[choerrypuffs]

enemies to lovers: a thesis!

pairing: grad student!haechan x grad student!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: academic validation and beating lee donghyuck are your only motivations in life. spoiler alert: you end up achieving only one of the two.

author’s note: this was supposed to be released for holo LMAO better late than never? anyways ladies this is fiction <3 do NOT ever give a male english major the time of day - signed an english major (p.s. i mention christmas exactly one time in this so this counts as a holiday fic)

warning(s): sexism in academia, brief descriptions of sexual harassment

playlist: rose-colored boy by paramore ― enemies by lauv ― always, everytime by the wrecks ―  let it happen by gracie abrams ― running home by jade lemac

Act I) And when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is UUUG-LAY.

When it comes to receiving bad news, you would consider yourself pretty good at handling it. You’ve always been the type to compartmentalize and try to find the most rational way to react. Having such an analytical personality is part of the reason why you decided to pursue an English degree in college. Sure, some may consider you cold and elitist, but to that you respond―well, yes!

That being said, you’re about 30 seconds away from hurling up your breakfast burrito and $8 matcha latte in a projectile fashion. 

You stare at Dr. Min, the Program Director of the English Department and your mentor, like she just dropkicked you in the gut. Normally, your mouth would be agape with despair and horror, but you smartly keep your lips sealed tight due to previously mentioned urge to spill chunks all over her pristine office. 

The situation is worsened by the fact that there is a creature standing right beside you, looking only slightly disgruntled. Like he just received a cup of cold coffee level of disgruntled. As if Dr. Min didn’t just casually destroy your entire world. 

The creature goes by the name of Lee Donghyuck. He’s barely a human, simply masquerading as one with his fluffy hair and glowy skin. Rather, he’s just a walking, talking literary reference to the most pretentious authors ever. His sole reason for existence is to compete with you for teacher’s pet. The two of you have been vying for Dr. Min’s attention since you both got into grad school. More specifically, you both have been competing for the eventual letter of recommendation that you’ll need from her in order to get into the highly prestigious PhD program. She’s super selective of who she will write the letter for, so you and Donghyuck essentially have been in a constant WWE brawl to kiss her ass. 

“Two graduate faculty members are on sabbatical, so the amount of staff available to vote on your papers are an even number,” Dr. Min had explained, “Hence, why we’re in this situation. You both have the same amount of votes.” 

“Can’t you just be the tiebreaker, Dr. Min?” Donghyuck asks, carding a hand through his brown hair. It’s still tinted a light purple hue from when he dyed it to cosplay Rafayel from Love and Deepspace for Halloween. Yes, he does play a gacha dating sim about random men who look AI-generated. Of his many sins, this is low on your list. 

Dr. Min shakes her head, smiling apologetically. “You know I always abstain from voting when it comes to my mentees’ papers.” 

“So, what’s going to happen now? Which one of us will be going to the symposium?” you ask, finally managing to gather yourself and speak up. Despite your best efforts, you feel another wave of nausea hit you when Dr. Min glances your way. There’s something about the way she’s so poised and collected that always makes you think she’s silently judging you. 

“That’s what I’ve called you both here for,” she trails off, clapping her hands together. “I’ve decided that, for the first time in this university’s history, we will be sending two representatives to the annual Shakespeare Scholars Research Symposium!” 

Dr. Min pauses, most likely expecting celebratory cheers from the two of you. However, she’s met with stone-cold silence. You and Donghyuck just stand there stiffly, arms hanging limp by your sides and faces scrunched like you just ate the dog food flavored jelly bean from the BeanBoozled game. 

“Don’t get too excited, now,” Dr. Min jokes awkwardly. “Why the doom and gloom?” 

“But…our papers are way too similar. It wouldn’t make sense for both of us to go,” you protest. 

As much as you hate to admit it, you and Donghyuck are often interested in the same topics and themes when it comes to your research papers. This time is also no exception. For this paper, you decided to write about the female empowerment in the classic 1999 romcom 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the original source material, Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Meanwhile, Donghyuck (because he’s incapable of not riding on your coattails) decided to write about gender identity in the classic 2006 romcom She’s the Man compared to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. 

“Well, the concepts are certainly similar, but the actual content is different,” Dr. Min replies, “Besides, I think we need more pop culture in academia.” 

When you and Donghyuck fail to respond again, she huffs. “Come on, you guys! I know the two of you are competitive, but it’s a wonderful opportunity. This is going to look amazing on your CV when you apply for the PhD program.” 

The mention of the PhD program makes you and Donghyuck perk up like meerkats, and you know Dr. Min did it on purpose. 

“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Dr. Min. We would be happy to represent the university together,” Donghyuck quickly says, putting on the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes sparkle in a way that reminds you of those shiny plastic dolls that end up having a demonic spirit in them. Then he looks over at you and beams through grit teeth, “Wouldn’t we?” 

A fake smile of your own slowly spreads across your face like paralyzing venom as you glare at Donghyuck. “Yes, of course.” 

“Good.” Dr. Min nods, satisfied. “I’m glad to see that you two are getting along better. I’ll see you on Friday at the airport, bright and early.” 

You and Donghyuck say your goodbyes to her before marching out of her office like the twins from The Shining. The moment the door closes behind you, the two of you recoil from each other like being within 6 feet of one another will make your skin melt off. You both start speedwalking to the exit of the building at the same pace, completely parallel to each other on opposite sides of the hallway. 

“You are such a two-faced liar,” you hiss in a hushed whisper, “Always making me look like the difficult one while you’re all happy-go-lucky, kumbaya.” 

“Well, if it always looks like it, then maybe it’s the case, don’t you think?” Donghyuck sweetly retorts. 

“Ooh, burn,” you say sarcastically, “Your words might actually have some merit if there wasn’t steam coming off the top of your overinflated, egoistic head. I know you’re just as pissed about this as I am.” 

“Oh, Y/N. You are always so shortsighted,” Donghyuck sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Don’t you see the bigger picture?

“Oh, this will be good,” you say wryly, crossing your arms and waiting for him to continue. 

“Elementary, my dear Watson―” he starts.

“Doyle never wrote that line―” you quickly interrupt. 

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be Watson. You’re Moriarty.” 

“Why do I feel like I have to go through the Labors of Hercules in order for you to get to your point whenever I talk to you?” you demand. 

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, this symposium will be a great opportunity to settle this once and for all. You know they always give out a Best Research Paper award at the end. We may have tied today, but our tiebreaker can be that award. Whoever wins gets the recommendation letter from Dr. Min,” Donghyuck smugly explains. 

“You know, maybe there’s not just Helium in that skull of yours,” you smile, “I think that’s a great idea. I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day. ”

“You are so eloquent when it comes to insulting me, yet I don’t see any of that fire in your actual writing?” Donghyuck questions, blinking innocently. 

“Oh, I’ll show you―” 

You’re just about to rattle off another one of your eloquent insults when a loud howl of wind from the outside interrupts you, making the two of you jolt. Just as you reach the doors to the building, you see through the glass that the sky is a smoky, hazy gray. Rain is starting to fall, and it looks like it's about to become a torrential downpour in a little bit. 

You curse under your breath, thinking about your five minute walk to the bus station and whether or not you can beat out the thunderstorm. 

“Well, this certainly has to be a bad omen,” Donghyuck says unhelpfully. 

You jerk your head towards him and jab a finger in his direction. “This isn’t over. I have to catch the bus before I get waterboarded by this rain. I’ll deal with you on Friday. Until then, stay out of my sight.” 

Donghyuck shrugs, fishing out an umbrella from his backpack. Because of course he needs to flaunt the fact that he has an umbrella and you don’t. 

“Sounds good to me,” he replies casually. 

Steeling yourself for the rain and wind to pelt your face, you open the door in one fell swoop and walk outside―except you’re not getting wet because Donghyuck is trailing behind you and holding his umbrella above your head. 

“Uh, why are you following me?” you ask as he moves to walk beside you, even though you know his car is parked in the opposite direction. 

“Curb your main character syndrome, Y/N. I have somewhere to be, and it happens to be in the same direction,” he sighs. 

“Where?” you probe, suspicious. 

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” he answers snottily. 

“Then why are you sharing your umbrella with me? Did you get visited by three ghosts on Christmas?” you demand. 

“Is it really sharing if you’re just standing next to me and happen to be in the radius of my umbrella?” he ponders. 

“You’re like a bridge troll that asks people three riddles before letting them pass,” you sigh. 

“Please. As if you could ever solve my riddles.” 

You respond by flipping him off, and he just grins. 

The two of you walk the rest of the way in silence, the sounds of the rain growing heavier and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise. Occasionally, his elbow bumps your arm due to your proximity to each other. The mixture of the thick humidity in the air and the drifting scent of his fabric softener makes your head swim. 

When you make it to the bus station, you don’t say bye to him, nor does he say it to you. Instead, he swiftly turns on his heel and walks back. He doesn’t look back at you either, so your eyes linger on his back for just a tad longer than they should. 

You notice that one of his shoulders is damp, the sleeve of his shirt sticking to his skin, as raindrops roll down his arm. 

Act II) Ooh, see that, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?

Donghyuck is being eerily quiet this morning, and it’s starting to unnerve you. 

He didn’t even jump at the opportunity to compliment Dr. Min’s new haircut (that she got specifically for this conference) the moment she arrived at the airport. When the three of you walked over to the security check line, he just stood there, thumbs tucked underneath the straps of his backpack as he bounced on the balls of his feet. If he heard even a second of the conversation you and Dr. Min were having, he gave no indication of it. 

He’s never this silent unless he’s scheming something. 

At one point, you started eyeing the security cameras nearby to see if you had accidentally gotten yourself on a prank show. As if this was all an elaborate setup by Donghyuck in order to humiliate you, and you weren’t going to the symposium after all. For a brief moment, you imagine Dr. Min also being in on the ruse and laughing with him about how awful your paper was and how funny it is that you actually thought you had a chance. 

Maybe your therapist was right about you having paranoia issues. 

Your delusions begin taking over your mind until you finally can’t take it anymore. Once the two of you get situated on the plane (Dr. Min got put up in first class, and you and Donghyuck were relegated to economy as lowly grad students), you finally ask:

“Okay, what is your problem? You’re acting weird―er than usual.”

Donghyuck is looking straight ahead, peering at the folded tray table on the seat in front of him. It takes him a second to acknowledge your words, turning towards you with a strained smirk. 

“Wow, are you worried about me?” His voice trembles. 

It isn’t until he turns towards you that you finally get a good look at his face. His normally glowing complexion is completely blanched, and his expression is strained, twisted into a grimace. In other words, he looks completely terrified. It scares you a little too. 

“Jesus,” you breathe, leaning in, “now I kind of am. Are you sick?” 

“I guess that’s one way to describe it,” he laughs, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Mentally and physically, yes. But not, like, in a stomach flu kind of way.”

You pause, studying his face. “Are you…afraid of flying?”

He opens one eye and glances over at you. “How much aura would I lose if I said yes?”

You lightly shove his arm. “Be serious. You have no aura anyways.” 

“Ouch. That’s one of the more hurtful things you’ve said to me recently.” 

“Seriously, are you okay?” you ask firmly. 

“Of course,” he replies, inhaling but his breath hitches, “I’ll have to be. This paper isn’t going to present itself.” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“What good would that do? Besides look super lame and give you another thing to hold against me,” he jokes. 

You snort. “Why would I hold this against you when I have actual legitimate reasons to find you lame?” 

Donghyuck looks genuinely taken aback, eyes widening like a newborn doe. His voice is quiet and hopeful, almost innocent, when he says, “...Yeah?” 

He sounds so sincere that you feel your face grow warm. “That is so rude. What kind of monster do you think I am? No matter how much I hate you, I’m not such a terrible person that I would make fun of your phobias.” 

