid— something that’s been waiting to be said for years now. His lips part, but he isn’t trying to speak. He’s just looking at you, every part of your face— and you catch the way his eyes linger just the slightest bit longer on your lips before coming back to your eyes.

He’s shifting closer to you, leaning down just slightly. He’s so close you can feel him breathing on your neck, it’s sending sparks up your spine. Your breath stutters, he’s so close— unbelievably close. His knee is brushing against your thigh, the world feels entirely too loud, the wind too warm and it feels like everything’s closing in on you.

“We— we should go to bed.” you blurt out, sitting up a little too fast.

Felix blinks in confusion, but for a second you see a flicker of hurt across his face but it’s gone as quickly as it happened. He forces a smile, looking down at his hands and rubbing his hands. “Yea, okay.”

The silence is awkward now.

He’s pushing off of the roof now, slowly climbing off of the roof and back into his room. Neither of you speaks, you’re following behind him and stepping into the cold room that smells faintly of clean laundry. He’s following you when you walk down the stairs— the familiar creaking echoing down the empty hallway.

You mumble out a small “Goodnight” when you open his front door, not daring to turn back and look at him in case you see the hurt in his eyes looking back at you. The door clicks shut and you’re left outside by yourself, heart racing a million miles per second and head spinning.

He wasn’t going to kiss you, right? Maybe you’re overthinking— it was probably going to be a hug. And even if he was, it’s too soon.

Crossing the street feels like crossing the ocean, heavy and strenuous. By the time you’re inside your house, the quiet feels like a weighted blanket over you. It’s suffocating, too empty, too loud. You’re on autopilot the rest of the time you get ready, pajamas on, teeth brushed, face washed. You’re crawling into your bed, pulling the covers up to cover your chin. You just can’t seem to calm down. Everytime you close your eyes, you remember the way he was looking at you— so soft and full of adoration. Aching. The warmth of his shoulder against yours, the way his breath felt on your neck.

You toss and turn, but sleep doesn’t come. All you can think about is him. His hair, his freckles, his eyes, his cologne, and god— his voice. How easy it would’ve been to just give in and lean in closer to him. But you couldn’t have— not on the first day back, not on the first day of letting him back in. You’re like a lovestruck fool, running back into the arms of the boy you used to love— the one who hurt you so bad. It’s so stupid.

Day 1

Your phone buzzes before your alarm.

Felix

Hey I'm outside

Wanna walk down to the beach and swim?

11:05

Your stomach flips, he's outside? Waiting for you— even after last night?

You shuffle over to your window and peeking through the blinds. Sure enough, he's standing outside and leaning on his dads sleek red car. He's mindlessly tapping on his phone, a white tee on and his signature blue swim trunks on. He looks normal, unborthered— like what happened last night didn't affect him at all. Like he wasn’t just sitting next to you with that yearning look in his eyes.

You change quickly, putting on your swimsuit and tugging on shorts and a big tee over to cover it. By the time you step outside, Felix drops his attention from his phone and onto you, his posture straightening. He’s smiling—like usual, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Morning.” He says, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You hug your arms around your chest, fingers fiddling with the straps of your tote bag. “Morning.”

He’s clearing his throat after a second, pushing off of his dads car and tilting his head down the street, “Beach?”

You nod quickly, turning to start walking. “Yep.”

The two of you fall into step, shoes scuffing against the pavement. Normally the walk would be filled with some stupid commentary— he’d point out weirdly shaped clouds or you’d tease him about being so pale for someone who grew up near the beach. But right now? It’s just the sound of cars passing and seagulls chirping that fill the empty space.

You’re biting the inside of your cheek, wishing you could say something— literally anything to break the awkward silence. But everything you think of sounds too small, too stupid.

But he tries first, “Did you bring snacks?”

You nod, gesturing to your tote bag, “Yeah, water, chips, fruit, cookies— those cinnamon ones you like.”

His lips are curling into a smile, “You remembered.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are counting the scattered grains of sand on the floor in hopes he doesn’t notice the way your cheeks flush.

When you finally reach the boardwalk, the salty air is hitting you in the face— your hair whipping in the air. He’s laughing at you when you struggle to push your hair back into place. But his laughter is short lived, he doesn’t nudge you in the shoulder, doesn’t try and help get loose strands that stick to your lipgloss. He just stays walking next to you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

The beach is filled with scattered umbrellas and vacant beach chairs. It’s pretty empty for a weekday. You’re claiming a random spot near the water, watching the waves crash against the shore while you’re taking out the sunscreen.

He’s tugging his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the chair without a care in the world. The sunlight catches the muscles of his back, and he’s stretching like he’s been waiting to do this all week. You don’t mean to stare— and god, you really don’t. But your eyes are trailing all over his body especially when he turns around, the sun casting shadows on the dips of his abs and his biceps. You have to force yourself to look away before it becomes obvious to him that you’re ogling.

But when you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with a slight smirk on his face. It’s almost like he knew you had been looking, but he’s clearing his throat.

“Can you?” He gestures to the sun lotion in your hands.

Your stomach flips, “sure.”

He’s turning around and waiting. Finally, you press your hands to his shoulders, feeling his hot skin under your cool, sunscreen covered hands. You’re spreading it around his back carefully, dragging it across his muscles and the curve of his spine. He’s turning around, so you’re handing him the bottle for him to finish off. He’s taking it without a problems, squeezing some into his hand and finishing the job.

You wipe your hands into your shorts, trying to take off that electric feeling still clinging to your fingers.

“Your turn.”

Your eyes widen, “what?”

He’s grinning, snapping open the bottle and squeezing more into his hands, “You’ll burn worse than me. You always manage to.”

“I can do it myself” you respond a little too fast, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt.

But he’s shaking his head, “Not your back, you'll miss a spot.”

The thought of his hands against your skin makes your heart jump, but you’re rolling your eyes and sighing out, “Fine.”

You pull your shirt over your body, bunching up your hair into a bun and turning around. The air hits your bare back, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything happening around you. His hands are on you, gentle and cool. He’s spreading the sunscreen around your shoulder so slowly you feel like your legs could give out. His thumbs are brushing along your shoulder blades, and the curve of your back.

“Why are you so tense?” He asks, and you mentally facepalm.

You huff, “Uh, I don’t know, maybe it’s cuz your hands are cold.” you’re hoping he believes you.

His hands still on your back for a second before giving you a pat on your shoulder, “Kay, all done.”

You finally turn around, face hotter than the sun. He’s watching you, freckles more prominent in the sun and he’s giving you a knowing smile. He doesn’t say anything, just turning around and walking towards the water. He’s laughing when a wave crashes into his legs, and his laugh is faintly carried back to you. You can’t help but smile.

Taking a breath, you pull off your shorts, folding them and place them back onto your tote bag. You’re brushing sand off of your legs before you make your way towards the water. The cool breeze kisses your skin and you shiver slightly, hesitating when you finally reach the water.

Felix glances back at you, hair already damp from splashing around in the water. “Are you afraid?” He’s calling out, a mischievous smile plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking a step forward and letting a wave crash into your ankles. The water is a lot colder than you expected, and it causes you to hunch over.

He’s laughing when you cry out a “Holy crap!” backing up to get closer to you, “it’s not that bad.” he says.

And before you can roll your eyes and give him a sassy remark, he’s scooping up a handful of water and flicking it towards you.

You’re yelping when the cold water hits your waist, “Felix!” Covering your face and moving to turn away from him.

He’s laughing smugly, and it sparks up a competitiveness in you. Without thinking, you kick water at him— the sound of water hitting his chest is sharp and satisfying.

The game ends up escalating, he’s surging forward and splashing you back with even greater power. You squeal when he lunges at you, arms out like he’s going to grab you. You try to run but the waves are pushing you back, making it almost impossible to move in the water. He’s grabbing you by your wrist, pulling you back into him. Both of you are restless with laughter, and this time he actually manages to scoop you up into his arms by your waist. You're laughing and kicking, begging him to put you down but all he does is laugh. He doesn't listen, spinning you around, water flying everywhere as he twirls you around like you weigh nothing. Your hands are clutching at his shoulders instinctively, nails pressing into his damp back.

After what feels like forever, he stops. He's still holding you in his arms, looking down at you. The splashing stops and suddenly you're just there— face to face once again. His wet hair is dripping onto his face, droplets sliding down his slim face. You're still catching your breath, hair plastered to your face and water dripping off of your arms and legs. For a moment, it's just the two of you at this moment. Felix’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his lips curling into a smirk. The grip he has in your waist loosens ever so slightly, and he's drawing shapes into your skin with his thumb. He isn't putting you down, just tilting his head as he looks at you, watching the water from your hair drip down your nose.

“Was that fun?” he asks.

You smile, “You're insane.”

He doesn't say anything else, just leans in closer, the warmth of his chest against the side of your body. The sound of his breath mixes with yours, your hands are tightening on his shoulders, and you can feel his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

Suddenly, he's letting you go. Your stomach drops when you feel yourself falling and gasping when you meet the cold water. The water engulfs you fully, and you instantly come back up to the surface. He's keeled over into the water, arm around his stomach as he laughs.

You sputter out a cough, wiping the water from your face. Your heart is still facing from the initial closeness and the sudden drop. “Dude!”you shout between laughs, splashing him in the face.

He's still doubled over in the water, laughing so hard that people could probably hear him from the other side of the beach. “You should've seen your face!” he cries, shaking his head and wiping water out of his eyes.

“You're going to regret that” You call out, splashing more water at him.

He's finally standing back up, waving his hands around his face, “Truce!”

You narrow your eyes at him, wafting through the water towards him. “Truce?”

He raises his hands, palms facing out towards you in surrender, though the smirk on his face shows he's more than enjoying this. “Yea, truce.” he says, voice light and airy.

You let out a mock sigh, your shoulders relaxing though your heart still races. “Fine..” you mutter out, flicking some water at him just to tease him.

Felix comes closer to you, sinking down into the water so just the upper part of his torso sticks out. You mirror him, sinking down into the now warm water and swimming around. The waves aren't as rough around this time. There's a silence surrounding you, it's comfortable. And every once in a while you'll catch him watching you pick up shells from the sand below.

He's the first to break the silence, “Wanna get ice cream?” he's pushing back his wet hair.

Yours looking at him, eyes wide in surprise— but you're smiling. “From our place on the boardwalk?”