He blinks. “No, that’s not what I meant―”

“Whatever. I don’t want you to think I have something over you now, so we’ll make it even,” you announce, “I’ll tell you one of my fears too.” 

“Y/N, you don’t have to―”

“When we were going through security earlier and you were being super quiet, I fully thought you and Dr. Min had planned an elaborate prank on me in which I wasn’t actually going to the symposium and that you were only letting me believe I was when, in fact, my paper was terrible,” you confess, blurting everything out in one breath. 

Donghyuck stares at you, completely bewildered. “So, you think I’m such a monster that I would―” 

“My point being,” you continue, “that I have an irrational fear of being left out. Because I’m not good enough.” 

“Y/N―” 

“But this doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna kick your ass at the symposium. I will be getting that award. Just…sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking the opposite,” you quickly add, realizing that you may have just given away a little too much of yourself. 

That’s the thing with Donghyuck. It’s really easy to forget about everything else when you’re bickering with him. You’ve never had to worry about what to say to him. He’s so smug and annoying and irritating that it makes you feel like you can do anything if it means being able to beat him. 

Maybe that’s why you freaked out so much when he was so quiet this morning. Maybe that’s why you’re telling him this now. 

“You know, you could’ve just said spiders or something,” he finally says after a long pause, a shit-eating grin finding its way to his lips. The color has come back to his face, and he’s got that mischievous spark in his eye again. 

“Firstly, I’m not afraid of spiders. Secondly, you’re an unbelievably huge asshole.” You cross your arms. “I can’t believe―” 

“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and gently tugs on the sleeve of your sweater. His touch makes you fall silent. “I’m only going to say this once. And if you try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it, so listen carefully.”

You roll your eyes, waiting for another terrible joke. 

“Look at me,” he whispers, leaning in to make sure your eyes meet his. His brown eyes are so dark that they almost look black, like pools of obsidian, yet his gaze is so warm and firm as if you were being enveloped by a warm sunrise. The soft expression on his face anchors you to your seat, and you can’t bring yourself to look away despite knowing you probably should. 

“You are brilliant,” he states, as if they’re the truest words in the world. 

His sincerity catches you completely off guard, and your mind goes blank. All you can think about is the way he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything else. 

The two of you flinch when you hear the roar of the airplane’s engine, indicating that it’s about to take off. Donghyuck clenches his jaw and pulls away, and you can see his entire body tense as he grips the armrest so hard that his knuckles turn white. 

Ripping your eyes off of him, you reach under the seat for your backpack and fish out your AirPods with trembling fingers. You’re still so shaken from earlier that you randomly select a playlist before handing one of the AirPods to Donghyuck. When he raises an eyebrow, you simply reply, “To help you relax.” 

He wordlessly takes it and puts it in his ear, taking in the song. A few more seconds pass by before he, stifling a laugh, asks, “So, your idea of relaxation is playing death metal at full volume?” 

You gasp, looking back down at your phone and realizing you had selected your road rage mix by accident. Too embarrassed to admit it, you reach over to take the AirPod out. “Fine, be ungrateful then. I’ll listen by myself.”

Donghyuck tuts and leans his head away from your hand, nearly hitting it against the window. “Excuse me, I am trying to relax.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“Can’t hear you over the sounds of my relaxation,” he says in a sing-song voice. 

“Whatever,” you sigh, but you’re fighting a smile.

Throughout the flight, you occasionally sneak glances at Donghyuck, checking to see if he’s uncomfortable. He’s always fast asleep, head leaning against the window and lips slightly parted. To your relief, he looks much more serene than he did at the start. 

He still doesn’t budge when the flight attendant comes around to hand out Biscoff cookies, and you’re tempted to steal his pack for yourself but decide against it. Instead, you begrudgingly put them in his lap. If you were anywhere else, you one-hundred percent would, but it doesn’t feel right this time. 

After scarfing down your cookies, you drift off yourself and don’t wake up until a crackly announcement from the captain that your flight will be landing soon startles you awake. When you look over at Donghyuck, he’s still asleep. Shifting in your seat, you hear plastic crinkling in your lap, and you look down in confusion. 

A pack of Biscoff cookies. 

Taking a shaky deep breath, you lean back against your seat. The two-pack, cinnamon-flavored shortbread cookies sit in your lap like a ticking time bomb. You think about sharing an umbrella under the rain. You think about Donghyuck’s fear of flying. You think about how he thinks you’re brilliant. You think about these damn Biscoff cookies. 

Suddenly, you wish you weren’t sitting arm-to-arm with Donghyuck; you wish he was always a hallway’s distance from you. Because that was the distance that you can think clearly when he’s around you. Because that was the distance before― 

Before. 

Act III) Nonsense! You don't need a man to wear a beautiful dress!

“Somehow, there was a misunderstanding and only a single room was booked for the both of you.”

Well, so much for distance. 

Dr. Min looks like she wants to crawl in a hole. “I am so sorry, you guys. The hotel is used to each university only bringing one student, so they weren’t expecting two. And the hotel is fully booked for the symposium, so they don’t have an extra room.” 

You and Donghyuck exchange defeated glances, too exhausted from the flight (for many reasons) to even react.

“None of the nearby hotels have any available either,” Dr. Min continues, “so, I can’t believe I have to ask this of you guys, but would you mind sharing a room? The room also has a sofa pull-out bed, and maybe you guys can rock-paper-scissors for it.” 

This certainly throws a wrench in your Avoid Lee Donghyuck Like the Plague weekend plans, but Dr. Min looks so stressed that you really don’t want to further complicate things for her. When you look over at Donghyuck (something that you had been explicitly trying not to do), he’s already looking at you, waiting for your answer. 

“It’s fine,” you finally say, sighing, “We’re all grown-ups, after all.” 

Dr. Min turns to Donghyuck, expectant. He just shrugs, replying, “If Y/N’s okay with it.” 

“Great. Thank you guys so much!” Dr. Min exclaims, clapping her hands together before handing you the room key. “You guys can take some time to get some rest and freshen up. Don’t forget we’re going to have dinner with a few of my colleagues tonight too. Meet me here at 7:30 sharp.” 

The two of you say your goodbyes before trudging over to the elevator. You don’t say anything to each other even as you enter your cramped room, equipped with a single queen-sized bed and a sofa pull-out couch that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the 60s. 

You and Donghyuck just stare in disbelief for a moment before he turns towards you and holds out a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Huh?” 

“Rock, paper, scissors!” You don’t even have time to react as Donghyuck starts counting down, lowering his fist on every word. 

Without thinking, you pick scissors, only for him to pick rock. 

“Looks like I get the bed,” he says smugly. 

“You ambushed me. That’s not fair,” you demand, crossing your arms. 

“Two out of three?”

“Rockpaperscissors!” you blurt at the speed of light, trying to catch him off guard. 

This time, he picks scissors while you pick paper. 

“You suck,” you snap, shoving his hand away and stomping towards the pull-out couch before dropping your bag on it. Donghyuck’s laugh rings throughout the room like a bell from behind you. 

This feels more like before―when he pissed you off more than anything. Donghyuck from before was too nice, too soft. It’s actually better that you’re sleeping on the musty pull-out couch; this is more of your dynamic with him. Before he shared his umbrella with you. Before he told you about his fear of flying. Before he called you brilliant. Before you nearly had a panic attack over some Biscoff cookies.

“I’m getting ready first,” you say petulantly. 

“Be my guest,” he replies, raising his hands up like he’s surrendering, “Take as long as you need.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Because of the double standard, of course. Women have to uphold a much higher beauty standard, and there is more societal pressure for them to feel like they have to dress up―” 

“Holy performative male.” You roll your eyes. “Do you cry when you think about women getting their periods, too?” 

“Only when I’m drinking my matcha and reading Sylvia Plath.” He winks. 

After grabbing a change of clothes and your skincare regimen, you promptly push past him and close the bathroom door in his face. 

.

.

.

In the end, it does take you a while to get ready. Between doing your skincare, putting on a full face of makeup, and styling your hair, you made sure to put in extra effort since you could be potentially networking with Dr. Min’s colleagues. You even brought your best evening gown in anticipation. 

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Donghyuck is sitting on the bed with his laptop, furiously typing away. His eyes briefly glance up at the sound of the door opening and returns to the screen before he does a double take, eyes widening when he finally sees you. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, nodding towards his laptop. 

“Oh.” He stops for a moment. “My presentation notes. For the presentation. Tomorrow.” 

“What a vast vocabulary you have there, English major,” you tease, sitting on the edge of the bed so that you can slip your heels on. “Are you that nervous for tomorrow?” 

Donghyuck laughs, but it’s more like a breathless huff that he releases. “Something like that.” 

“You’re talking in riddles again. Whatever, just hurry up and get ready. We have to be down there in forty minutes,” you say after glancing at your phone. 

Clearing his throat, he gives you a quick two-finger salute before closing his laptop and grabbing his stuff. He stiffly walks around you at an odd angle, as if you had an invisible force field around you, and keeps his eyes straight ahead. 

While Donghyuck is getting ready, you scroll on TikTok, watching meditation videos and tutorials on breathing exercises in order to relax. You so badly want to make a good impression on Dr. Min’s colleagues (and, subsequently, on Dr. Min too) that you’re making yourself nauseous from imagining all the ways things could go wrong. 

You’re in the middle of a third attempt to completely clear your mind for a meditation exercise when Donghyuck steps out of the bathroom. Like the pain he is, he completely destroys any hope of a clear and sound mind as he walks over to you. 

Donghyuck is wearing a navy blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top two buttons undone, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair is lightly gelled, and you hate how effortlessly handsome he is. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, gesturing to your phone that’s still playing a video of a woman sitting cross-legged and telling you to breathe in and out. 

Hurriedly, you lock your phone and put it away in your purse. “Nothing.” 

“Why are you watching meditation videos? Nervous?” 

“Why do you ask if you already know?” you retort. 

“I enjoy the validation,” he replies smoothly, “So, is that a yes?”

“Yes, if you must know, I am nervous. Not all of us are natural-born ass-kissers, you know,” you hiss, “I need to get on their good side. Connections are everything in academia.” 

“Ah, but you don’t need meditation or ass-kissing to make a good impression. You forget the simplest method of all,” he points out. 

“And that is?”

“Being yourself,” he beams. 

“Thanks for the advice, Sesame Street. You think I wouldn’t be doing that if it worked?” you ask wryly. 

“How would you know if you’ve never tried it?” He crosses his arms. 

You stand up, suddenly feeling slightly offended. “What are you implying?” 

“Oh, I think you know.” 

“That is so rich coming from you. You’re the fakest of us all,” you snap, jabbing a finger in his chest. 

“I never said it works for me.” Donghyuck smiles, tilting his head. 

You pause, blinking as your hand falls limply to your side. “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you know?” 

When you can’t think of a response, he shrugs. “Or maybe you don’t.” 

You watch him walk past you to get the room key from the nightstand, slipping it into his wallet, before grabbing your purse from the bed and handing it to you. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.” 

And just like that, dinner is the last thing on your mind. 

.

.

.

“It’s so surreal seeing you two in such fancy clothes. You guys look amazing!” Dr. Min gushes, as the three of you take your seats inside a fancy restaurant whose name you can’t even pronounce. A salad from here probably costs a month’s worth of rent. Luckily, you’re not paying. 

“You look stunning tonight as well, Dr. Min,” Donghyuck instantly responds, turning up his ass-kissing to 100. 

You just sip on your glass of water, trying to distract yourself with a task by picking up and setting down your glass continuously. Eventually, a waiter comes by and dramatically refills your glass without you even asking. You murmur a quick thank you before going right back to your routine. 

“Oh, here they are!” Dr. Min stands up and waves to someone behind you, and you quickly set your water back down. You smooth out the bunched up dress in your lap and tuck your hair behind your ears. As Dr. Min ushers her colleagues over to your table, you feel Donghyuck’s warm hand gently on your knee, stilling your leg that you didn’t even know you were furiously bouncing. 

He doesn’t say a word, only looking at you for a second before pulling away, standing up and plastering on a big grin to greet Dr. Min’s colleagues. Your leg burns like his fingerprints individually branded you. 

Mind whirring, you shakily stand up and hope that your face is doing something similar to a smile. 

“Donghyuck, Y/N, these are my colleagues. This is Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory,” Dr. Min introduces, gesturing to two middle-aged men in suits who are both wearing glasses. Frankly, they look identical to you, but such is the case with the elites in academia. 

You all say your greetings before sitting down, and thankfully, Dr. Min orders the food for you, rattling off fancy French dishes that you couldn’t even begin to spell. She also orders a few bottles of super expensive wine, though you and Donghyuck choose to abstain. Despite your initial nerves, the dinner isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. The conversation flows naturally between everyone, and you even get a few laughs from Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory, which gives you a slight confidence boost. It isn’t until dinner is starting to wind down, and the professors are flushed and slightly slurring that Dr. Gregory turns towards you, saying, “You know, Y/N, you’re such a pretty girl. If only you would smile a bit more. You’d be a real stunner if you smiled more.” 

The pungent scent of wine on his breath wafts over to you as he continues, “Don’t be so uptight, you know?” 

Your entire body freezes, and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. This isn’t exactly your first time dealing with creepy old men, but you’ve never had to do so with creepy old men that could control your future in your career. Especially not with your mentor’s colleagues―the mentor that you revere and want so desperately to impress.

You feel your face burn with shame and humiliation, as you try to think of something to say that will diffuse the situation but also not offend Dr. Gregory. Dr. Min and Dr. Collins look uncomfortable as well, but they don’t seem like they know what to do either. 

“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke,” Dr. Gregory finally says after noticing the tense atmosphere, “You young people never have a sense of humor.” 

“Pray tell, what was the joke?” Donghyuck asks, his words dripping with a venomous sweetness. He’s gripping the cloth napkin in his lap with such strength that you think he might rip it. He’s seething with so much rage that you can feel it radiate from his body like heat waves. You’re worried he’s about to jump across the table and attack Dr. Gregory, so you slowly reach under the table and place your hand on top of his. 

It’s not worth it, you want to tell him. 

Without looking at you, Donghyuck releases the napkin and flips your hand with your palm facing upwards before lacing his fingers through yours, keeping your entwined fingers tucked into his lap. He holds your hand tightly but not enough to hurt. Just enough that you know he’s not going to let this slide. 

“Explain the joke,” Donghyuck continues to press, “What’s so fucking funny?” 

Dr. Gregory just stares at him in a drunken daze, and Dr. Min hesitantly glances between the two, finally stammering, “N-Now, that language isn’t appropriate, Donghyuck. However, Dr. Gregory needs to apologize to Y/N, too. Gosh, Dr. Gregory, you always get too drunk for your own good.” 

“You know, Dr. Gregory,” Donghyuck starts, completely ignoring her, “you’d be a real stunner if you went to an AA meeting instead of lurking around at research symposiums and sexually harassing female students.”

“How dare you accuse me of―” Dr. Gregory begins sputtering, face turning even redder. 

“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke. What, you old perverts don’t have a sense of humor?” Donghyuck raises his voice, so that the surrounding tables can hear him. He stands to his feet, taking you with him, before using his free hand to slam a glass of water in front of Dr. Gregory. He uses so much force that the glass clatters loudly against the wooden table, and water splashes all over the table and Dr. Gregory’s lap. 

“Sober up, you piece of shit. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re drinking your fancy wine through a tube in your neck.” 

Donghyuck drags your chair out of the way, making sure to scrape the metal against the floor so that it makes a screeching noise, and leads you away from the table and out of the restaurant. Against your better judgment, you look back at the table. The three professors just sit there, shoulders slumped, looking smaller and smaller as you walk away. In the past, they stood tall like the highest peak of a mountain that you could never reach. Now, you can’t help but think that they look so…pathetic. 

Donghyuck doesn’t speak to you as you make your way back to the hotel; he just holds your hand like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. After a few minutes, he takes your intertwined fingers and puts them in his pants pocket. He’s walking so fast that you start to stumble over the uneven pavement in your heels. 

“Wait, Donghyuck―” 

You nearly trip, but he quickly turns around and catches you. His hands are on your waist, warm and firm, as he carefully steadies you. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say quietly.

Donghyuck takes in a deep breath, his hands linger around your waist as if he was the one being steadied. When he speaks, he unconsciously pulls you in a bit closer. “Yeah, I should’ve done a lot worse.” 

“Come on, you’re a grad student who’s cooped up at home all day writing research papers. You’re not exactly Mike Tyson,” you try to tease. You’ve never seen him this angry before. 

“I could definitely kick his teeth in.” He looks a little too determined for your liking. 

“And then get an assault charge?” You sigh. “I’m not paying your bail.” 

He seems to soften up a bit as he studies your face. His hands flinch at your sides, seemingly realizing that he’s cradling you against him, before he takes a step back. His palms drag against your dress as he lets go of your waist. 

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, as he lifts them back up before putting them back down. 

“Of course.” You give him a halfhearted smile. “Not exactly my first rodeo with this kind of stuff.”

You can see a muscle in his jaw spasm. 

“It was nice seeing you cuss him out though. Took the words right out of my mouth. But, you know, I would probably get called a bitch or something if I said it.” You shrug. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For what? Misogyny?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you on your performative male shit again?” 

“Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am a staunch feminist. An ally, if you will.” Donghyuck raises a fist in the air, and you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. When you meet his gaze again, he hesitantly chews on his lip for a moment before continuing, “But…I’m also sorry that you had to listen to him speak to you like that. I wish there was something I could do that was more productive than kicking his teeth in.”

“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin, “I suppose I could forgive you if you ordered room service. I’m starving. All that bougie French finger food Dr. Min ordered basically evaporated into thin air the moment I put it in my mouth.” 

You give him a mischievous grin, and the tension visibly leaves his body. 

“Deal.”

.

.

.

That’s how the two of you end up lounging on the bed together, a pepperoni pizza and chicken and waffles feast sprawled out in front of you. One of the television channels is playing a rerun of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, so you and Donghyuck keep your eyes glued to the screen like children with their iPads. Occasionally, one of you will comment on how much both of you hate Gale and kick your feet when Peeta says his iconic “if it weren’t for the baby” line. 

Once the movie is over and the food is completely cleared out, you both flop onto your backs, feeling like stuffed turkeys with how much you ate. The two of you lay there in content silence for a second before you let out a sigh. 

It was a lot easier to not think about anything when you had all these distractions, but now that the night is winding down, reality is setting in quickly.

“Tomorrow is going to be so awkward,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Dr. Min is probably pissed.” 

Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. “Surely, you don’t mean she would be pissed at us. Not when it was her creepy ass friend’s fault.” 

“Well, we certainly didn’t act very professional either.” 

“Y/N. Look at me, please.” You feel his hands gently swat yours away from your face. 

Begrudgingly, you turn your head towards him. His face is a lot closer than you’re expecting, and your eyes wander as you start to count all of the moles on his smooth skin. Your gaze briefly flickers to his heart-shaped lips before hurriedly traveling back up to his eyes. 

“You are not the one who should be worried about tomorrow,” he states firmly, “Dr. Min is the one in a position of authority. It’s her job to protect you.” 

“I hope that’s the case,” you mutter. 

“It is. She will.” He sounds so sure. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter―” 

“It does.” 

“―I just need to get through this presentation, and I’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.” Truthfully, you probably will since academia circles run small. Donghyuck knows that too. 

“Do you―” He hesitates, scanning your face carefully. “Are you going to file a report against Dr. Gregory?” 

You laugh humorlessly. “Would anyone believe me?” 

“You have three witnesses.”

“That I would be asking to jeopardize their own careers for me,” you point out, “I know we’ve had quite a spirited rivalry, but even I wouldn’t try to sabotage you like this.” 

His expression is twisted into something you can’t quite discern. “What―” 

“I’m not going to file a report,” you state matter-of-factly, “It’s not worth it.” 

Donghyuck goes quiet, clearly trying to collect himself, before whispering hoarsely, “It’s your decision.” 

He stares at you for a very long time when you don’t respond. Without even realizing it, the two of you had turned your bodies toward one another on the bed. Your legs are curled upwards, and if you wanted to, you could shift just slightly and bump his thighs. If you wanted to, you could reach out and brush the stray curl from his eyes. 

“Y/N.” He murmurs your name so softly that you almost don’t hear him. In fact, the syllables blend together almost as if he were sleeptalking. 

“Yeah?” You hold your breath. 

“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you decide to do, just know that I’m on your side. Always.” 

You don’t remember what you said back; you don’t even remember what he looked like when he said it, no matter how desperately you try. You almost wonder if it was just a dream. 

All you know is that you wake up wrapped in Lee Donghyuck’s arms the next morning. His bicep is under your neck while his hand is cradling the back of your head. His other arm is slung over your waist, fingers splayed across the small of your back. The hem of your evening gown has ridden up to your thighs, and your bare legs are tangled with his. Your cheek is tucked snugly into the crook of his neck, and every time he exhales, you feel his lips brush the crown of your head. He smells like faded cologne and warm skin.

Sunlight streams into your eyelids when you blearily blink, but you’re so distracted by the peaceful expression on Donghyuck’s face that you barely notice. Without even thinking, you brush the stray curl from his eyes. He slightly stirs at the movement before pulling you in closer, stilling once again after another second. 

Against your better judgment, you lean forward, burrowing your face into his neck and feeling his skin against yours. As you listen to the sound of his breathing, it doesn’t take you long to fall back asleep. 

Act IV) But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. 

When you wake up, you’re under the covers. Donghyuck is gone. 

Except when you turn to the right, he’s curled up in a cramped fetal position on the pull-out couch with no blanket. His back is facing you, but you can see his shoulders steadily rise up and down.

You’re more impressed by how deeply you were sleeping to not notice him tuck you under the covers and then set up the couch. 

Shit, what if you drooled on him and that’s why he moved? 

Your hand frantically flies to the corner of your mouth, but it’s dry. Almost cracked. Then you realize that you slept in your makeup, and your skin is probably gasping for any sort of hydration. 

Swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you quickly begin your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face, and taking the hottest shower you can handle. You stand still, letting the scorching water run down your body, as you recall the events from the night before. In the end, not even the scalding temperature can burn away the feeling of being enveloped in Donghyuck’s arms. 

Furiously scrubbing your face, you wish you had just gotten up and moved to the pull-out couch when you woke up the first time. Instead of cuddling Donghyuck like a psycho. He probably felt you clinging to him like a koala and promptly escaped, even though you were the one who lost rock-paper-scissors. 

Better yet, you wish you had never come here in the first place. Maybe then your professional and…personal lives wouldn’t be in complete shambles. 

Eventually, the water starts to run cold, and you have no choice but to step out into the steam-filled bathroom. Your phone chimes on the corner of the sink, and you reach over to check it― 

Your heart is nearly regurgitated out of your mouth. 

It’s a text from Dr. Min inviting you to breakfast. Just you and her. 

.

.

.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me privately.” Dr. Min is nervously wringing her hands as you awkwardly push around the omelette in front of you. 

Honestly, you had contemplated waking Donghyuck up and dragging him down with you, but then you came to your senses. You’re not sure when the switch happened that he’s the first person you turn to for help, and it freaks you out exponentially. Especially when just 48 hours ago, you would’ve rather hacked off your arm than ask him for anything. 

Besides, this is nothing you can’t handle. You’re pretty sure.