He grins, the look in his eye mischievous. “Yeah, I've been thinking about it for the past week or so.” he admits.

You laugh, shaking your memory, “All week? You've been thinking about ice cream this whole time?”

He shrugs, still smiling and floating in the water, “That and something else.” he says, voice teasing.

You're raising an eyebrow at this, water dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, “Yeah? What else?”

He just leans back into the water, looking up at the clouds, “Nothing” he jokes.

You roll your eyes, splashing a little water at him, “Nothing? Sure, okay.”

He laughs, ducking under the water to pop back up with a grin, “Fine, maybe it’s not nothing. But I’m not telling yet.”

You shake your head, faux annoyance lacing your voice. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, tilting his head toward you, “but you like it.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the sun and the water mixing with the flutter in your chest. “Sure,” you tease. He smirks, eyes glinting in the sun, “C’mon, I wanna see what flavors they have today” he says, getting out of the water and walking towards the spot you both had claimed earlier.

You follow him, hair dripping wet and you feel sand sticking to your wet feet. Felix’s grabbing a towel from your chair, handing it to you before grabbing another and throwing it over his head. You take the towel, drying yourself off and groaning when sand sticks to your legs. He's shaking his towel out with a grin on his face, tossing his damp towel around his shoulders and taking his discarded shirt into his hands. “Need help?”

You laugh, shaking your head when you notice his sly smirk “No, I’m ready to go if you are though.” you say, slipping your shirt over your damp swimsuit.

You grab your tote bag, tugging it over your shoulder as he falls in step with you. The boardwalk creaks under your feet, sand crunching under the weight of your shoes. The two of you are walking closer and closer to your ice cream shop, the light up signs bright under the shaded roof. It looks the same way it did when you were here last. The bell above the door jingles as you both step inside, the cool air of the shop washing over you. The familiar scent of waffle cones and hot fudge fills your nose, and you can’t help but smile at how small and perfect everything feels. Felix follows close behind, shoulders brushing yours occasionally, but neither of you says anything. He's passing you to peek at the flavours, but one catches your eye: cotton candy.

“I know what I want.” You're smiling, pointing to the little title sign. He's glancing over, huffing out a laugh through his nose, “Of course.”

You can't help but laugh softly, “what about you?” you ask, looking at him.

He's shrugging, combing his hair with his fingers and then pointing to a sign in the corner, “Maybe the banana creme pie”

The employee is scooping up colorful servings of your flavor, placing it into a small bowl before finishing it off with a spoon. Felix grabs yours first, handing it over to you before grabbing his own. He pays for it like usual, giving them a four-dollar tip and turning to follow you outside.

You step back out onto the boardwalk, the sun warming your skin and the seasalt still lingering in your hair. The spoonful of cotton candy ice cream melts instantly on your tongue, sweetness mixing with the faint tang of salt from the beach. Felix walks beside you, careful not to bump into your shoulders.

He tilts his bowl slightly toward you, teasing, “So, still your favorite flavor after all these years?”

You laugh, spinning your spoon around, “Not my favorite but I can't pass it up if it's there.”

He smirks, taking a bite of his ice cream, "Sure, sure.” he says, eyes flicking toward you.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, walking side by side along the boardwalk, the occasional brush of your arms against his sending a small jolt through you. Seagulls circle overhead, the ocean humming just beyond the railings. Everything feels the same and completely different all at once.

Felix leans slightly closer, lowering his voice, “I missed this.. doing something this simple with you.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised, “Simple?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes softening. “You. Ice cream. The beach. No cameras, no schedules. Just us.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, just let the words sink in, tasting sweeter than the ice cream in your hand. You finish your ice cream slowly, savoring both the flavor and the quiet comfort of being with him. Once the bowls are empty, you toss them and rise from the bench. Felix falls into step beside you as you start to walk along the railing, the sounds of the wooden planks beneath your feet, the distant laughter of kids, the soft crash of waves.

“Y’know” he begins, “I remember the first time we came here together. We got an arcade ticket for dirt cheap, and I spent an hour trying to win that stuffed bear you begged me for.”

You're laughing at that, covering your mouth and looking at him, “Oh god, yea. You refused to give up even after I told you to stop.”

“Yea, but I got it.” he smiles, “it sat on your bed for months.”

“You always remember the weirdest things.” you say, and he's shaking his head, looking at you. “I remember the important things.”

You both continue walking along the walkway, your hand gliding against the cool metal railing and you look out at the horizon. He's clearing his throat after a moment, hands in his pocket— somewhere where they seemed to live at this point.

“So, why makeup? Why Seoul?” he starts, nudging your shoulder.

You pause, licking your lips, “Uhm, not sure. I wanted to go to school for something creative but I wasn't good at painting. So I took up cosmetology and I liked it enough for it to become my job. I started getting job offers to work with models in Korea so I would travel over until I decided to just live there and base my clients there.”

He nods, studying you as you speak, “So, all of the people you've worked with were famous?”

You stiffen slightly, unsure if he's curious or teasing you. “Sure, you could say that. But its not like I'm hanging out with them or anything.”

“Cmon, spill. There has to be at least one guy.” he's smirking, pulling your arm with his fingers.

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping your lips. “There's no one. You're so nosy sometimes.”

“Maybe. But I'm curious about you.” he's tilting his head at you.

You glance out at the ocean, watching the waves crash against some rocks nestled into the corner of the pier. “Ive worked with some idols, some you'd know if I told you the names.”

He’s leaning towards you, clearly satisfied you're giving him answers even if they're vague, “Oooh, mysterious.”

“Mysterious? Please. I'm just trying not to brag.”

The air between you shifts slightly, warmer, more intimate, as the pier stretches out ahead and the waves lap softly below.

By the time you’d walked to the end of the pier and back, the sun had dipped low in the sky, painting the clouds in shades of orange and pink. Your ice cream was long gone, leaving only sticky fingers and a faint sweetness lingering on your lips. Felix let out a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“I forget it gets dark quickly over here. We should walk back.” he says, looking around at the half-empty board walk.

You nod, stretching your arms, “I'll follow you.”

He grins, pushing against your shoulder with his hand and moving towards the exit. The walk back was quiet at first, just the soft crunch of sand under your shoes, but the small touches and glances between you added to the rising pressure in your chest. You reach your street in no time, the sun has dipped further down, casting a golden glow across the sky. Felix’s slowing down next to you, looking at you and smiling. “Your mom’s making dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yea, 6:30.” you respond.

He doesn't say anything to that, just giving you a small nod and heading in the direction of his front door. You watched him until he disappeared behind the door, moving only when it clicked closed.

Day 2

Sometimes you thought cooking was the bane of your existence. It was time consuming, it burned your eyes, it made the entire house hot— it just wasn't your forte. Your mom, however, could've been a chef in her past life, just throwing together a dish in thirty seconds like it meant nothing— and it still comes out tasting better than anything you've eaten at a restaurant. She was always the one people would ask recipes from, beg her to make her most famous dishes for them to serve at their dinner parties. She was that lady.

So you're just sitting at the kitchen island, watching your mom work her magic without a care in the world. Felix and his parents were supposed to come over tonight, a tradition you guys have had since forever. Eat dinner at your house in celebration of Christmas Eve, then buy each other gifts the next day to exchange on Christmas Eve itself.

The smell of garlic and oregano fills the air, you've got your chin propped up against your hand watching as your mom hums along to the random Christmas song playing on the TV. You're taking glances at the clock,“ you think they'll be on time this year?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

She's chuckling, taking out a plate of roasted potatoes from the oven and placing it on top of the stove, “They're all ways late, but I think that's because she's so busy bringing us all of those desserts.”

You smile, rolling your eyes in faux annoyance. You smooth out your dress, something simple for the dinner.

The doorbell rings, and your mom is calling for you to go answer it. You slide off the stool, pushing your hair back from your shoulders and padding towards the door. When you pull it open, Felix is standing behind it, a covered dish in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, giving you his signature smile that never seems to falter.

Your eyes flick down to the dish he holds tightly in his arms, “Let me guess, your moms apple crumble?”

He laughs, stepping inside of the house when you move aside to let him through. “Yeah, she even made a second batch so you wouldn't eat it all like you did that one year.”

You gasp, shutting the door when his parents finish making their way inside, “I didn't! I just took the last serving.”

He's waiting for you, shaking his head and tutting, “After like, one or two trips to the kitchen.”

You're groaning, playfully punching at his shoulder when his mom calls for him, “Felix, put the food down in the kitchen!”

He flashes you a grin before heading in, holding the dish out like it’s treasure.

Your mom beams the moment she sees Felix turning the corner, “There he is! My favorite guest.”

“What? How?” you're groaning, coming up next to him and nudging his hip with yours.

He's winking at you, putting the dish onto the countertop and giving your mom a hug, “It's natural.”

Soon, the table is crowded with food— roasted potatoes, garlic chicken, vegetables, his moms famous apple crumble, and of course, every other one of his mom's desserts. Everyone takes their seats, the conversation flowing easily between the parents. They’re swapping stories, laughing about the last time your mom accidentally burned the turkey, already planning the next family outing.

You pick at your chicken, listening with a smile, but Felix leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Told you,” he murmurs, nodding toward his mom who’s already insisting to leave her extra desserts at your house for you to enjoy on Christmas. “She made too much again.”

You stifle a laugh. “Better than not enough.”

Under the table, his knee nudges against yours lightly, and when you glance at him, he’s trying very hard to look like he’s paying attention to your parents' conversations.

Meanwhile, his mom is looking across the table at you, a giant smile on her face. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. Honestly, sometimes I think of you as our daughter.”

You flush, covering your face with your hand and giving them a sweet, “Thank you.”

You’re quietly piling food on your plate when you feel a light nudge against your knee under the table. Felix is sitting beside you, pretending to listen to his dad but clearly trying not to laugh at your flustered expression. You narrow your eyes, whispering, “Really?” under your breath.

He just smirks, picking at a piece of potato like nothing happened.

“So,” his dad says suddenly, leaning across to look at you, “How’s work been keeping you these days? Still making people look pretty?”

Your fork freezes for a second, but you smile politely. “Busy, but it's been really fun working with my clients.”

“Busy sounds good,” his mom continued warmly. “Your mom brags about you all the time.”

“Oh, don’t encourage her,” you groan playfully, making everyone laugh.