“No problem.” You try your best to look cool and composed. 

“I wanted to apologize for Dr. Gregory’s behavior last night. He got way too drunk, and it was completely unacceptable. He also wants to extend his sincerest apologies. I will make sure this never happens again.”

You’re not sure what to say in response. She’s waiting for you expectantly, almost as if she wants you to exonerate her from her guilt. Normally, you would rush to tell her that everything is okay and it’s all in the past now. But the expression on her face reminds you too much of last night, of how small she seemed. 

“Okay.” You nod stiffly. “I appreciate you letting me know.” 

There’s an awkward, drawn out pause between the two of you before Dr. Min clears her throat. “Okay. Good.” 

You start getting up to leave, but you hear a shrill, “Wait!” 

In all your years of knowing her, you’ve never seen Dr. Min look this nervous before. She can barely even maintain eye contact with you as she fidgets with her sleeve. “I, um, need to talk to you about something else. About the symposium.” 

So much has happened that you’ve barely even thought about the symposium. It almost relieves you to hear about something so normal, considering how…not normal everything has been. 

That is, until she says her next words:

“There’s been a bit of a mix-up. Initially, they were planning on having a keynote speaker. However, the speaker ended up canceling, so the schedule was made without his inclusion. The problem now is that the speaker informed us last-minute that he’ll be able to make it after all. So, I’ve been asked by the organizers to cut one of my students from the program, since I was the only one who brought two.” 

You shakily inhale when it dawns on you that this is the real reason she called you down here. That it was always going to be you. The truth of being inferior feels like someone just knocked the wind out of you. You’re struggling to breathe properly, but you will yourself to maintain your composure; you’ll be damned if you have a panic attack in front of Dr. Min. 

But all that goes through your head is not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

“It’s not because your paper isn’t up to par,” she quickly insists, “in fact, your paper was brilliant―” 

She couldn’t have picked a shittier adjective. That word is another gut punch. 

“―it’s just that Donghyuck is more of what they’re looking for. What they’re expecting.” 

That makes you pause. “What?”

“The judges have their…biases. They’re much more inclined to respond to him,” Dr. Min responds vaguely, almost as if she’s too afraid to say what she really means aloud. 

“Because Donghyuck is a man?” 

“Trust me, as a woman, I understand. It’s ridiculous that academia is still such a deeply patriarchal system. I’m just trying to play by their rules. If Donghyuck gets the Best Research Paper award, it’ll look really good for the university,” she explains as if it’ll all make sense to you now. 

“So, you acknowledge how academia has fostered an incredibly sexist environment, yet you want to continue upholding that culture?” you ask incredulously, “Or is it because you’ve, against all odds, already succeeded in this environment so you don’t want to upset the status quo? You’re willing to close the door behind you if it means that you can retain your position?” 

“I have always championed for more female scholars in our field, Y/N. This is different. It’s beyond that,” she answers defensively. 

“Because your reputation is on the line?” 

Dr. Min purses her lips. “I am doing what is best for our school. I hope you’ll understand that some day. I’m sure Donghyuck will as well.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You clench your jaw. 

“Don’t further complicate things,” she warns, clearly perceiving your words as a threat, “I really am sorry that this happened. I know this would have been a wonderful addition to your CV and your application to the PhD program. I promise I will write you that letter of recommendation if things go smoothly today.” 

You actually laugh at her, a hysterical shriek bubbling in your throat. “You were my hero, you know.” 

Without waiting for her response, you get up from your seat and walk away, never once turning around to look back at her. You’re not sure how you gathered up the strength to return to your room without collapsing once, but you swear you’re going to faint when Donghyuck peeks his head out of the bathroom when he hears you come in. He has a running blowdryer in one hand and a round brush in the other. He looks so happy to see you that you feel nauseous. 

“Hey! I was wondering where you went. For a moment, I thought my snoring scared you off―what’s wrong?” In an instant, he’s set everything down and is making his way over to you. 

You sidestep him before dragging your numb body to the edge of the bed, sitting down with your back turned against him. Squeezing your burning eyes shut, you try to remember the breathing exercises you had been watching the day before. 

“Are you sick?” You hear Donghyuck’s soothing voice in front of you, but you don’t dare look at him. “Do you need anything?” 

You shake your head, feeling a sob rack your body. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He sounds so scared that you know you won’t be able to tell him the truth. You’re not cruel enough to make him throw away this opportunity for you.

“Nothing,” you finally manage to get out. When you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you, desperately scanning your face. What a sight he’s probably getting with all the tears and snot. “I’m not presenting today. There was a scheduling issue, and they had to cut someone from the program.” 

“What? Why would they cut someone when it’s their own fault? And why you?” 

You shrug halfheartedly. “Dr. Min didn’t tell me. Maybe my paper was just not as good as yours.” 

“No,” he responds immediately, “that’s impossible. There had to have been another reason. If anything, Dr. Min should have cut me. I was the one who acted out of line.”

You smile bitterly. “When you do it, you’re a badass. When I do it, I’m a bitch.” 

It was a sentiment you had echoed last night, but you had no idea just how ironic those words would turn out. 

“Then take my place.” Donghyuck says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world. 

“What, no,” you say in bewilderment, “Dr. Min has made it clear that she wants you to present. Besides, your name is on the program.” 

“Fine. I won’t present either.” He crosses his arms and looks away like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Are you insane? What’s the point of all this if neither of us presents?” you demand. 

“I’m not going to do it if you’re not.” 

“Don’t you want the recommendation letter from Dr. Min?”

He stares at you in disbelief. “You think I care about that?” 

“In case you forgot, you’re the one who suggested the competition―” 

“Y/N, that was before―” he pauses, wetting his lips, “before this.” 

Neither of you seem to know what this is. 

“It hasn’t been a competition to me for a while now. The letter, the award, this whole symposium, none of that matters to me. I just care about you.” Donghyuck’s voice breaks slightly. “The only thing I want is you.”

“But you hate me. We’re…sworn enemies.” Your voice is barely a whisper. 

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Maybe, initially. Maybe I didn’t like how much smarter you were than me. Maybe I didn’t enjoy the way you would always rip me a new one during class discussions. But―no matter how much I fought it, I started looking for you in every room I stepped into and only cared about what you had to say. I told myself a million different reasons for why I was acting the way I was. I thought whatever was forming was loathing, that you were just someone that I needed to prove I was better than. I convinced myself that I needed to tease and annoy you in any possible way because it was a tactic to gain the upperhand. When in reality, I was just doing whatever I could to get your attention. I suggested the competition because I would finally stop thinking about you if we settled our rivalry once and for all. But, Y/N―”

Donghyuck gently reaches up and cups your cheek with his hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You subconsciously lean into his touch, eyes fluttering. 

“Y/N, the award has always been yours. You’ve won from the very start, and I never stood a chance. I’m not doing this without you.” 

The boy you’ve spent your entire college career trying to outshine looks at you like you’re his North Star. 

Your fingers slide up his forearm before gently closing around his wrist, cradling his hand against your face. Tilting your head downwards so that you’re level with his kneeling position, you place your forehead against his. Donghyuck lets out a soft gasp like you just sent an electric shock through his body. 

“You have to do it. Something good has to come out of this shitshow,” you insist firmly.

He tries to pull away to protest. “No―” 

“You said you’d be on my side.”

He looks at you like you’ve physically hurt him.  

“Okay.” He finally relents, slumping his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around him. Donghyuck catches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, burying his face in your neck and holding you like he exists only to do so. He holds you so lovingly that you almost break and tell him the truth. 

But you don’t. 

Instead, you let him go and tell him to hurry up and get ready. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you even as he walks away. 

When the two of you finally make your way down to the conference room where the symposium is being held, Dr. Min is already waiting. You slightly flinch when you see her, and to your dismay, Donghyuck seems to notice. He gives you a quizzical glance before looking at Dr. Min, gauging her facial expression. Dr. Min, on the other hand, pretends like nothing happened, and it scares you how good she is at it. 

“There you guys are! Come on, Donghyuck is up first.” She ushers you both behind a makeshift stage that they’ve set up. “Okay, make sure to take a few deep breaths. Don’t bury your nose in your notes. Make sure to make eye contact with the audience.” 

Donghyuck isn’t paying attention to her whatsoever. Instead, he’s peering around the stage, clearly up to something. You don’t even have time to ask him what he’s planning before the announcer calls his name. 

Suddenly, Donghyuck doubles over, clutching his stomach in pain. “Owww!” 

He drags the last syllable, getting progressively louder the longer he holds the word. Both you and Dr. Min slightly jump at the volume of his voice. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks frantically. 

“Oh, my stomach is killing me,” he moans dramatically, “I think it might be the shitty French food we ate last night. Oh, I’m going to throw up.” 

He makes dry heaving noises, and Dr. Min takes a step back. “Um, okay. Let’s get you to a bathroom.” 

“What about the presentation?” he asks in between vomiting sounds. 

“You can’t present if you’re sick. We’ll―” 

“Oh, I have a wonderful idea.” He claps his hands together. “How about Y/N presents in my place?” 

You should’ve known Donghyuck would have something up his sleeve. 

“And look! A copy of Y/N’s paper magically showed up, so she’s all set! Wow, Shakespeare must be in the building with us on this beautiful afternoon.” He whips out the folded pieces of paper in his back pocket that you had thought was his paper. When he notices your death glare, he places the back of his hand on his forehead. “Oh, I feel so sick…” 

“Lee Donghyuck, I’m going to kill―” 

“We don’t have time for this,” Dr. Min snaps, snatching the paper from Donghyuck and shoving it into your arms. “I don’t know how you two planned this, but I’ll deal with you afterwards. Just go and present.” 

“But I―”

Dr. Min grabs your shoulders and essentially manhandles you onto the stage. You stumble out in front of a giant crowd full of confused scholars who definitely just heard all the ruckus Donghyuck made. Awkwardly shuffling over to the podium, you clear your throat into the mic by accident, causing a piercing feedback noise. 

“Oh, uh, sorry about that. I’m not Lee Donghyuck. He had…other issues to deal with. My name is Y/N, and I’m here to present on―”

You pause for a moment when you look down at your paper. Written in red ink are loopy, sprawling letters at the top of the page that read: 

You are the badass. 

Looking back up at the expectant crowd, you take the pages of your paper and rip them in half, the sounds of paper tearing echoing throughout the room.

“I originally planned on presenting about female empowerment in the 1999 film 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the source material, The Taming of the Shrew. However, I cannot, in good faith, speak on this topic without first recounting my own experiences this past weekend. Isn’t it a Shakespearean twist that all we do is sit around and discuss political and sociological issues being acknowledged in works of literature yet we can’t recognize those same problems in our own field? I hope my words force us to acknowledge our own internalized biases.” 

.

.

.

In the end, you don’t receive the Best Research Paper award. 

In fact, security escorts you out of the conference room shortly after you finish speaking. 

You’re not sure what the repercussions of what you just did are going to be, but you can’t find it in you to care. When you’re deposited in the hotel lobby, Donghyuck is already waiting for you. 

“How’s your stomach?” you ask sarcastically. 

He just shakes his head and chuckles incredulously. “You always find a way to one-up me.” 

“So, you’re admitting defeat?” You close the distance between the two of you, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch. 

Donghyuck swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Y/N, I―”

You throw your arms around his neck and bring him down to press your lips against his. He snakes an arm around your waist and lifts you up, pulling you tightly against him. He kisses you like he’s on his dying breath, and he holds you like you’re everything he ever dreamed of. For the first time in your life, you know you are. 

“Complete and utter defeat,” he whispers against your lips. 

Academic validation and beating Lee Donghyuck are your only motivations in life. You end up achieving only one of the two.

.

.

.

It isn’t until when you get back from the symposium the next week that you discover multiple sexual harassment claims were filed against Dr. Gregory after your speech and he was fired by the university. Additionally, Dr. Min was put on administrative leave for allegations of discrimination and abuse of power. She apparently is also being investigated separately by the organizers of the symposium for attempted bribery of the judges by not disclosing the fact that she habitually took them to dinner (who were actually Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory). 

“Now, that’s some Shakespearean karma.” Donghyuck winks when he shows you the news article. 

“I guess we’re not getting those recommendation letters.” You sigh. 

He throws his head back and laughs. 

Lacing your fingers through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk down the sidewalk―the sounds of the rain growing heavier against your shared umbrella and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise.

[choerrypuffs]

LANA LANA LANA LANA IM GOING TO UNIIII YESSSS

I GOT INTO A RLLY GOOD UNI IN MY COUNTRYYY 🙌🙌🙌🙌 IM A BIO MAJORRRRR WOMEN IN STEMMMMMM

IM SO HAPPY LANA I JUST WANTED TO SHARE THE NEWS WITH U IF THATS OKAY bc ur a big inspiration to me 💓💓

- (EDUCATED!!!) ccsa anon 😋😋

HOLY SHITTTTT CONGRATULATIONS 🥳🎉💗 !!!!!!!! IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU AND PROUD OF YOU <33333 is this what a parent feels like 🥹 YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN AND DO SO WELL IN YOUR CLASSES I ALREADY KNOW AND KEEP ME UPDATED ON HOW EVERYTHING GOES!!

my only advice is do NOT take an 8am class !!!!!! no matter how much you think you can do it bc you absolutely cannot 🫩 i learned this the hard way 💔

[choerrypuffs]

i wasn’t expecting the new fic to be so serious and to be completely honest, it was a difficult read. HOWEVER, it was so well written and i really appreciate you highlighting such a flawed part of academia. the part where yn was struggling with how to respond bc she was shocked and worried about offending a more senior member of her field was so sad. like i really related to her at that point. i was also talking to my sister about this fic and how i kinda wish there were actual consequences in real life like the ones dr. min and the creepy guy got (cause let’s be fr, these people would probably get a slap on the wrist in real life but it was nice to see a different outcome in the fic lol). honestly i can go on and on abt this sorry for such a long ask 😭 (also hc and yn are so cute)

this fic is definitely has a much more different tone than my normal, goofier ones. i honestly debated even including as much as i did since i felt it was a bit too heavy for something i intended to be lighthearted fun. but as someone who spent many years in college building relationships with professors and is now working in academia myself, i really felt that i needed to be genuine in the way i portrayed it, especially grad school. the ideologies and (fictionalized) professors' actions in the fic are all inspired by my own and/or my friends/colleagues' experiences. it's so incredibly strange to me because my field is dominated by women, yet they hold so much internalized misogyny. like girl who set that system up???

oh and for sure those professors would never really face any true consequences because they are protected by the other influential people in their circle. that's exactly why we are always on edge and afraid of offending someone because they! all! know! each! other!!! it's so sad.

however, i also want to make clear that this isn't me trying to dissuade anyone from entering grad school or scare them into not trusting a professor!! i met so many of my mentors (that i still am in touch with) in grad school, and they truly changed my life. i know a lot of people who read my works are about to enter college or currently in college, so i hope that this fic can maybe bring awareness. it's a bit silly to think that a tumblr kpop fanfic written by rando would make a difference but a girl can dream! honestly, i am so glad and appreciative that you reached out. thank you for such a lovely message! 💖

[choerrypuffs]

HI LANA i hope you're doing well!! education update ; i am gap yearing 😭 i gebuinely dont have money to go anywhere bc my twin (lore drop LOL) got into a super good school!!! so we're saving money for now while i look for scholarshipsss

i feel a little down bc i see all my friends going out and enjoying uni life buttt i know i'll be ok :) i'll keep searching for opportunities, wish me luck!!!!

love you so so so much 🫶

- ccsa anon 🫡🫡

HI POOKIE!!! omg random lore drop fr i had no idea you had a twin !?! are yall identical?? do you have telepathic abilities 😳 congrats to your twin !

i also took a semester off before i applied for grad school and it was genuinely the best decision i ever made 😩 saved me from burnout and i also had time to figure out what i wanted to do! i think it's good that you're getting a break <333 take the time to rest and come back better than ever! your brain is too big to be held back 😎

i definitely understand feeling a little sad but you'll get those experiences too! time will fly by i promise so don't let a little small bump in the road keep you down! i'm rooting for you always 💖💖💖

p.s. i gotta get this hyuck fic out soon and convert you back fr 🙏

[choerrypuffs]

hey so um you raised me thanks i love you..

basically i made an account after like 4 years and back then i was a tumblr kid at the ripe age of thirteen instead of wattpad and you and like ~10-15 other creators had me in a chokehold i'd read yall's fics religiously etc so thank you so so much youre responsible for a part of my personality so yeah thanks love you i will be rereading everything.

ahhhhhh omg this is such a sweet message i'm going to cry 🥺🥺🥺 and also the fact that you said i raised you...chat am i chopped and unc 💔 i'm so honored that my fics made any sort of impact on you!! thank you for still thinking of me after four years and dropping by! i'm definitely not as active as i was back then, but i try my best to always check my inbox because i love hearing from you guys! 💕

[choerrypuffs]

HOLO ALERT I REPEAT HAECHAN SOLO ALERT LANA ITS HAPPENINGGGGGGGGGG

- ccsa anon (who is FREAKING the FREAK out!!!!!!!)

IM SORRY IM SO LATE MY LOVE IVE BEEN SO BUSY BUT IM LITERALLY SO OBSESSED WITH THE ALBUM !!!!!!!!! ADRENALINE HAS BEEN GOING PLATINUM IN MY HOUSEHOLD 🤑🤑🤑

anyways!! how have you been, my lovely ccsa anon? i'm sorry i'm so mia but my job sucks the soul out of me i fear </3

[choerrypuffs]

Hi! I just wanted to let you know that a Wattpad user (yejikitty02) translated one of your works into Spanish and published it in a story about NJZ, where they gave credit to your account in the chapter. I just wanted to let you know—have a great day! 🤍

thank you so much for letting me know, my love <333 i'm not on wattpad, so i genuinely have no clue what's going on there, so i appreciate you reaching out!! i'm happy that they gave credit (though i wish they reached out personally to me), but i am a bit uncomfortable by the fact that they changed it to newjeans since those members are so incredibly young :/ regardless, it seems pretty harmless and not straight up plagiarism like other instances i've had to deal with. thank you again for telling me 🩷

[choerrypuffs]

lana

potential haechan solo alert come back to us queen of sunflowers 😖🙏

- ccsa anon 🫶

WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS!!!!! IVE BEEN SURVIVING OFF 82 PRESSIN FOR SO LONG LETS GOOOOOOOO 🙏🙏🙏

does this mean you’ll finally convert back to being a haechan stan and leave jeno behind🧎‍♂️

also wait does this mean i actually need to work on this haechan fic collecting dust in my drafts 😞✋

[choerrypuffs]

lana omg i just graduated high school!!!!!! im officially out but soso stressed abt uni bc i've been accepted to so many places but never have a gpod enough scholarship or just afford it in general 🙁🙁 im so confused and frustrated bc i have the passion just not the money and it ENRAGES me 😞😞😞😞😞

do you have any tips for me to maybe get a good scholarship somewhere? literally anywhere in the world lol

btw im soso soery for the sudden sad/trauma dump this has been on my mind for months now GRAAHHH ANW LOVE U HON BYE I MISS YOUUU 💓💓💓

- ccsa anon 🫡🫡🫡🫡

AHHHHHHHHH HOLY SHIT CONGRATULATIONS, MY LOVE!!!!! 🎉🥳🎊🥹 I’M SO SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!

i can’t believe it’s been so long omg i feel like a proud mother 😩 that’s so amazing that you got accepted to so many unis and i expect nothing less 😎

but i’m sorry that you aren’t able to go bc of financial difficulties :(((( i’m afraid i won’t be much help bc i live in a state that will pay for you to attend uni if you go to a local one so that helped me a lot. you should definitely check and see if you have something similar being offered wherever you’re based as well (if you are interested in attending a local college).

i would also check whichever uni you’re interested in and see if they offer foundation scholarships!! one of my professors was on the board for foundation scholarships at my uni and she said barely any people ever apply for them!

either way you’re gonna succeed no matter where you go so don’t feel too stressed! i miss you a lot too, and thank you for the update 🥰 i always check my inbox for you 🫶

[choerrypuffs]

AITA for setting my cheating ex's car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

pairing: firefighter!haechan x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 8.6k

synopsis: revenge is best served cold―or on fire. literally.

author’s note: luvpuffcore is finally back!! ilysm cat and moon and thank you for another amazing year of friendship <333 i truly am the #1 most successful fan of all time 🤩 also special shoutout to cat for letting me use some of her creepy dms and moon for sharing her league knowledge yall are god's strongest soldiers fr !! happy new year, my loves ✨🎆💞

warning(s): mentions/threats of violence, sexual jokes, y/n commits arson but in a girly pop way (pls don't try this at home), character assassination of mark

playlist: get him back! by olivia rodrigo ― is it new years yet? sabrina carpenter ― drinks or coffee by rosé ― risk by gracie abrams ― mastermind by taylor swift

additional: check out a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collab!

r/AmITheAsshole

u/justgirlythings-arson119 • 3d

AITA for setting my cheating ex’s car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

I (24F) caught my boyfriend cheating on me with a discord kitten he met on League of Legends two days before our anniversary. I proceeded to have the biggest crash out ever known to man, bought a gallon of gasoline, went to his house in the middle of the night, and lit his car on fire. I had completely forgotten his cousin was a firefighter in the area, and he showed up at the scene, which hindered my masterful plan a little bit. Luckily, my ex didn’t press any charges though because no way in hell he’s going to admit he has a discord kitten in a court of law. Anyways, the next day, my ex groveled and begged me to go to his family’s Christmas party with him so that he could save face in front of his mommy. Long story short―let’s just say it didn’t go well. His cousin ended up driving me home, and I think maybe I’ve fallen for him? 

⥣ 9.8k ⥥ 1,439 Comments

mcballs-im-lovin-it0323 • 2d YTA for not crashing out even harder bc i woulda slept with his entire bloodline if he played in my face like that 🙂‍↕️

➥ Reply ⥣ 2.8k ⥥

picklepounder1010 • 1d would’ve had him calling me mama, papa, auntie, uncle, grandma, grandpa etc fr 😩 ➥ ⥣ 943 ⥥

god-of-donuts0423 • 1d YTA for dating a lol player

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

goonknight1027 • 5h no way this post is about that twink lol streamer ➥ ⥣ 629 ⥥

part one | oh, i wanna key his car…or light it ablaze?

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:03 PM heyyy u play lol too 😂

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:05 PM im a yasuo main 😂

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMwhat kinda asian are u

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMwhatchu look like

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMsorry was that too much 😂😂😂

Your best friend, Rosie, has to put your phone down and take a few deep breaths. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Keep going. You haven’t even seen the worst of it,” you respond through a mouthful of strawberry ice cream, completely deadpan. 

onyourmark 12/7/2024 6:21 AM ahh 😂😂

onyourmark 12/7/2024 6:22 PM *kisses you*

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PM can i tell U something weird :3 😂

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:40 PM[Audio Message]

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PMi wrote this rap about my feelings for y baby girl

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PMbecause uve been such a good gril for me

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:57 PM holy fck holy dcking fck that body of urs is absurd

Rosie covers her mouth with her hand, closing her eyes in a grimace. “No way he copied Adam Levine unironically.” 

“Keep going.”