The conversation moves on easily after that, his dad talking about travel plans, your mom refilling wine glasses, the two families going back and forth between teasing and holiday warmth. Through it all, Felix keeps sneaking little glances at you, leaning closer when no one’s looking, muttering something sarcastic that nearly makes you choke on your drink, or brushing his hand against yours as if by accident.

The table is full of laughter, forks scraping against plates, glasses clinking every so often. You’re half listening to your mom tell Felix’s dad about the new couple who had just moved in down the street when his mom suddenly cuts in with a fond little laugh.

“You know,” she says, her eyes crinkling as she looks at the two of you sitting side by side, “sometimes I can’t believe how grown up you both are. When you were kids I always thought you’d end up married.”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing lightly. Heat spreads across your cheeks, and you glance at Felix out of the corner of your eye. He’s mid-bite, frozen, then slowly lowers his fork.

“Mom,” he groans, dragging out the word like he’s twelve again. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Your mom chuckles, “Oh, we all thought the same. You two were inseparable— always running off together, whispering your little secrets.”

“Exactly!” Felix’s mom cheers, leaning forward like she’s defending her point. “I told my husband, ‘Just watch, they’ll end up together one day.’”

You bury your face in your hands, laughing nervously. “Okay, well, clearly that didn’t happen.”

Felix doesn't respond, fighting a smile. He's just looking down at his plate, pushing around the uneaten food.

“See?” his dad pipes up, gesturing toward Felix’s smirk. “That’s the look of a boy caught red-handed.”

The whole table bursts into laughter, and you press your lips together to hide your smile, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. The rest of dinner blurs into warm chatter, stories from both sets of parents that you’ve heard a hundred times before. Felix keeps throwing you amused glances across the table every time one of them brings up childhood memories— the messy baking days, the time you pushed him off the swing, the one summer you two made friends with a fish.

By the time dessert is finished, everyone’s moving over to the couches in the living room, voices a little softer now. Felix’s dad and your mom are deep into a debate about Christmas movies, while his mom’s helping clear the last of the plates and move them into the sink where your dad stands.

Felix leans closer, lowering his voice just enough that it’s for you alone. “Wanna go outside for a bit?”

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at him, nodding. “Yeah, before they start telling the story about our elementary play again.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him, and the two of you slip away unnoticed, quietly opening the front door before stepping out into the night air. The sky is clear, stars scattered across the dark sky.

Felix shoves his hands into his pockets, walking beside you down the driveway. “It’s quieter out here.”

You smile, hugging your arms around yourself. “A lot quieter.”

For a few moments you both just stand there, listening to your soft breaths. Then Felix tilts his head toward you, his voice softer than it’s been all evening. “Did it embarrass you? What they said about us?”

You blink, surprised by the question. “I mean,” you pause, laughing a little nervously, “maybe a little. But they were just joking.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but there’s something thoughtful in his tone. He nudges your shoulder gently. “Still. Kinda funny how we thought about it too”

Your heart skips, the words hanging between you. You try to play it off with a laugh, but the look in his eyes makes it clear he isn’t joking.

Inside, the muffled sound of your families’ laughter spills through the walls, but out here, it’s just the two of you and the summer sky.

“Yea.” you whisper, looking out at the stars.

He swallows, taking a small step towards you. “I mean, if I hadn't left.. Maybe it could've worked out that way.” His voice is soft, almost like he's too shy to say what he really wants to. He's looking at you, watching the way your eyes never move from the stars above. “I don't think me being an idol would've been a problem for us.”

Your chest tightens, and you close your eyes with a sigh. You want to laugh, tell him that he was crazy for even thinking that a childhood promise could blossom into reality.. But there's a part of you that really wants to believe it too. You nod slowly, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “Maybe.”

There's silence now. The kind that says everything without either of you needing to open your mouth and spill your emotions out. Felix’s hand twitches at his side, and then almost instinctively, he's slowly reaching out. You're flinching when his hand brushes your hair out of your face, allowing him to get a better look at your face. It's brief, delicate, but it's way more than enough to make your heart start pounding.

You flinch, stepping back on accident. But he doesn't move, doesn't pull away, he just lets his hand lower near yours. He's clearing his throat after a moment, taking a step back from you and forcing a small smile onto his lips. “So, we need to figure out gifts for tomorrow."

You nod awkwardly, matching his smile. “Yea, I- uh. For everybody, right?”

He's leaning back slightly, arms crossing. “Yea, I mean. More for me and you but the family too. Just small things.”

He's shifting where he stands, glancing at you briefly before setting his eyes into the pavement of the driveway. “I was thinking we could make an outing of it? Maybe go tomorrow morning.. If you want.” he mutters.

There's a softness in his voice that makes your stomach weak. You're tilting your head, fingers finding their way to your hair and combing through the strands. “Thatd be nice.” you smile.

He catches your smile and grins, exhaling in relief. “Good. Then it’s a date. Well— not a date-date. Just, y’know— gift-date.”

You laugh quietly, the tension between you easing slightly. “Gift-date.”

He leans back a little, his eyes following yours as you laugh,and for a moment the awkward air dies down, relaxing into something warm/

“So, what should we start with?” he asks finally, continuing but keeping his voice soft, like he’s testing the waters.

You shrug, biting your lower lip as you think . “Whatever’s easiest. Maybe something for the parents first? Then we can figure out each other.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, and nods. “Yeah- figure out each other. I like that.”

You glance at him, heart catching slightly at the way his grin lingers. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Can't help it.”

Day 3

It's the day before Christmas eve, the mall is packed with people running around with bags full of merchandise. It's mostly children's toys, the rainbow colored plastic obviously against the white shopping bags. It's stuffy inside, but the mall smells faintly of cinnamon and it's covered from floor to ceiling with obnoxious Christmas decor. 

You and Felix are weaving your way through the crowded mall. Theres a soft hum of christmas music paying somewhere in the back of the mall, and Felix is humming along while he carries three bags in the crease of his elbow. You wipe a strand of hair from your face and glance at him, noticing the small crease between his brows as he picks up a glittery ornament sitting at the front of a store.  “Are we seriously doing this for everyone?” you mutter, tugging your worn out purse a little tighter over your shoulder.

He shrugs, a half-smile tugging at his lips, “Well, I think it's kind of fun” His tone has that soft teasing edge that makes you glance at him, unsure if he’s joking or being serious.

You snort, shaking your head, “Fun is standing in line for forty-five minutes to buy a necklace your mom probably already has?”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the mall’s chaos. “Yeah, but at least it's a Swarovski necklace.”

You roll your eyes again, smiling despite yourself. “Do you always give the most expensive gifts?”

He grins, bumping your shoulder lightly as you both head towards the exit of the store. “Of course, the people I love deserve the best.”

Youre humming at that, watching as he puts down the ornament and walks into a designer shop nextdoor. Hes glancing over at expensive sunglasses perched on shelfs, handbags with intricate designs that are colorcoded along the walls. He picks one up, inspecting the outside of the hand bag before opening it up to see all of the pockets it has. Its pretty big, you think to yourself, and its a pretty color– your favorite. 

“Thats nice.” you mutter, coming over to his side and touching the soft leather of the bag. 

He hums, “It is, Im gonna get it.” he says, moving the bag away from you before heading over to the front counter where he places it infront of the cashier. Your mouth falls open, taking a glance at the price before padding your way over to him in seconds. 

“How are you so nonchalant about spending seven-hundred dollars just like that? You didnt even bat an eye.” hes smiling at that, not even sparing a glance at the cashier when he hands her his card. 

“A man knows what he likes.” he admits, plain and simple. You cant even say anything to that because hes picking up the paperbag like it weighs nothing, adding it to his collection of bags around his arm and moving to leave the store. You follow suit, not even sparing a glance at anything else in the store because you think you can feel the bankruptcy nearing. 

You have yet to buy something for Felix, and he hasnt bought you anything. You both are aimlessly walking around the mall for twenty minutes before he stops you, a hand on your shoulder. “You think we should split up? Make the gift giving a bit more secretive?” he asks. 

You pause, looking around at the shops nearby and just giving him a curt nod. “Sure.”

You two split up after that, each heading in separate directions through the crowded mall. Felix is giving you a sly glance before hes heading into a boutique. You pretend to not notice, heading over to some random shop across the mall. Its a quiet thrill, sneaking around the mall with a purpose of finding something just for him. And every once is a while, you’ll pass eachother, both smirking like little kids in a game of hide and seek. 

Youre wandering for a few minutes before you spot a little shop in the corner of the mall, its a perfume shop. The inside of the shop smells like a mixture of scents– some woody, some sharp, some sweet. Your fingers brush over certain glasses of cologne, picking up the cold bottle and put it down after smelling the scent. Every time you pick up a new bottle, you're asking yourself the same question, “would he actually like this? I dont even know what to get him.” Meanwhile, Felix is doing the same. He’s walking through shop after shop, sometimes picking up certain things and laughing softly just thinking about your reaction to it. 

By the time you both meet up with eachother, you notice two more bags added to his collection. Hes smirking, teasingly hiding the behind his back as if you were going to lunge forward and rip them from his hands Hes smirking when you huff out a small laugh, shaking your head at him. “Promise you wont peek?” hes swinging the bags around like a child. 

You grin, copying his teasing tone and hiding the bags behind your back like he did. “Only if you don’t.”

Hes laughing at that, moving forward to walk next to you and youre slinging your purge over your shoulder when you begin your way out of the shops. The hum of the crowded mall fades behind you with each step, and theres a teasing energy between the two of you– the kind that only exists because there something unsaid. 

Hes nudging your arm his his bags, turing to face you with a cheery smile. “So,” he begins, “you think I got you something expensive or ridiculous?’ 

You shrug, “ Trick question, I think it’s both in one gift.” 

Hes laughing, shoulders bouncing with each breath– the sounds makes your chest warm. “Hey! You're judging already? I havent even wrapped it for you.” 

Youre raising an eyebrow, fishing out your car keys with one hand as he waits, leaning on yur car. “Honestly? I think you got me something over the top– something that’ll make me excited and worried to open tomorrow.” 

“Maybe,” he sighs, “But you'll like it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unlocking the car with the click of the button. “Gee, you're confident.” 

Felix grins, opening the back passenger side door and shoving his bags all onto one seat. “You could say that.”

That makes your stomach flip, and youre fighting a smile from tugging at your lips. Youre opening the back door, putting your bags onto the other seat and quickly closing the door behind you. You slip into the drivers seat, and hes sliding into the passenger seat, legs spread and head leaning against the headrest. You start the car, dashboard lighting up with life, its just the two of you inside the cold car, bags rustling inthe back– and theres something oddly comforting coming from it. 

As soon as the car starts moving, Felix turns on the radio to a random station– singing along to the Christmas song with an obnoxious tone, hand hanging out of the open window. Youre glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “ You know,” you say lowly, “I might just outdo you with my gift.” 

Hes looking at you with an amused expression, the wind from the open window sending his hair flying into his face. “With that confidence,” he says, eyes flickering from the backseat and back to you, “I’m excited to see what you thought of.”

You smirk, drumming your fingers against the leather steering wheel. “Don't get too excited though, its nothing designer.”

“Well then I hope its good enough to make me cry.” he laughs, the sound vibrating throughout the small space. 

You bite down on your lower lip, fighting the laugh that desperately wants to come out form your mouth. “God,” you smile, “I dont think I’ve seen you cry since high school. I’d love to see that again.”

He groans dramatically, shaking his head. “Well now when I open your gift I’m just going to have a straight face. I don’t want you to get the satisfaction of me crying.” 

Hes leaning his head back against the headrest once again, voice quieter when he continues. “I think I'll like whatever you get me just because its from you.” 

That has your breath hitching, and now your eyes are stuck to the car infront of you– hyper aware of its every action. Youre gripping the steering wheel harder, praying that he cant hear how hard your heart was pounding just from that one admission.  You clear your throat, “Smooth talker” you mutter. 

Hes shifting in his seat, turning just enough to look at you. “Not smooth, just honest.” 

You glance at him quickly, catching the sincerity in his eyes before you’re forced to look away and focus back on the traffic ahead. The moment is heavier than you intended for, so youre laughing nervously and changing the subject. “So.. do I get a hint about my gift?” you ask. 

HIs lips curl into a mischievous smile, tutting. “Nope, not even one.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “Coward.” 

“Strategist,” he corrects, resting his chin on his hand like he hasnt a acre in the world. “If I tell you right now, you’ll probably find a way to try and one up me at the last second.” He glances at you, “I know you.” 

You laugh, dressing on the gas when the light turns green. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Millionaire.” 

The conversation drifts, playful comments about his friends, the chaos at the mall, the terrible Christmas songs you both cant manage to escape from. The longer you drive, the more the tension lifts, becomes lighter. And by the time you turn into your neighborhood, Felix is closing the window, his voice light with amusement. “My mom’s gonna lose it when she sees the necklace I got her.” he giggles. 

You smile at that, parking next to the curb in front of your house and turning off the car. “She loves any gift you get her, she might even cry with happiness.” 

He looks back at you, eyes crinkling from his smile. “Probably.”

Christmas Eve

The next morning is warm, sunlight peeking out from behind your closed curtains before you even want to wake up. The wind causes trees to rub against your window, and you can faintly smell your neighbors barbeque. When you were a kid, you wished your christmas looked like the one from the movies– streets covered in snow, crackling fireplaces, hot cocoa. But there was something nostalgic about this kind of christmas, less bundling up in winter clothes, the AC running, and tanning in the hot sun.

You're stretched out on your couch, lazily fanning yourself with the TV remote as you watch a generic Christmas movie. There's a slow knocking at your door and you don't even need to guess at who it may be, you know.

When you open it, Felix’s mom is standing behind it with a giant bag full of gifts in her hand. He literally looks like Santa Claus herself. You're laughing at her, moving to let her in. She's giving you a short peck on the cheek, moving further inside the house to find your mom. His dad comes in next, four small boxes hidden under his arm and hes patting you on the head and moving into the living room. The last one to come in is Felix, He has two nicely wrapped gift boxes in his hand. He's grinning at you, playfully pushing your shoulder as he passes you.

You cant help but roll your eyes as you shut the door behind him. The living room is already filled with conversation, your dad had found his way over to Felix’s dad, and your moms were gossiping about who knows what in the kitchen, the bag of his moms gifts lying at her feet. You're following Felix into the living room, watching as he carefully sets down the gifts under the tree. He crouches down, re-arranging them like he wants you to notice.

“You wrapped them yourself?” you tease, leaning down next to him.

He looks up at you with a smug smile, “They look good, don’t they?”

“They look like you watched a Youtube tutorial. Look at the corners, they’re all messed up.”

He groans, pushing you playfully in the side as he stands up “I tried my best.”

You're about to say something else, but before you can his mom is calling for him from the kitchen, asking him to set the table for dinner. He sighs dramatically but gives you a wink before he saunters off in the direction of the table.

You catch yourself smiling at his back, shaking your head as you flop back onto the couch next to your dad. The house is full of chatter now, the TV playing on mute, glasses clinking in the kitchen, your dad’s loud laughter that could literally shake the house.

The tables set after a few minutes of chatter between parents, dishes being placed all over the table and plates scattered around. You find Felix sneaking around his mom after giving her a stack of plates, hes dropping onto the couch with a groan and stretching his arms over his head before letting them fall lazily across the back of the couch. His arms are so close to you that you could feel the brush of his fingers against the back of your head.

“I feel like an employee here,” he mutters.

You tilt your head, looking over at him with a teasing grin. “Poor baby.”

He chuckles, leaning in just slightly. “You could atleast pretend to care.”

“Not when you're complaining about setting the table.”

That earns you a playful nudge to the shoulder, his grin widening. You dont even notice when your parents stop talking and focus their attention to the two of you. His eyes are analysing your face, your pretty eyes, your flushed cheeks, your soft lips. You notice, and it steals the breath from out of your lungs.

Before either of you can say anything, his dad calls out from the table, “Quit flirting and come sit down!”

Your cheeks heat up even more, and Felix is muttering something under his breath. You shove him lightly, standing up to follow him into the dinning room. The dining table is crowded with dishes, platters of grilled meat, roasted vegetables, bowls of cold salad. Everyone's talking over each other, the clinks of glasses and the pouring of wine louder than the music seeping in from an outside party.

You're passing the salad bowl down the table when Felix’s mom suddenly sighs happily, looking between you and her son. “This feels just like when you guys were kids. I'm so happy you're both here with us. I never thought id see it ever again.”

Felix is mid sip of his soda, looking over at you with an unreadable expression. You're looking at her, an awkward smile on your face because you don't remember ever telling the family about what happened all those years ago– for all you knew they probably thought you guys had been talking the entire time.

She's waving her fork around, “You two sitting together like you always used to– so cute.”

Your mom joins in with a laugh, “Oh, don't start, they'll get embarrassed.”

You're ducking your head, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as you reach for your wine glass, trying to focus on anything but the way Felix is still looking at you. He's leaning back in his chair, smirking just a little bit– clearly enjoying the teasing without making a move to stop them. You're glaring at him from the corner of your eye, your heart doing that all too familiar skip when you see his warm eyes on yours.

His mom continues, “Remember that Christmas when the two of you made that fort in his room? I swore all of the couch pillows magically disappeared before I went to go check.” she’s laughing, “You two are just made for eachother, I swear.”

Your dad is making another comment, stealing her attention from the both of you, leaving you and Felix to exchange little smiles, his of amusement and yours of discomfort.

After a few hours, the clatter of cutlery begins to die down as deserts are passed around the table. Your mom places a small homemade cheesecake in the center of the table and Felix’s mom begins to grab presents from her massive bag, passing them around to the respective person. The energy shifts to excitement, everyones grabbing their present out from under the tree and coming back to sit at the table with everyone else.

One by one, each family member is passing around their gifts. Laughter and short gasps fill the room when presents are unwrapped– Felix’s dad dry heaving when hes gifted an expensive watch hes been dying for, Felix’s mom loosing her crap when she sees the necklace Felix got for her, Your mom almost crying when she smells the perfume your dad bought her, and your dad chuckling when hes gifted a new golfing club. The two of you watching all of their reactions with a wide smile, a warmth spreading throughout your chest when they start talking about how much they all love their gifts.

Finally, it's you and Felix’s turn. He's pushing a wide box towards you, his eyes wide with anticipation. You unwrap it carefully, revealing a ‘Louis Vuitton' logo. You're gasping, covering your mouth with your hand when you open up the box to reveal the handbag Felix had bought the day before. He's smiling at your expression, and you can hear the gasps of both of your moms. “You said you liked it, so I bought it.” he admits, combing through his hair with his long fingers.

You're left speechless, just looking at him with a wide smile and showing your mom the pretty handbag. You whisper an ‘I love it’ to him when you pass your gift over to him, its in a bag– not nicely wrapped like what he had done for you. He's taking out the tissue paper and pulling out three different bottles of cologne. He's smiling when he sees them, popping of the caps and smelling them.

You're grinning, “I have something else for you later,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. He nods, putting them back into the gift bag and saying a thank you outloud.

Once everyone has finished unwrapping their gifts, your mom starts to clear the table– clearing empty plates and Felix’s mom is laughing when telling her about her day. You and Felix stay at the table for a little longer, exchanging playful glances and quiet whispers before he's standing up and picking up the gift bag.

“Follow me.” he whispers, taking your free hand in his and leading you to the front door. You don't forget to pick up his extra gift on the way out, the plush packaging crackling in your hand.

You don't fight it, letting him pull you through the now open front door and to the front porch of his house. He's unlocking it with his house keys, opening the creaky door and ushering you inside. One would be weirded out by this, asking questions as to why on earth he'd be leading you into a dark, empty house— but you trusted him.. Somehow.

He's practically bouncing up the stairs and you're quietly giggling as you follow close behind. You know where this is headed— you push into his cold room, skipping over to the window and opening the hatch. You don't notice when he opens his nightstand, taking out a small box from out of it and shoving it into his pocket.

He's following you outside and over to the designated spot, grunting when he finally sits down on the roof. The quiet hum of the neighborhood mixed with the quiet sounds of laughter makes the world feel smaller than usual. Felix shifts, his knee knocking with yours, and you laugh when he turns to you with a smile on his face.

You watch as he pulls the small box out from his pocket, holding it out to you carefully. “Merry early Christmas,” he whispers.

You take it without hesitation, fingers wrapping around its small frame and pulling it open. Nestled inside is a small ring, it's simple— but beautiful. There's a diamond in the middle in the shape of a heart, and it's catching the sunlight in the prettiest way. Your breath catches.