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AMwhen can i see u

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AM ill be free after christmas

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AM after annyign fam stuff 😂😂😂

Every message Rosie reads feels like another sucker punch in your gut and your ego, but you just dig your spoon into the tub of ice cream with even more force and let her keep going. Every time you blink, you feel dried up mascara flaking off your eyelashes and getting stuck in the dried tears and snot on your cheeks. 

“‘Annoying fam stuff?’ Is he talking about your anniversary?” Rosie demands.

Yes, your anniversary with your now ex-boyfriend, Mark Lee, is on Christmas. You used to think it was romantic. What a goddamn idiot you were. 

“At least he called me family,” you reply wryly, a hysterical laugh rattling in your chest like a wet cough. 

Rosie shakes her head and hands your phone back to you. “I can’t read any more of this. I’m going to be sick. I thought Discord mods and Discord kittens were just memes. I can’t believe people like him actually exist.” 

You just shrug.

“Where the hell is he now?” She crosses her arms. 

“Probably at his parents’ house. They’re on a ski trip, and they won’t be back until tomorrow,” you sigh, getting a headache thinking about how you were going to explain this to Mark’s parents. 

“Good. Change the locks on your door before he tries to come crawling back. He’s done mooching off you,” Rosie huffs. 

“You were right,” you state matter-of-factly, “That he was just a jobless bum loser who’s a momma’s boy.” 

She looks guilty, leaning over and giving you a hug. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You think about the time you first met Mark, when the two of you were just starry-eyed freshmen in college together. He was so awkward and shy that it took almost an entire semester for him to finally look you in the eye. He followed you around like a sad puppy and would get flustered at any prolonged amount of attention you gave him. After about three years of him being hopelessly in love with you and unable to work up the courage to ask you out, you finally decided to give him a chance in your final year of college. It was a white Christmas, and you remember his trembling hands holding your face, freezing cold fingertips brushing your cheeks, and how red his nose was when he leaned in to kiss you. He looked at you as if you were a goddess that was put on this Earth purely for him to worship. 

Maybe that’s why you moved in together with him when the two of you graduated, even when he was unemployed and you supported him financially. Maybe that’s why you smiled and nodded when he told you he wanted to try being a Twitch streamer. Maybe that’s why you gifted him his first microphone for his setup, or baked him a cake when he finally got his first viewer (even though it was actually a secret account that you made in order to boost his confidence). Maybe that’s why you never complained when he started skipping out on dates (sometimes even your birthday) in favor of growing his audience, or when he bought you extravagant gifts like jewelry or designer clothes without any clue of your preference or size. Maybe that’s why you chose to ignore the churning feeling in the pit of your stomach when you noticed his eyes starting to drift towards anything but you.

Maybe you were always the one who worshipped him. 

It’s almost comical how easily almost a decade of your life has gone down the drain―and all it took was a couple of laughing emojis. In the end, the one who loves more is always the one who loses the most. 

You gave up your best years to Mark Lee, and yet you seemed to have run out of tears to cry for this man. 

Instead, all you have left now is pure, unbridled rage boiling inside of you. It’s the kind of anger that needs to simmer first―the kind that manifests first as a calm indifference before it finally bubbles over into a complete meltdown. But you’ll be damned before you set fire to your mental health and personal belongings that you worked tooth and nail for over a man who ruined your life. 

So, you’ve decided to set fire to something else. 

“Rosie,” you say softly, your voice chillingly serene. “I’m going to set his car on fire.” 

Rosie laughs. “Want me to be your getaway driver?” 

“No, I wouldn’t want to implicate you,” you respond smoothly. “Besides, I want him to know that I’m the one who did it.” 

She looks at you for a moment, trying to decide if you’re joking or not. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes. I don’t have the energy to care about him anymore,” you answer―only a half lie. “You should go now. I know you have a late shift tonight.” 

Rosie gives you another tight squeeze. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m off this weekend, so we should go get drunk off our asses.” 

After she leaves, you slowly get up and make your way to the bathroom. You wash your face in the sink, scrubbing on the gunk off, and apply a fresh layer of makeup. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to make sure you look hot as hell (pun intended). Once you’re done, you make your way to the nearest gas station and purchase a gallon of gasoline before promptly driving to Mark’s parent’s house. 

By the time you get there, it’s already close to midnight, and not even the darkness can shroud Mark’s new Tesla Cybertruck. You remember when he bought it because you had to pay for half of his rent for the month because he was saving up for it―the smug grin on his face, as he announced it to his Twitch chat. You’re embarrassed at how happy you were for him, and you didn’t even have the heart to tell him how hideous you found it. The truck’s mirrored exterior reflects the moon in the starless night sky, and the full moon almost looks like a shiny, pretty bullseye calling out for you to destroy it. 

Without hesitation, you get out of your car and immediately start dumping gasoline all over and around the car. The scent of gasoline normally makes you nauseous, but the scent of revenge smells even sweeter. Before you take out your lighter, you pick up a large piece of broken concrete from his driveway. With all of the strength you can muster, you hurl the concrete into the driver side window of the truck and watch your reflection shatter along with the glass. 

The car alarm starts blaring, and you wait for the light in Mark’s room to blink on. You see his silhouette as he opens his blinds and peers out, just to lock eyes with you. He gawks at you like he’s just seen a ghost, and it doesn’t take long for him to make his way down to you. As he stumbles down the driveway, you take out your lighter and flick it on, letting it slowly slip from your fingertips. Your heart swells with a hysterical sense of glee as his eyes widen, the orange flames reflecting in his teary eyes. His Cybertruck is set ablaze with a Hollywood-esque level of perfection, and the fire gives your face a golden glow as if you were the starring actress. 

“Y/N! Are you fucking crazy?” Mark hollers over the crackle of the flames, voice breaking. 

“Oh, you bet I fucking am,” you laugh. 

“I’m gonna sue you―you bitch! Have you thrown in jail!” he screams, fishing his phone out of his pocket and punching in 911 on the keypad. “I’m calling the cops right now!” 

“Do it, you spineless piece of shit! I’m going to make sure everyone in this damn neighborhood and on the internet knows what a lying, cheating, soul-sucking little leech you are!” you yell back at him. “I’m going to ruin your fucking career first and then happily walk my ass down to the police station.”

That makes Mark stop in his tracks, his thumb hovering over the dial button. He can’t control the fear on his face. “No one is gonna believe you.” 

“Aw, you sure no one will believe me when I show everyone the screenshots of your DMs with uwukittenbb69?” you taunt. 

“I’ll say they’re fake!” he nearly screeches. 

“Let’s fucking go then! My word against yours. We’ll see who they believe,” you challenge. 

Mark falters and takes a small step forward. “W-Wait…” 

Unfortunately for him, he’s interrupted by the squealing sirens of a firetruck pulling up to the street. You and Mark exchange glances, and you silently dare him to report you, before both of you turn towards the firefighters exiting the truck. 

“Mark…and Y/N?” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of the approaching firefighter’s voice. You watch in horror as the firefighter removes his helmet, and you get a clearer look at his face. Tufts of wavy caramel-colored hair sticking out, a youthful and angelic face that doesn’t suit his occupation, and heart-shaped lips turned downwards in concern―it’s Mark’s cousin, Donghyuck. You’ve met him a decent amount of times at family gatherings, and he sometimes drops by you and Mark’s apartment to deliver homemade food from his mom. Donghyuck has always been kind to you, and you didn’t want him to see you like this.

Donghyuck’s confusion is short-lived before his attention falls back to the fire and how close you are to it. He quickly grabs your arm and pulls you away from the burning truck. 

“Be careful. Are you hurt?” he asks carefully, eyes scanning your face with precision. “And why aren’t you wearing a jacket? It’s freezing out here.” 

You open your mouth to try and fumble out an answer, but you flinch at the sound of Donghyuck’s colleagues blasting Mark’s car with water from the firetruck’s power hose. All that’s left of the Cybertruck is a deformed and blackened pile of scrap metal with a plume of smoke rising from it. You can’t help the sense of satisfaction you feel. 

“Don’t breathe in the smoke. It’s not good for you,” Donghyuck urges, gently sticking an arm in front of you and gesturing for you to step back even further. “Come with me. There’s blankets in the back of the truck.”

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to say, shaking your head. “I’m not cold.” 

It’s true; the fire you set has been more than enough to make your insides feel all warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t look like he believes you but doesn’t try to push any further. 

“Okay, so what the hell happened here? We got a call from the neighbors saying there was a blazing ball on fire in Mark’s driveway and that the two of you were in a screaming match.” 

“Ask Mark,” is all you say. 

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“It was an accident.”

As if on cue, Mark suddenly materializes next to you and Donghyuck―a restless expression on his face. He probably thought you were telling Donghyuck what he did to you and rushed over. 

“What?” Donghyuck’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You’re saying that was an accident?”

“Yeah. I was just…messing around. Don’t worry about it. It was an accident,” Mark says through gritted teeth, sounding completely defeated. 

The corners of your mouth twitch when you chime in, “A senseless accident.” 

Donghyuck is completely speechless as he glances between the two of you. However, you look past him and watch the fireworks exploding in the dark sky. Pulling out your phone, you see that it’s midnight, meaning it’s officially the 25th of December. Glancing over at Mark, you see him trembling in the cold with a sniffly red nose and bloodshot eyes. He’s staring straight at the ground, fists clenched. 

You smile. 

part two | wanna push him in the fireplace and watch him burn!

When you finally get home that night, you draw yourself a steaming hot bubble bath and even use the fancy bath bomb that Rosie bought you. After you get dressed, you make a charcuterie board and pour yourself a glass of wine as well before falling asleep to a Hallmark movie playing on your television. It’s probably the best sleep you’ve gotten over the past month. 

You wake up in the morning feeling refreshed, a certain five-foot-nine burden lifted from your shoulders, and text all of your friends and family your holiday greetings. Rosie invited you out to her family gathering because she didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas, but you declined. You decided to stay home and get some cleaning done. Of course, by cleaning, you mean boxing up all of Mark’s stuff and donating it to Goodwill. You initially wanted to burn everything, but you’ve committed enough arson already. 

Just as you’re getting ready to make a hearty breakfast in preparation for the mass Mark exodus, you hear the door to your apartment being opened, and your blood runs cold when you realize you haven’t changed the lock. Then your cold blood begins to boil at the audacity that Mark still must have in his pathetic little body to even dream of stepping foot in your home. 

Gripping your frying pan tightly, you march out of the kitchen to greet him. Mark at least has the sense to shrivel back when he sees you approach him. To your delight, he looks absolutely terrible. It’s obvious he didn’t get any sleep nor did he feel the need to change out of his pajamas. 

“I know you’re mad,” he says quickly, holding his hands out as if ready to block a punch.

“If you actually knew that, you wouldn’t have stepped foot in my apartment,” you say nonchalantly. “You have ten seconds to give my key back to me and get the hell out before you have to call the cops again.”

“Chill, chill,” he mutters, “I’m just here for my stuff―”

“Don’t tell me to chill. I’ve always hated it when you tell me that. It makes you sound like a patronizing douchebag, which you are, of course,” you snap. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to let you just waltz in here and casually get your stuff. Most of which I paid for, by the way.”

“Y/N, come on,” he sighs. “at least let me get my PC setup.”

That makes you burst out laughing. “Holy shit. You really have the gall to ask me for your PC setup? Are you on actual crack? Get the fuck out!”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry, okay? Just one more thing―”

“Don’t make me swear to Jesus on his birthday―” 

“My mom wants you to come to the Christmas party this afternoon,” he blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I…haven’t told her yet. I wanted us to tell her, um, together, after the party.”

He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand what he’s implying. He wants to make it seem like the breakup was mutual to save his reputation and because he knows his mom will lose her mind. He’s pretended to be her perfect little boy his entire life, a momma’s boy to the very core, so he can’t ever let her know what a bottomfeeder he is. 