“It’s a promise ring,” he explains softly, “It's for everything. Everything we promised each other as kids, this is me saying I won't ever break them. Only if you let me— I know you aren't mine, but I'll always be yours.”

You're staring at him, words failing to appear in your brain. There's a quiet intensity, he's taking the box from you, pulling out the ring and gently lifting up your hand. He slides the ring onto your finger, his hand trembling ever so slightly— and it fits perfectly.

He doesn't let go of your hand, just holding it in his and giving it a few squeezes. He's looking into your eyes to watch your reaction.

Your chest tightens with emotions you can't fully pinpoint— but it's a kind of warmth that makes you think it's love that you feel in this moment. “It's beautiful, Lixie.”

You chuckle, covering your face with a hand. “God, now my gift seems so stupid.”

Felix laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m sure it's good.” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “if you're gifting it to me then it means something.”

You uncover your face, reaching next to you for the plush wrapping. You're holding it out to him, and he's grabbing the bag, inspecting it before ripping it open.

Felix curls an eyebrow when he pulls out a teddy bear, it's a little old, its fur a soft baby blue instead of a vivid sky blue. You speak up before he can say anything,

“It's the teddy you won me the day we first went down to the beach. I kept it, and I had won the same one a few days before you left for Korea. I was going to give it to you, but I didn't. I was mad,” you explain, voice soft.

His expression falls from a playful smirk to something more tender. He's lifting the teddy into his hands, thumb gliding over its soft fur.

“You kept it all this time?” he mutters, eyes meeting yours— a flicker of emotion hidden inside his eyes, “after what happened?”

You shrug— trying to hide the ache in your chest, “I never thought about getting rid of it, it was the last thing I had of you.”

He's setting the plushie into his lap as if holding it too tightly would cause it to break. His gaze lingers on you, eyes flicking from the ring in your finger and back to your eyes.

“You look pretty with a ring on.” he admits, voice soft and a red flush creeping onto his neck.

That catches you off guard, your mouth falls open slightly in shock— your brain still trying to catch up to what he just said. “Felix..” you breathe out.

“Sorry, that was kind of cheesy.” he says with a shy laugh, fingers tugging nervously at the loose strands of hair on his neck.

You shake your head quickly, heat growing in your chest. “No— I just, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” Your finger instinctively brushes over the cool band of the ring again, as if to remind yourself it’s real.

“Uhm” he starts, his voice quivering. His gaze drops to your lips for the briefest second before flicking back up to your eyes. “There’s something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Your breath hitches, the world narrowing down to just the two of you and unspoken words. The faint sound of laughter from the party below drifts up, but it feels far away.

You lean in just slightly, your ring catching in the light. “What is it?” you whisper.

He lets out a shaky breath, thumb brushing over his hair. “I can't say it,” he admits, voice breaking at the edges. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing yours before curling back into his lap. “Do you remember when we were kids and I made you that paper ring?”

Your brows lift, and you nod. “Of course I do.”

Felix’s lips curve, though his eyes are on the setting sun on the horizon. “You lost one of those cheap rings you loved to wear, and you cried for an hour. I panicked because I didn’t know how to fix it— So I folded notebook paper into a ring and told you it was better than the stupid plastic one from the bookfair.”

You laugh softly, the sound catching in your throat. “I wore it for weeks, even after it got all dirty and ugly.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “You didn’t care what it looked like. You cared that I made it for you.” His voice falters, the words dragging slowly, heavy.

Felix’s gaze drops briefly to your hand again, the ring he just gave you gleaming orange in the glow— before meeting your eyes.

“Since then, I wanted to give you the real thing,” he admits. “It was supposed to be a wedding ring, but I don't think it's the right time for that.”

You pause, eyes widening, “Really?”

His hand twitches, hovering close to yours again. His lips part, and for a second you think he’s going to say something— the words you’ve both been dancing around for years. But instead he swallows, shaking his head as though forcing the moment back into himself.

“I can't say it now, but I think you know what it is,” he whispers, his voice just barely carrying over the wind.

Your heart stutters in your chest. He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, like the words are pressing at the back of his throat but he’s afraid if he lets them loose, everything will change.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, remember all of the times you've ever wanted to say those three words to him— when he'd shield you from a group of older kids at the park when you were eight, making you food when you'd forget to eat while studying, staying up with you after nightmares even when he was just as tired. He’s always been like this. Loving you, taking care of you before himself.

“I think I do,” you murmur, your voice trembling, fingers brushing against the diamond. The air between you feels heavier, intimate.

Felix leans closer, his shoulder pressing to yours, his voice low enough you almost miss it. “Then I don’t have to say it. Not yet.”

The way his eyes linger on you, warm, aching, desperate. It tells you everything he can't put into words.

A voice is cutting through the air before either of you can speak again. “Where are you two?”

You both jolt, turning toward the sound of your dad calling from below. Felix exhales a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“We should probably head back ” he says, voice laced with reluctance. He squeezes your hand once before standing, offering his hand to help you up.

You glance at him, your heart still racing. The words he didn’t say linger in the back of your mind, louder than if he’d spoken them aloud. But you take his hand, your shaky fingers wrapped around his warm palm and you're following him out.

And by the time you walk back through your front door, you can hear the loud chatter from inside the living room. You force a smile into your lips, hoping that it's enough to hide the way your mind is racing.

“There you two are!” your mom says, relief and suspicion mixing in her voice as she sets down a tray of ice waters on the coffee table. “We thought you disappeared.”

Felix scratches the back of his neck, flashing her one of his smiles. “Just needed some air,” he answers smoothly, though his ears are still tinted pink.

You nod quickly, taking the cup she hands you before she can press further. The coldness of the drink in your hands feels grounding.

Felix settles on the couch beside you, his knee brushing against yours. On the surface, everything looks perfectly normal, the family laughing, your dad telling another one of his stories, Felix’s mom fussing over whether everyone has had enough dessert.

But beneath it all, your thoughts are racing a million miles an hour. You keep catching Felix’s glances, quick, shy. When your eyes meet, he looks away, fiddling with his fingers.

Christmas day

Christmas morning feels different this year. Maybe it’s because it’s the first one back in Australia after so many years in Korea, or maybe it’s because of the constant weight of the ring on your finger— a reminder of Felix’s unspoken words simmering just beneath the surface. The living room is warm, sunlight spilling through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the floor littered with colored wrapping paper. The faint scent of breakfast hangs in the air.

Felix sits beside you, cross-legged, a cup of mango nectar nestled in his hands. His hair is messy from sleep, a few strands sticking to his forehead, and every time you sneak a glance at him, it feels like he’s already caught you. You bite the inside of your cheek, heart fluttering.

Your mom’s cheerful voice cuts through the quiet tension. “Alright, last gifts,” she announces, handing both of you small boxes. She smiles knowingly. “Thought I’d save these for the end.”

The two of you rip at the paper, hearts pounding a little faster with anticipation. Inside each soft box sits a neckalce— yours shaped like a small moon, little crystals catching the light, his shaped like the sun. Around the room follows coos and soft laughter, but you and Felix are quiet, the world narrowing to these two tiny, symbolic charms.

You tuck the moon charm into your hand, unclipping it with slow fingers, brushing lightly against your neck to clip it on. You glance up, cheeks heating, a shy smile breaking across your lips. “I love it,” you murmur softly, your voice almost lost in the excitement.

He mirrors your movements, necklace clicking gently as it settles against his chest. “It’s beautiful,” he says, but there’s more in his eyes, a quiet awe, a warmness that makes your heart ache and flutter at the same time.

Later, when the room is distracted by newly unwrapped gifts and conversation, he leans closer. His voice a soft murmur. “Roof. Tonight.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, and you nod, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Night falls, cool and gentle, stars spilling across the sky. You climb through his window, the soft clink of your sun charm against its chain echoing. Felix is already there, sitting with his hands hugging his knees, a nervous smile tugging at his lips when he notices you.

“Hey,” he whispers as you settle beside him, the shingles creaking faintly beneath your weight. Silence stretches, thick and tense, until he exhales and runs a hand through his hair.

“I was a coward the other night.”

Your breath hitches, chest tightening. His eyes are soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache.

“I’ve been a coward for eight years,” he continues, voice cracking. “I made a decision for you that I thought was best— but in reality, it was the one decision I should never have made.”

You swallow hard, your fingers brushing the ring he gave you, memories of him flooding your mind— “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “Since the first day I met you, since the day I made you that ugly paper ring, and I meant every promise. Getting married, Sienna— all of it, because if it’s with you, I want it. I want it all. You were the only good thing in my life, and I ruined it. But I’m here now, I’m trying- I want to try. Please, let me try.”

The words hit your chest with the weight of years lost. Time slows, the breeze brushing your face fading into nothing. His hands are trembling slightly as they rest near yours, the sincerity in his eyes burning bright.

“And I don’t want to waste any more time,” he continues, voice breaking, “those eight years should’ve never happened. It’s always been you. I should’ve said it years ago when I realized, but I’m saying it now. I love you.”

Your throat burns so much it feels like you can’t breathe. Everything he’s saying, every small act, every moment he was there for you, all makes sense now. You lift your hand slowly, letting him hold it. Fingers intertwined, his warmth pressing against your palm, the ring catching the faint starlight.

“I—” Your voice cracks before you even realize it. “It’s always been you too. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve always—” You trail off, voice catching, heart hammering wildly. “I’ve always felt the same.”

A shaky, relieved smile spreads across his face. “You do?” he whispers, leaning ever so slightly closer.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. “Always. I just— I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

He exhales, a laugh breaking through the tension, soft and relieved. The world seems to exhale with you both, stars blinking overhead, wind whispering through the leaves, and at last, the eight years of silence feel like they’ve been washed away.

And in this moment, all you want to do is pull him closer to you, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and do the one thing you've wanted to do since you were fifteen. You wanted to kiss him until he couldn't even remember his own name. But you're a scaredy cat, you may think of things to do but you've never been one to act out on them unless someone else did it for you. He's leaning over, his hand brushing against the small of your back and resting into the slope of your waist. He's looking down at you, his eyes half lidded and gaze expectant. They’re pleading, hoping that you feel the same ache he does.

Felix leans closer, so close that you can see his freckles in the moonlight, so close that you can feel his soft breath against your lips. Your heart hammers, begging– aching to close the distance between the two of you.

He's pausing at a hair's length, “Can I kiss you?” he whispers, fingers tracing circles into the side of your waist.

The question steals the air from out of your lungs, he's finally asking you the one question you've been waiting for for what seems like a million years. And yet, it still feels unreal, like you're in some sort of dream. Your lips are parting but no words are coming out. All you can do is be nervous, enough for him to notice.

“Yes.”

The relief in his eyes is immediate, he's pulling you in by the waist– your chest pressed up against his and your lips are meeting his. It’s sweet, his lips are soft against your own. He tastes like the cinnamon from his mom’s desserts, warm and familiar.

He’s deepening the kiss, slowly tilting his head to fit against your mouth at just the right angle, the way he lessens the pressure of his lips against yours before applying it once again. You’re exhaling into the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

It’s so sweet— intoxicating, like three full cups of red wine on an empty stomach. He’s pulling away before you can thread your fingers into his hair, and he’s looking down at you with big, dilated eyes that just give away how much he’s wanted this. His lips are a soft pink, and perfectly plump. You think you could kiss him forever.

Your heart is practically in your throat, beating so hard you can feel your own heartbeat pulsing throughout your entire body in intense waves. Your fingers span against the soft fabric of his shirt, and you’re looking up at him, lips tingling slightly and a little dazed from the initial kiss.

“I love you.” He whispers, and a hand comes up, lightly grazing the heel of his hand against your cheekbone when he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear to get a better look.

His lips crash back onto yours before you can fully recover, harder— hungrier. The kind of hunger that makes your legs feel like jello and leaves your head spinning. He’s kissing you like he’s been starved of it, like he’s been waiting for the right chance to pounce— like holding off for a second longer would kill him right then and there. His lone hand at your waist is tightening against your soft skin, pulling you into his lap and flushing against him while the other angles your head, lips fitting against yours perfectly.

You’re gasping into his hands, finding purchase in his soft hair, and he’s taking this small opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip before he’s prodding inside— the warm muscle of his tongue against yours. Every exhale is sharp, every inhale cut off when one of you pulls back in. And by the time he’s pulling away, he’s panting like he just ran a mile without stopping, forehead pressed against yours.

“Can’t—“ he breathes, “can’t do it out here. We should go inside. Please?” He’s begging, eyes wide and looking up at you when he’s rubbing your waist.

༊*·˚

You’re whispering out a “yes” before you can even process anything in your brain. And he’s quickly getting up from the roof, your hand in his and he’s leading you through the open windowsill. You step into the dark but familiar room, smelling the scent of his cologne wafting in the air. He’s closing the window shut behind him, closing the curtains just enough to stay hidden but open to let moonlight seep through. You don’t notice when he walks up behind you, but you’re flinching when his warm, inviting arms are pulling around your waist, hands resting high on your stomach. He’s pulling you closer to him, your back hitting his lean chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You can feel his soft breaths fanning the expanse of your neck, shaky and uneven. Your stomach is twisting with anticipation, his arms are tightening on you and you can feel his heartbeat in your back. It’s quick, similar to yours.

He’s leaning closer, his warm mouth lingers just shy of the side of your neck, lips parted like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Please, tell me I can keep going.” He’s whispering, breath ticking your neck. “I need to know if you’re okay with this or not.”

You don’t just hear the sincerity— but you can feel it. You can feel it in the air, in his arms, his voice. Your hands are coming up to rest of his, squeezing his wrist just slightly like you’re trying to ground yourself in this moment.

Your throat feels dry, swallowing to quell the nervousness in your body. You tilt your head enough to rest it slightly against his, and you whisper out the words he’s been dying to hear.

“Yes, please.”

He’s letting out a shaky breath, a hand moving further up your chest to rest on your collarbone. He’s pushing you back, your shoulders pressed against him and his lips find the curve of your neck— he’s soft at first, planting small, open kisses to your soft skin like he’s trying to memorize how your body reacts under him. How you’re twitching when he kisses right under your ear, or the way your throat catches when he’s kissing down the side of your throat and ending right where your neck meets your shoulder.

You’re shivering beneath his warm mouth, fingers tightening around his small wrist before sliding up his arm. His lips trail further, higher. He’s brushing against the lobe of your ear, voice low.

“You have no idea what you do to me— what you’ve been doing to me.”

He turns you in his arms, once again face to face with you. You catch his eyes, impossibly soft in the moonlight— dark eyes blown wide with what you think is need, want. He’s leaning down again, lips finding yours.

He's messier than the first, considerably messier but you’re leaning into him, letting his hands tilt your head ever so gently, feeling the pads of his fingers gliding up and down your neck. Your hands find the expanse of his chest, moving up and down to feel the lean muscle of his abs, all the way to his sharp shoulders. You love it, the want, the need, just knowing this is something he wants, something you both want. It’s enough to make your head even fuzzier.

You don’t fight it when he’s walking you backwards, your calves hitting against the wooden frame of his bed. He’s gently laying you down, climbing on top of you with such ease you don’t even remember him even moving. His large, slender hands are moving around your sleep shirt, fingers finding their way under and onto your stomach. You’re flinching when his cold fingers meet your warm skin, but you instantly lean into his touch when he moves further up your shirt.

You’re gasping into his mouth when he finds the dip between your breasts, fingers tracing the metal lining of your bra. He breaks the kiss just long enough to watch your reaction, eyes half lidded and blown out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, pressing messy kisses along your collarbone, and lower. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” His lips press against your skin like it’s the air he needs to breathe, and he moans softly before his gaze reaches yours, large hands sliding up to the small of your back.

He tugs gently at the strap of your bra, and you were confident he could have just ripped it off of you at any given moment.

“Can I take this off?”

You nod before you even think to speak, and he’s instantly moving.

He’s pulling off your shirt with a desperate fervor, and all you can think is good riddance when you feel the cool air of his fan on your skin. You’re looking back at him, the sight of hovering over you— eyes dark, lips swollen, hands trembling slightly when they come back to rest on your ribs.

He’s not saying anything, doesn’t have to. His eyes are studying the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the moonlight casts shadows on every dip and curve. He thinks he’s dreaming when your nimble fingers catch the hem of his shirt, pulling it up ever so slightly to reveal his lower stomach. He’s letting you pull up his shirt all the way, revealing how toned he is. Your greedy hands roam over his slim figure And down to where his abdomen dips to his v-line, and the soft curves of his muscles harden under your touch.

He shudders under your touch, a low whine falling from his lips and he’s placing hands over yours, guiding one of your hands into his chest— letting you feel his heartbeat.

“God,” he whispers, strained—chest rising and falling with every breath, “the way you touch me…”

He’s letting you go when you move to take his shirt off in one fluid motion. The fabric joins yours in the floor, forgotten— leaving the two of you half naked and aching for more. He’s leaning down, a hand coming up to cup the side of your face— his thumb grazes your bottom lip, feeling the soft, plush skin under his finger.

Your eyes never leave his, even when he tilts your head to the side, allowing for your neck to be on display. You feel the heat of his gaze tracing your neck, his lips are so close, just one inch and you’ll feel him on you. The tip of his nose brushes against your skin, his breath fanning over you, sending shivers down your spine.

His hand moves from your face to the nape of your neck and he’s pulling you closer, lips finally pressing down on you. He’s leaving open mouth kisses on the side of your neck, feeling the warmth of his tongue with every sloppy kiss he leaves. You’re whining softly when he starts to suck, gently biting down when you flinch, only to soothe you with the lick of his tongue.

Your hands finally find his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his plush skin, aching for more— but he’s not giving that to you. Not yet. He’s so slow, incredibly slow. So slow you think you might just start crying from how badly you want him.

His lips trail lower, sloppy, wet kisses along the curve of your collarbone, each one leaving a dark mark onto your skin. You arch instinctively when he kisses the sensitive skin between your clothed breasts, tongue slowly licking a trail down, teasing the sensitive skin above your bra.

He pauses for a moment, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure. His heated gaze sweeps over you before he’s lowering back down. His tongue flicks at your skin, teasing you, tasting you, leaving small marks in its path.

Every press, every touch makes your stomach tighten, your breaths faster and leaves your body aching with want. You’re groaning with approval when his fingers finally rests on the clasp of your bra, but he’s not moving. Instead, he’s pulling off of you slowly, eyes meeting yours and his lips are curved into a smirk.

You’re confused, a hand falling to rest next to your head— but he speaks before you get a chance to ask.

“How badly do you want it?” He murmurs, voice low and drawn out. His eyes stay on you, watching the way you begin to squirm under him. You whine softly, fingernails running down his shoulder and into his back, hips lifting slightly, trying to pull him closer and close the distance. “so bad” You whisper, voice trembling.

He’s tilting his head, eyes sweeping over your face, chest, hips. He’s leaning down, lips brushing against the lobe of your ear and he’s leaving a light kiss right under your ear.

“Beg for it.” He says, low and teasing.

You arch into him, knees squeezing the sides of his waist. Your breath is uneven, and you can feel your heart hammering inside of your chest. “Please— Felix, please. I need it off.. I can’t— please?” You whine, voice breaking with want, desperation.

He hovers over you for a second longer, drinking up your pleas and grinning even wider.

“Good.” He whispers, lips leaving a small kiss along your jaw before his fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra. Your stomach flips with anticipation, a shiver of excitement running down your body. You’re watching him, how slowly he’s moving, like he’s savoring every second of this.

He’s finally undoing the clasp, the fabric loosening and he’s sliding the straps off of your shoulders. You’re letting out a small gasp when his cold hands delicately touch your bare skin. He’s only looking at you, eyes soft when you finally meet his gaze again. He’s whispering out a soft “beautiful” before he’s capturing your lips into a kiss, tongue grazing your lips for access. You open your mouth when you gasp, his fingers brushing against a nipple. He’s pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue messy against yours, hungry. Each lick leaves your legs feeling weak, sending shivers down your spine.

You whine into his mouth, fingers moving to grasp his soft locks, gently tugging on them when he’d deepen the kiss. His tongue chases yours, every sloppy kiss, every desperate and soft touch leaving you needing more.

He’s pulling back, eyes on yours before flitting down to your bare chest. He’s sliding down just barely, face right above where you need him the most. You inhale sharply when he blows cool air onto your nipple just before he’s leaning down the full way, lips capturing the sensitive bud and circling it with his tongue.

A soft moan leaves your mouth, muffled by the palm of your hand. Your fingers dig into his hair, tugging as an overwhelming heat pools between your legs, knees pulling him into you.