“Is this some sort of social experiment to see how far you can push my limits before I finally snap? Again?” you ask incredulously. 

“Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything. I won’t ask for my stuff anymore. I won’t tell anyone about the car thing. I promise you that you won’t ever see me again if you do me this favor,” Mark sputters.

You hate that you still hesitate, despite how much you’re disgusted by him. It makes you feel like you haven’t completely axed the part of you that was in love with him, and that sickens you. However, Mrs. Lee has always been like a second mother to you, and it doesn’t feel right to just cut her off without a proper goodbye just because her son is a cretin. You suppose this could be good closure for such an ill-fated relationship. 

“You swear on your life that you’ll leave me alone forever after this?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Mark nods profusely.

“Fine. I’m only staying for an hour, and I don’t care if the party isn’t over yet. We’re going to tell her within that period or else,” you state. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Y/N.” Mark opens his arms to hug you, and it takes every fiber in your being not to whack him across the head with your frying pan. 

“Do not touch me,” you warn, “Now get out.” 

To his credit, he promptly hightails it out of your apartment (perhaps he finally noticed the murderous glint in your eye). You almost immediately regret agreeing, but you tell yourself that today is the last day that you’ll ever have to deal with the likes of Mark Lee again. Putting a hold on cleaning, you get ready for the party instead, donning a cute holiday fit that you had prepared especially for today since it was supposed to be your anniversary. Now, it makes for a great revenge dress. 

Mark had texted you to let you know to bring a gift since there would be a white elephant gift exchange, and half of you wants to call him and scream at him for not letting you know sooner and the other half is screaming at yourself for forgetting to block him. Not having enough time to go out and buy a gift, you decide to wrap up the scarf that you knitted for Mark. You stayed up all night after you got off work to make it for him, and it looks a bit wonky, but you thought he would appreciate it. You feel bad for whoever receives it, but there has to be a few duds in the mix or it’s not a true white elephant experience. Maybe they can use the scarf to wipe up their dog’s piss or something.

When you drive back to Mark’s parents’ house, it’s an ironic clash of atmospheres. The place is decked out with Christmas decorations, an amalgamation of rainbow lights, inflatable snowmen, and wreaths on every door and window. Yet, you can also see remnants of the dark burn marks in their driveway. Mark must have managed to call a tow to take his Cybertruck away just in the nick of time. You do wonder how he managed to explain the burn marks, though. 

Taking in a deep breath, you hype yourself up in your car visor mirror before stepping out and walking to the front door. Before you can even knock, Mrs. Lee opens the door and envelops you in a bear hug. She smells like sugar cookies, and it occurs to you how much you’ll miss her. 

“Oh, sweetie! I’m so glad you’re here,” she coos, cupping your face. She then ushers you into the living room, linking her arm through yours. “I was so worried because I thought the two of you got into a fight while we were on our trip.”

You just smile uncomfortably. “O-Oh.” 

“A mother’s intuition is always right, you know,” she says, winking, “Plus, I knew something was off when Mark told us he’d be staying at our place for a couple nights. Poor boy was a mess, you know. He somehow managed to total his car in the driveway! Can you believe it? He really needs you around to whip him into shape!” 

You hope she can’t see you holding in a laugh. As you’re walking, you scan the room for Mark, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t surprise you one bit that you’re being treated as fodder so he can hide in his room. 

“Anyways, say hi to everyone!” She leads you directly into a circle of Mark’s aunt and uncles. You give them all an awkward hello and try to slink away while they all converse, but one of Mark’s aunts turns towards you. 

“So, how long have you and Mark been together, honey?” she asks. 

“Um, about four years―”

“Oh, but they’ve known each other for much longer than that. Seven years! Mark had the biggest crush on her, you know,” Mrs. Lee interjects. 

“My goodness, does that mean we’ll be hearing wedding bells soon?” Mark’s aunt teases. The rest of the circle oohs and ahhs, and you want to strangle yourself with a garland. 

“I mean, what is he waiting for anyway? He’s making loads of money on the Internet now, isn’t he?” she continues. 

“Exactly. I want grandchildren, you know,” Mrs. Lee huffs. 

Unable to bite back your words anymore, you clear your throat loudly. “I have something I need to―” 

“Oh, Y/N! I’ve been looking for you,” another voice chimes in. 

All of you turn around, and a gasp nearly escapes you when you see Donghyuck standing in front of you. He’s in a white cable knit sweater, and his wavy hair looks so fluffy that you almost want to reach out and touch it. His cheeks are a bit flushed, probably because he’s in such thick clothing (or Mrs. Lee’s famous spiked eggnog). Without his uniform on, he looks much softer, dreamier. 

“You…have?” you ask, bewildered. 

“Yup! Come on, I gotta ask you something,” he answers cheerfully, gesturing for you to follow him. 

You’re a bit wary of what he’s scheming, but you’d rather risk it than have to deal with any more marriage talk, so you gladly let him whisk you away from the crowd. Donghyuck leads you to a less crowded part of the room, swiping a piece of chocolate cake when he walks past the dessert table, and tucks himself into a corner that’s concealed by a giant Christmas tree. 

“Here we go. I introduce to you my super covert corner that I stand in when I want to avoid nosy relatives,” he says in a sing-song voice before offering you the cake in his hand. “Would you like some German chocolate cake made by yours truly? It’s pretty damn average, if I do say so myself.” 

You pause, only just now realizing that Donghyuck helped you out. You suppose you have nothing to lose, so you accept the cake. “Oh. Thank you. So, you didn’t have anything you wanted to ask me?” 

“Well, actually, I do,” he hums, giving you a sheepish grin. “You set Mark’s car on fire last night, didn’t you?”

Part of you already expected this question coming, so you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Are you accusing me?” 

“Why, I wouldn’t dare. Besides, I don’t need to. I know you did,” he says casually, shrugging.

Even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. In fact, Donghyuck almost seems to find it amusing. 

“Do you have proof?”

“Mark told me,” he states sweetly.

You sigh loudly, immediately giving up the ruse. “I knew that damn lowlife would yap.” 

“So, what did he do?” 

“Of course, he told you what I did but didn’t tell you what he did,” you snort. 

“What, he cheat or something?” 

“Worse.” 

You pull out your phone and show Donghyuck Mark’s Discord DMs and watch his expression morph into disgust as you indulge in the cake he gave you. The dessert is perfectly average as he said, but there’s something charming about it. In that way, the cake is quite similar to its maker. 

“As a government employee and resident fighter of fires, nothing justifies arson,” he states after a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “but this comes pretty damn close.” 

You give him a smug I-told-you-so look.

“But seriously, what you did was really dangerous, Y/N. You could have injured yourself badly. That jackass is not worth getting third-degree burns over. There are better ways to get revenge, you know,” he lectures.

“Like what?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, like TP or egg his car or something. Slash his tires?” 

“God, are you from a 90s movie or something? That’s lame as hell,” you snort, taking another bite of cake.

“Dig your key into the side of his pretty little souped up four-wheel drive? Carve your name into his leather seats? Take a Louisville slugger to both headlights? Slash a hole in all four tires?” He wriggles his eyebrows. 

“Are you quoting Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood?” you ask incredulously.

“Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats…” Donghyuck sings, purposefully off-key. 

You can’t fight that smile that spreads across your face, and it eventually turns into a full-on belly laugh when he continues to sing. It’s the first genuine laugh, the first moment of brief happiness and relief, that you’ve felt in a long time. You thought you had it when you set Mark’s car on fire, but something still coiled in the pit of your stomach like simmering, black smoke. In this tiny little corner that smells of pine needles and chocolate cake, you feel free like a clear sky after a long winter storm.

“For the record,” Donghyuck says, voice gently dipping, “you’ve always been too good for him, and everyone knows it―including him. He’ll regret what he did to you for the rest of his life. That’s your revenge.” 

Your breath staccatos in your chest at his words. You tell yourself that he has always been a smooth talker, but he looks at you with such honesty and warmth that you want to believe him. 

“Have you always been this sweet?” You meant for the words to come out in a teasing manner, but your voice is tinged with breathlessness. 

Donghyuck grins, and his lips remind you of the heart-shaped lollipops that you see in the store during Valentine’s Day. “The sweetest.” 

A part of you wonders what would happen if you craned your neck and kissed him right here and now. Not because you’re romantically interested in him, of course. Rather, it would be a spectacular way to get revenge on Mark. Most girls go for the brother or the best friend―maybe even the dad if one is particularly ambitious―but the cousin is an untapped (pun NOT intended) medium for revenge. 

You wonder if Donghyuck tastes like cookies or wine-filled chocolates or spiked eggnog or even fruitcake. You really hate fruitcake, but you suppose you wouldn’t mind for the sake of revenge. 

But you would never do that to him. He’s much too kind of a person to be involved in you and Mark’s mess. The fact that you’re able to confide in him and he actually takes your side is something that you truly appreciate. As much as you want to torment Mark, it’s best to just end it here. 

“You can use me too, you know,” Donghyuck adds.

“Huh?” You blink.

“For your revenge,” he clarifies. “Use me. To make him jealous, to bully him, whatever you want.” 

For a moment, you almost believe he somehow read your mind. 

“Just wanted to let you know,” he says, shrugging, “since you probably think it would be too mean. Plus, I think you would need my help anyways.”

That makes you feel greatly offended. “What is that supposed to mean? You say that like I didn’t set a car on fire.” 

“You’re too naive in your thinking. Revenge doesn’t always have to be loud and in your face like that. It’s a lot more fun when you break them down psychologically in more subtle ways,” he explains.

“So, you―as a government employee―can’t approve of me committing arson because I got cheated on, but you―as a government employee―can casually and openly discuss waging psychological warfare on another civilian. On said person who cheated on me, who also happens to be your cousin because you seemed to have forgotten that, ” you point out sardonically. 

Donghyuck just smiles before slightly leaning in, eyes flickering down to your lips. You open your mouth to retort but your words instantly die in your throat, softly gasping when his hand brushes your chin as he reaches over and swipes a bit of chocolate frosting from your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Sure I can,” he answers smoothly, “because, unlike a certain someone, I won’t get caught.” 

“I didn’t―”

“And by the way, Mark didn’t tell me you set his car on fire.” 

You gawk at him as he walks past you with a content grin on his face. “Now come on, I hear my aunt calling for us.” 

Maybe you need to take back your earlier statement of Donghyuck being too kind. He might actually have more screws loose than you.

.

.

.

You almost completely forget about Mark until he finally comes downstairs for the white elephant exchange. You’re in such a daze from your earlier interaction with Donghyuck that you barely recoil when Mark takes a seat beside you on the couch, especially since Donghyuck is sitting in the rocking chair directly across from you. 

The gift exchange begins once everyone has drawn a number, and you honestly just dissociate for the first half of it. Keeping your gaze trained on the piece of paper that has 26 scribbled on it, you don’t look up until you feel Mark get up beside you and pick a gift from the pile. You’re praying to both Jesus and Santa that he doesn’t pick yours, but you suppose you've been deemed a sinner and also put on the Naughty List (maybe for setting your cheating ex’s care on fire?) because Mark somehow manages to find yours in the pile of presents. 

When he opens it, you can tell by the way he quickly glances at you that he knows it’s yours. After all, he saw you practicing your knitting throughout the week. He happily wraps it around his neck and beams proudly. “I love it.”

The way he carefully looks back at you makes you want to smack him into the new year. You know he’s trying to get on your good side, and you make it clear with your scowl that it isn’t working. 

You’re actually grateful that it’s your turn next so that you’re able to get up and walk away from him. Wanting to get this entire situation over with, you haphazardly grab one from the top of the pile. Your heart sinks when you take out the stuffing paper from the bag and realize that it’s Mark’s gift. You contemplate putting the paper back in and not opening it at all, but you cave under the pressure of all the expectant pairs of eyes on you. 