He’s looking up at you every time he’s leaving new kisses and licks onto your breasts, eyes drinking in your reactions. Every press of his lips, every swirl of his tongue, the sloppy licks— it’s all leaving you trembling beneath him. Your hips move subtly, seeking is the friction of his touch, but he’s holding you just enough to tease you. He’s holding down your hips, anchoring you to the bed while his mouth does the work. Your breath comes out fast and airy, mingling with soft gasps here and there.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows when you feel his lips leave your breasts and start making his way down. Each kiss is warm, gentle, and messy. He’s leaving a wet trail down from your ribs and to the soft skin of your stomach, sending shivers up your body when he stops right before your sweatpants.

His hands slide to the waistband, fingers curling around the fabric and waiting for a beat— like he’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead. You’re nodding before it can get past five seconds, desperate for his next move.

He’s smirking at your eager nod before slowly tugging down at your waistband. His fingers are brushing the soft skin of your thighs as he makes his way down. You’re clenching your thighs together when he’s finally pulling off the soft fabric from your legs, leaving you clad in your underwear.

But he’s not letting you do that. He’s throwing your sweatpants somewhere into his room and prying your legs open with his hands. His grip is firm, thumbs pressing into your skin as he spreads you apart, moving between them like he’s the only one who belongs there. You think of all the times you’ve had sex— you might as well be a pro at it anyway. But now that you’re here, laying under him completely vulnerable— you think this is the wettest you’ve ever been. And he notices. He’s smirking as he eyes the wet splotch on your underwear, eyes dark with lust and desire. He’s leaning in closer, long fingers fluently grazing the fabric of your panties, just applying the right amount of pressure to elicit a groan from you, but not enough to give you what you want.

He’s watching your every reaction, savoring it like it’s his very last meal, and you can feel the way his shoulders jump with a low chuckle. He's pressing down a little harder this time, teasing your clit through the cloth with his thumb. You moan softly when he starts to move in circular motions, thumb applying just the right amount of pleasure to form a warmth in your body. He’s moving up to face you, and he’s not wasting any time. He’s connecting his lips with yours, and you’re kissing him with just as much fervor. With one hand bracing himself up against the mattress, you feel his thumb lift. You’re groaning in his mouth, hips pushing off the bed in hopes of chasing the feeling.

But, you’re jolting when his free hand slowly slips underneath the soft fabric, his careful fingers caressing you before finding what they were looking for. His middle and ring finger find your clit, carefully pressing down before making slow, intoxicating circles.

Instinctively, your back arches against the bed, and you feel so out of breath. Maybe it was because of the kissing, or maybe it because of the way his fingers are making you unbelievably dizzy. You’ve fingered yourself plenty, god, you’re twenty-four of course you have. But the way he’s touching you, he’s barely scratching the surface and you’re already feeling like a clean slate.

You’re pulling away from the kiss before you feel like passing out, hard, fast breaths leaving your swollen pink lips. Your mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out except for airy whines. His lips chase yours the moment you pull away, leaving small kisses on the side of your mouth before gradually moving down. He’s leaving kisses on the bare column of your throat before he’s gathering up your slick with his fingers and dragging it back over your sensitive clit. He’s leaving your thighs trembling. He hasn’t even gone inside and you feel a knot already tightening in your stomach.

“Felix” you choke out, voice strained, “ please, want more..”

The sound of his name falling from your lips has him pausing for a second, pulling away from your neck and looking down at you. Then, he’s smirking, fingers moving again, a little faster, harder just to see your thighs tense.

“More?” He repeats, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

He doesn’t wait for a response, fingers stilling before moving down, his slick fingers teasing your entrance. Slender fingers prodding inside before retreating. He’s chuckling when your body responds before you do, shoulders tensing and you whining out in frustration, hands back into his shoulders and pulling him down like it’ll magically make his fingers slip inside.

You’re gasping when he finally slips two fingers inside— clenching around him instantly because of the mere length of his fingers.

God, if his fingers are this long you can’t wait for him to drop his pants.

His pace is slow at first, but he’s gradually picking up the pace when your hand slips between both of your bodies, finding your clit and applying a soft pressure. He’s curling his fingers just right, watching as your face contorts in pleasure, back arching just slightly before falling back onto the mattress with an airy moan.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “just look at you. So wet.”

Your hips without thought, basically riding his fingers— chasing the overwhelming heat pooling inside of your body. Your brain is mush, eyes foggy, you're a mess. Every moan that leaves you is only pushing him further, fingers rubbing your g-spot everytime he’s fucking you.

The knot feels like it’ll break any second, all you can feel is the way your thighs are shaking intently, and you’re grabbing at his hair, eyes half lidded and mouth open.

“Felix—”

“I know, hun, so close. Let go,” he’s whispering, eyes soft when locked on you.

The sound of his voice is coaxing you over the edge, the tight knot in your stomach finally snapping. You’re falling apart under him, thighs squeezing his side, hand tugging at his hair, and your back is arching. Everything goes black for a moment, but you’re coming down right after, feeling the beat of your racing heart and finally letting out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

He’s retracting his hand slowly, his fingers applying a light pressure to your clit— soothing it, before he’s finally taking his hand out of your now ruined panties. His hand literally looks like he’s dipped it in a bucket of water, fingers glistening in the moonlight, and there’s a creamy ring around his knuckles. He’s bringing his hand up slowly, gaze never leaving yours when he slips his fingers into his mouth. He’s humming when he’s licking your slick off.

“You have no idea how good you taste,” he says, voice dark and husky.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he’s pulling at your panties, the small article easily taken off of you in a matter of seconds. he tosses them aside with a care in the world, eyes dragging down your body like he’s trying to memorize the way you look, like he won’t ever see you like this again.

“So pretty,” he whispers.

You smile bashfully, twitching when you feel his hands roaming your thighs and up to your hips. You don’t push him off, but you’re sitting up slightly, just enough to grab at the waistband of his sweatpants. His breath hitches at the contact, and his hands squeeze you like he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t a dream.

Your fingers tremble at first, undoing the tie and letting the strings fall. You’re pulling at his waistband, and he’s helping you, pushing down both his pants and boxers off at the same time. The fabric falls from his hip, pooling at his knees. He’s standing up, letting the loose fabric fall completely off of him, stepping out of it and coming back to hover between your legs.

The sight of his bare leaves you breathless— he’s heavy and flush, and probably longer than anyone else you’ve been with. He’s chucking when he notices you staring, his hand coming up to cup your face and make you look at him.

“If you want to stop, just tell me. Okay?” He whispers.

You shake your head, head leaning into his touch.

“I won’t.” You respond, “I won’t want to stop.”

His eyes fall to your lips, and he’s pulling you closer, “Good, because I won’t either.”

He’s kissing you again, somehow with even more desire and hunger than before. Your back meets the cool mattress beneath you. He’s on top of you, chest literally in yours. Your hands find purchase on his back, finger nails caressing the waves of his muscle when his hands move between your bodies.

You can feel when he wraps a hand around himself, his knuckles grazing your inner thigh when he pumps himself a little, lips leaving yours and he kisses your temple. He’s guiding himself to your entrance, his head gliding between your folds. The breath he lets out is soft and shaky, and he’s whining slightly with it. You’re fighting back the urge to just tell him to put it inside, but what’s stopping you is how big he is. It’s just the head, not even inside and you can already feel the ache you’ll have in the morning.

He’s pushing in, kissing your shoulder when his head falls to the side. It’s enough to make your mouth fall open, gasping and digging your fingernails into his skin when he sinks deeper into you— inch by inch. His jaw tightens against your neck, a groan escaping him.

It feels like forever when he’s finally pushed all the way inside, you’re so full of him you feel like if he’d push anymore you’d probably explode— and not in a good way.

He stays buried, breath fanning across your collarbones, shaky, uneven. It’s like he’s fighting for control, a hand squeezing the life out of your thigh and the other holding him up against the mattress. At the same time, you’re happy he’s not moving just yet, allowing for you to actually adjust to his size, memorize him.

He’s slowly lifting his head after a minute, he’s placing a kiss to your lips, “so tight..” he mutters.

His hips shift experimentally, the movement stealing all of the air from your lungs, your nails digging the slightest bit more into his shoulder blades.

He’s groaning at your reaction, head falling right back to its place on your shoulder. “ ‘m gonna move, okay?”

You let out an airy whine, fingers relaxing. There’s an anticipation growing in your stomach, and you’re nodding like he can see it. “Okay,” you whisper.

He’s pulling back, his head stretching you when it moves. He pauses before sinking back inside, slowly, gently. The first thrust as you hold your breath, a shaky exhale leaving your mouth. But he’s finding a rhythm now, analysing the way your body reacts to him. His hands stay firm on you, his hand clenching the fabric of his comforter, the other pushing your knee back slightly just to hit that angle a little deeper.

It’s slow and steady at first, he’s letting you feel every. single. Inch. Each thrust sends a burning ache to your stomach, the fullness, the stretch, the sound of skin slapping skin. It’s making you dizzy again. He’s hitting your g-spot so good, you’re letting out uneven moans, careful to not let them be heard by anyone other than him.

“So good” he groans, voice ravaged against you.

He thinks he might be going crazy, the feeling of your pillowy walls squeezing around him, your breathy moans. And god, just the sight of your pretty face moaning his name has him wanting to fuck you until the sun rises. This was even better than he could ever imagine, better than fucking himself in the shower to the thought of you in that skimpy little bathing suit. You weren’t the girl he once grew up with, you were a woman now, you're your own person. He loved it, you were so beautiful, you are. He could get lost in you, and he wouldn’t want to find a way out.

Your moans are blending together, and you convert your mouth everytime his tip nudges against that spot which makes you feel like your body could just give up on you at any moment.

He has the prettiest moans, all airy and whiny. Sometimes he’ll let out a groan, something low that sends shivers up your body. But he couldn’t help himself, the way your fingers are scratching his back, leaving red angry marks on his back. Marks that say he’s all yours. You’re sucking him in so nice, squeezing him just right. It’s like you were made for him, he’s fucking you impossibly deep.

You can feel tears prickling at your eyes when he repeatedly pounds into your sweet spot, so good. There’s muffled moans moving past your mouth, the lewd squelching of your wet cunt bouncing off of the walls.

He was so determined, so needy. And now he has you exactly where he wants you. Completely cracked wide open for him.

“Just wanna stay here forever- ohmygod.” He’s mumbling under his breath, just enough for you to hear.

All you can respond with are small moans, tears slipping from your pretty eyes. You’re not crying because it hurts, in fact, you’re crying because it feels way too good. You feel like you’re in cloud nine, like a virgin again. You wouldn’t be able to describe this to your best friend back at home, it literally feels like you’re in a dream with the way he’s fucking you so good. Your legs are basically jello, rocking back and forth with his every thrust.

He’s leaving kisses along your shoulder, neck, and collarbone. And you just know for sure there will be dark little bruises forming in the upcoming days.

You feel that all too familiar feeling coming back, the knot tightening with his every move. God, you didn’t want this to end, but you know that if he pushes you for a third orgasm you might just end up dead.

You can tell he’s close, his thrusts are becoming sloppy by the second, desperate. His shoulders shudder against you, the grip he has on the fabric has his knuckles turning white and he's trying his hardest not to leave a bruise on the underside of your thigh. He starts whispering your name, the sound of it rolling off his tongue like a forbidden prayer.

“Fuck, so close.” He’s muttering, “where?”

You don’t even need to ask what he means, you’re uncovering your mouth, soft whines now obvious. You’re so close, maybe a few more seconds until you experience an orgasm of a lifetime. Your fingernails are still dug into his back, “ my stomach.” You choke out— tears of pleasure falling down your face.

He’s lifting his head, watching the way your face is twisting in ecstasy, your eyebrows knitting and your lips parting open into an “o”.

“F-Felix—!”

The knot snaps, and there’s waves of pleasure being sent all throughout your body. You’re clamping down again, thighs trembling uncontrollably. He doesn't stop, thrusts still strong, he’s pushing you through your orgasm. Your cries mix with his groans, and when your body finally relaxes is when he’s pulling out of you, he's sitting up on his calves— his hand finding his length and fisting himself through his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck fuuck.”

You can see his stomach clenching, his muscles tightening. And then there's white ropes being shot onto your stomach, hot and wet. His chest is moving with every breath, pumping himself until every last drop was daubed out of him.

The rooms are quiet, only being filled by your tired breaths. You can’t even move, your legs feel like a joke at this point, still twitching from everything. Your arms are tired, stomach full. So you’re left to stare at the way his ceiling fan moves, blowing cool air in your hot, sweaty body. You don’t even notice when he gets up, walking into his attached bathroom and coming out with a warm, wet rag.

He’s climbing next to you, a hand pushing away the strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead while his other gently cleans the mess off of your stomach.

“You okay?” He says softly, looking down at you just to see your pretty face.

There’s dried tears on your face, and there’s red marks decorating your entire body. You can’t even respond for a second, your brain is still trying to process everything.

“I’m great,” you grin, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

He’s chuckling at that, and you can see a mixture of relief and pride in his eyes. He’s chucking the rag into his clothing bin when he cleans you up, running a thumb along your cheeks to clear away the dried tears. His other hand stays by your side, tracing the marks he left on you like he was appreciating art work. He’s looking at you in a quiet, soft way, a faint smile on his lips.

You’re shifting, but instantly wincing when you feel the soreness in your lower body. He’s stifling a laugh, and leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sorry,” he says, though there’s a teasing tone to his voice.

You groan with faux annoyance, pulling the duvet over your now cold body. He’s sliding in next to you, his chest up against your back. He’s not saying anything, doesn’t need to. And you don’t either, just enjoying the way his fingers comb through your hair, and the way he’s holding you close by your waist tells you he doesn’t regret this. Not one bit.

Both of your suitcases sit in the back of your car, packed to the brim. It’s warm again, Felix is sitting in the passenger seat with the door hanging wide open. And you’re smiling because his mom just had to insist he take a lunch she packed for him to eat at the airport or whenever he felt like it. He looks grumpy on the outside, but really, he’s silently hoping it’s his favorite food.

She’s coming out of her door wearing some mismatched flip flops, her messy bun falling every time her feet hit the ground.

You’re poking at him from the driver's seat, "At least she made you lunch.” You whisper, nodding over at the bright blue lunchbox she’s carrying in her hand, “She probably wants a picture of you eating it.”

She’s standing in front of the open door, taking big breaths like the run from her front door to your car was the longest distance she’s ever ran. “Eat this before you get onto the jet— and don’t make me call you!”

You’re silently laughing at him, watching as he closes the car door and peeking his head out of the open window to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Yes ma’am.” He’s muttering.

You’re pursing your lips, pretending like fixing the AC was the most important thing in the world when she’s stepping back, arms crossed and standing with her ‘mom stance’.

“And you,” she’s pointing directly at you, “make sure he eats.”

You laugh, “I’ll make sure.”

With that, the car is rolling forward and Felix is slumping against his seat. He’s peeking inside of the box, lightly smiling before he’s packing it away and placing it onto the floor of the car.

“Your favorite?” You ask him, hands grasping the wheel.

He’s exhaling a laugh, looking out the window when he responds, “She did this the last time I left home. It’s always the same thing. It’s not annoying or anything— she’s my mom. She’s silly like that, I love her.”

You’re smiling, remembering the way your parents had cried inside of your old room as you packed back up to go back home. It had taken a lot longer to pack just because of this, your moms suggestions on how to pack properly, your dad offering to give you some more things to put into your suitcase to take home.

“I think it’s sweet” you say, turning a corner, “they care a lot, and it meant a lot to them for us to come.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know it does, I mean— my dad kept trying to pretend he wasn’t about to cry and my mom getting mad about me leaving. She’s just sad, but I love them.” He looks at you, softer. “Your parents were the same. You should’ve seen their faces when you walked into that house again.”

You smile, eyes flicking from him and back to the road. The memory is still fresh—the way your mom had clung to you like you were going to vanish again. “They made it hard to leave all over again.”

“Of course they did.” Felix leans back, stretching his legs out as far as the cramped passenger seat allows. “It's unconditional love.” He's pausing, words stuck in his throat before he speaks again, “Some people don't realize they have it. Or that they even deserve it in the first place.”

You don’t say anything right away, your chest tightening at his words. Instead, you just let the silence settle, comfortable and warm.

The drive to the airport in Australia is shorter than the one in Korea, and you park your rental car in the public parking garage— lugging your big suitcases out of the back and heading over to the terminal. You're once again being led through white, empty hallways— away from the public. And the same jet is waiting for the both of you on the tarmac, its sleek white exterior shining in the summer sun.

Fekix’s hand brushes against yours as you walk, and he's grabbing your pinky into his. It's a soft gesture, he knows how you probably feel right now— nervous, just like him. But it’s grounding you, reassuring you that he too feels the same, still does.

Everything is the same inside the plane, the sleek wooden walls, the carpeting on the floor, and the leather seats you both sat in a week before. It's all the same, all same for you and Felix. The jet is humming with life as it makes its way around the tarmac, the flight attendant had already offered a drink, something light for the flight— but you barely even touched it.

You're curled in the chair, relaxing against the plush cushion. Felix sits next to you, legs crossed and he's scrolling in his phone— probably to post something in his insta. But his gaze keeps drifting over to you.

“Are you tired?” he asks suddenly.

That causes you to smile to yourself before you're turning and answering him, “I am tired, my entire body is sore.”

He wasn't expecting that, his expression turning from concerned to outright shock. His eyes are wide before he's covering his face into his hands, a muffled laugh falling from his lips.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Duh.”

There's a wide grin on his face, shaking his head. He's putting his phone down on the table sitting on his knees. And he's mirroring you, curling as much as he can into his seat and facing you— a soft look in his eyes when you lock eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, a hand coming up to rest on on your arm, “I wanted to take you out on a date.”

You're pausing in your seat, unconsciously holding your breath, “like, a real date. Dinner, maybe some wine, definitely dessert.” you chuckle at the wink he slides you.

“But, I really want to take you out. I've been meaning to ask you, but I was just too nervous to try.”

There’s a small smile forming on your lips, “Okay.” You reply, voice just above a whisper.

“Good, because I already know the place.”

The grin he has on his face could light up a room within seconds, leaning back into his seat with his head resting against the soft cushion of the headrest. “You planned that far ahead?” your brow arching.

“Since the day I got your number,” he admits.

You're laughing, face scrunched in surprise, “You're kidding.”

He's tilting his head, an eyebrow shooting up as he looks at you. There's a small smile trying to force its way onto his face, but you can tell he's trying hard not to let it through. “Do I look like I'm kidding?”

To be honest, you can't even tell.

Felix speaks up again, continuing before you're able to respond. “I mean— why wait longer when you have the right person? I've had the right person for a while, it just took a long time to actually ask you.”

He's reaching for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours. “When I said I meant every promise, I wasn't lying. And I mean this one too.”

Your lips press together into a tight line to hide the smile trying to force its way into your face. You're shy, face red and eyes wandering everywhere but his. He's smiling at you, not in a teasing way, but in adoration. He's melting into you when you rest your head on his shoulder, cheekbone against the soft fabric of his hoodie. It's quiet, but the kind of quiet that only forms when two people are perfectly content, comfortable. There was no need to say anything else, just enjoy each other for the rest of the flight.

And now? You're glad you risked the ten hours coming here, because now, you're spending another ten flying back with someone who makes you hopeful again.

You weren't nervous anymore, eyes transfixed on the diamond sitting on your finger. You knew your life had changed. And it had changed for the better.

masterlist

[herondaleoffspring]

all for the game but it's just neil rage baiting riko until he dies

[yes-i-exist-shutup]

Correction.

[ppaniniart]

[krushing]

what mirotic is supposed to sound like. btw.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

THEM. Just them. I'll be here for a while.

[kalkaros-is-the-boss]

Okay, I have a headcanon, that Severus is actually one of the few (or only) professors that can tell Fred and George apart. They don’t realise this for a long time, because he just calls both of them ‘Mr. Weasley’. Until one time George comes to sit Fred’s detention for him, due to whatever reasons. Severus barely looks at him, and just goes ‘Get out of my classroom, and get your brother here right now.’

[sophsun1]

#clicking on that filtered content post

[sandmandaddy69]

[ledouche-lamperouge]

"I wish we could have met another way" "This is the only way we could have met" are such raw lines that go so fucking hard you'd think they're from some heartbreaking forbidden romance drama but no, it's Death Note (2015)

[butterflypeaflowertea]

watch out when listening to new music! it will sound like the month and year you discovered it in probably forever