In typical Mark fashion, his gift is a signed T-shirt of his own merch. It’s an obnoxious yellow color with his Twitch username and a giant screen printed image of his face plastered across it. He’s written his signature right over his forehead, so it makes him look like he has random chicken scratch on his face. 

“Oh, it must be destiny!” Mrs. Lee exclaims, clapping her hands together. 

You force a smile before returning to your seat, doing everything in your power to ignore Mark’s stupid giddy expression. Shoving the shirt back into the bag, you casually kick it away from you. 

A couple more people take their turns, and you’re counting down the seconds to when this is finally over so you can go home. Eventually, it’s Donghyuck’s turn, and he saunters towards you and holds his hand out. 

“Gimme.”

You blink at him.

“Your gift. I’m stealing it,” he explains, wiggling his fingers. 

“You want…this?” you ask, completely baffled. 

“Well, duh. It’s going to sell for a lot of money, you know.” He winks. 

You can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s helping you out again. “This has to be unethical. Aren’t you a government employee?” 

“Government employees need to make money too,” he replies, sighing. 

“Well, if you really want it, I guess I have no choice,” you huff, faking exasperation before handing him the bag. 

You’re smiling when he takes it and walks back to his chair, and you hear Mark grumble something under his breath. Turning to him, you raise an eyebrow, snippily asking, “What?”

“I said,” he repeats so loudly that it reverberates throughout the room, “when did the two of you get so friendly?” 

A silence falls over everyone, and the two of you are now center stage. 

“Are you really going to do this now?” you hiss. 

“I noticed that the two of you were getting awfully cozy behind the Christmas tree earlier,” Mark retorts, shrugging. 

Donghyuck gets up to intervene, but he doesn’t have time to even react before you grab a pillow from the couch and chuck it in Mark’s face. 

“You’ve got some nerve. Was this your plan all along? To make me look like the bad guy in front of your family?” you demand, feeling your face grow hotter and hotter from rage. “You and uwukittenbb69 were getting awfully cozy too, don’t you think? I’d say snug as a bug in a goddamn rug even.” 

Mark stands up in a flash, his eyes frantically glancing at his mom before pointing his finger at you. “Baby, I told you she was just a friend.” 

You nearly choke on air when you hear him call you that. Making a beeline towards the pile of presents, you begin to toss them at Mark with each question you add. “You absolute lunatic. Do friends beg each other for pictures of their tits? Do friends write raps confessing their love for one another? Do friends blow off their anniversary with their girlfriend so that they can meet up for a quick booty call? And yes, I’m saying quick because you and I both know it’ll be a speedy endeavor.”

“What on Earth is going on?” Mrs. Lee cries out as Mark tries his best to swat away the presents being hurled at him. 

“You’re a psycho bitch,” Mark yells. “It’s not like I actually slept with her. We were just messing around online. You got jealous over nothing. And you set my car on fire!” 

“You wanna see psycho?” you snap, throwing the present in your hands down onto the floor and marching towards him with your bare fists before you suddenly stop and take in your surroundings. You see the horror and shock on everyone’s faces, the way they’re looking at you, and then perhaps most clear of all―Mark’s expression. He’s angry just like you, but there’s a glimmer of victory in his eyes. As if he’s bested you in some manner. 

And he has. You’re the villain now.

Taking in a deep breath, you will yourself to walk over to Mark in a calm manner, looking him directly in the eye. 

“You’re nothing except a liar and a cheater, Mark Lee. That will never change that no matter how much you try to spin it in front of your family. You built your success off my back, and I hope that haunts you for the rest of your life. May you receive everything that you’ve done to me tenfold. That’s all I want to say—” You pause. “Oh, and I’ve always thought your Cybertruck was fucking ugly.” 

You reach over and snatch the scarf from his neck before turning and walking out of the door, feeling like you finally managed to cut off the ball and chain around your ankle. Just as you’re about to reach your car, you hear someone calling after you. 

“I’ll drive you home,” Donghyuck says once he catches up to you. 

“I’m not so distraught that I’ll become a hazard on the road,” you say wryly

“Well, when it comes to being around a car, you’ve certainly proved that you’re not exactly at your most dangerous when you’re behind the wheel,” he jokes. 

“You may have a point,” you acknowledge, giving him a small smile.

“Let me drive you home, Y/N. I’m worried about you,” he insists again, much quieter this time. 

“How are you going to get back then?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ll call an Uber or something.” 

“That would be such a waste of money,” you snort.

“Not if it’s for you,” he says almost instantly. His normally brown eyes almost look auburn when under the golden glow of the sunset. 

There’s such determination, such assurance, such warmth in his gaze that you let yourself be surrounded with, no longer having the energy to resist him, and it feels like falling onto a soft cloud after a long, winding journey. For once, you just want someone to take care of you, even if it’s just for a moment. 

“Fine. Do as you please,” you relent, tossing him your car keys before walking around to the passenger side and climbing in. 

Donghyuck looks relieved, beaming when he situates himself in the driver’s seat. You try not to be impressed with the way he easily backs out of the driveway with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the headrest behind you, maneuvering the wheel with a deftness you’ve never seen before. Then again, he does drive a massive fire truck on the daily, so your Toyota probably isn’t much of a challenge for him. 

He drives with his eyes staring straight down the road―almost too focused―because you know he’s trying not to look at you. Probably because you’re making it abundantly clear that you don’t want him to look at you, leaning your head against the window and away from him. It doesn’t mean that you don’t see his wandering eyes, almost as if it were second nature, drift back to you in the reflection of the window.

“Pathetic, right?” you finally say, feeling suffocated by the heavy silence.

“What’s pathetic?” 

“Me.” 

“Why would you be pathetic?” Donghyuck grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as the leather creaks under the force of his hold.

“Mark was right. I talked a big game in front of him, but in the end, I was just the psycho ex-girlfriend. I told myself that I would never let him hold my emotions hostage anymore. That I would erase any care I had for him left in me. Because indifference means that I’m truly free. But I couldn’t do it. I really hate him, to my very core, and that means he still has power over me. I hate that most of all. I want him to feel the same pain I did, and I want to exact revenge on him, but at the same time, I want to move on with my life. I’m like a dog chasing my own tail; it’s pathetic.” 

You wanted to sound more lighthearted about this, turn it into a joke, but Donghyuck seems to draw out a vulnerability within you that makes you want to tell him everything you’ve been trying to desperately ignore. 

“Y/N, you’re dealing with the end of a long-term relationship. It’s only natural that you have confusing and conflicting feelings about everything. You’re not pathetic; you’re human. Mark stole your girlhood and your youth, and it’s going to take time for you to heal from that. It’s impossible to immediately get back on your feet after what he did to you. None of this is your fault, so don’t ever berate yourself,” Donghyuck’s voice trembles as he speaks. “I promise you that one day, you’re going to wake up and you’ll realize that you don’t remember what Mark's favorite food is. His favorite movie. His favorite color. Then you’ll realize that you can barely even remember what his face looks like when he’s sad, happy, angry. Eventually, you’ll forget about him entirely, and all the pain he caused you will just be seconds of your life that evaporates from your mind completely.”

When he speaks to you like there’s nothing he’s more sure of in this world, it makes you want to believe him. You want to be his promise. 

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his for just a moment before pulling away. Your touch is feather light, but you hope he didn’t notice the way your fingertips lingered a second longer. 

The two of you fall quiet again, but this time, the silence is much more comfortable now. You’re almost disappointed when he pulls into your apartment complex, unsure of how to say goodbye to him. 

“Would you like some hot cocoa or something?” you blurt out when he parks. “I think I have some in my apartment.”

You don’t realize how suggestive your offer sounds until it’s too late. Donghyuck hesitates for a moment, and you can tell he’s debating on if he should tease you about it or not. To your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s getting dark soon, so I should head back.” He pulls out his phone and starts ordering an Uber. 

“Want me to wait with you then?” You’re not sure why you keep insisting on staying with him, but this day has been so batshit insane that you almost feel like a passenger in your own body. 

“Probably not a good idea,” he chuckles.

Now, you feel both confused and slightly offended again.

“And why is that? I know I’ve been a bit of a menace today, but still…” you trail off awkwardly. 

Donghyuck pauses for a moment as he stares at you; his face is closer to yours than it’s ever been because you’re sitting right next to him. You can tell he’s thinking very carefully about his next words. It occurs to you that, for a guy as seemingly flippant as him, he is actually quite thoughtful.

“You know, I’ve been compared to Mark my entire life,” he begins, musing. 

“Sooo…you didn’t want me to wait with you because you’re gearing up for a trauma dump?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Donghyuck holds his hand up in front of you, shushing you. “Shh, let me have my big moment.” 

“Sorry. Please proceed.” 

“Ahem. As I was saying, I was but a poor, innocent wee boy living in the shadow of the golden child in our family. Mark was always the more athletic, the funnier, the more charming one. His grades were ass, but he always managed to get out of trouble because he was the favorite. When I got my job as a firefighter and he was unemployed, my family barely congratulated me or even acknowledged it at all because they were afraid they would upset Mark. You see, I’ve actually lived quite a tragic life,” Donghyuck sniffles, wiping away a fake tear. 

“What a shame that they can’t see how wonderful you are,” you chime in, a smile in your voice. 

Your honesty in response to his joke visibly catches him off guard, and he blinks a couple of times before your words finally register. 

“Right?” he huffs dramatically, but he can’t seem to meet your eyes completely as a light flush dustes his face and ears. “But fret not, I didn’t particularly mind. It was nice not having to live up to any expectations. Besides, I was happy for Mark when he finally got successful as a streamer. We were raised like brothers, and I always admired him. I was proud of him.” 

“Ha, little did you know—”

“All this to say that, growing up, I’ve never been once jealous of Mark,” Donghyuck states proudly. 

Then he slowly looks over at you with longing eyes, almost as if his body turning itself towards you is a natural reflex. His expression is so soft and affectionate that it nearly takes your breath away. 

“That is, until he met you.” 

So, this is what Donghyuck looks like when he’s in love. You wonder if it would ever be possible for you to wake up one day and not remember it. 

But you aren’t sure if you return his feelings in the same way. Just like you couldn’t bring yourself to use him for your revenge, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to wait for you while you figure out the mess of your current emotional state. The one who loves more always loses, and you don’t want to lose Donghyuck. 

“I just wanted to tell you that,” he continues, “I’m not expecting a response. It’s for the better you don’t respond right now anyways. If you want to pretend like this conversation was all a bad dream conjured up by sleep paralysis and never want to talk about it again, I’m okay with that too.” 

You smile. 

“But…if you’re able to, just look my way sometimes. I’ll do everything in my power to keep your attention, even if I have to get on a unicycle with a clown nose and juggle. And, if one day, you find yourself looking for me on your own, let me know. Then, I’ll ask for an answer,” Donghyuck promises.  

True to your word, you don’t give him an answer. Instead, you take the scarf that’s been laying across your lap—the scarf with a few holes thanks to missing yarn and sections where you accidentally knitted the pattern in the wrong direction. Now it’s a bit stretched out due to you snatching it off Mark. 

But this scarf, as average (maybe even less) as it may be, is charming in its own way. 

Leaning forward, you wrap the scarf around Donghyuck’s neck. He watches you in complete awe, in a trance, as if he were in a dream and any movement would wake him up. 

“I should head inside now,” you say quietly, trying not to giggle at his stupefied expression.

He only nods dazedly, and you’re certain that would have been his reaction regardless of what you said. It takes a few more beats for your words to actually click before he clears his throat loudly. “Right. Yes. You should.” 

He hands you your keys back before stepping out of the car and opening your door for you. “I’ll wait down here until you get inside, and then I’ll go meet my Uber.” 

“Thanks for driving me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him. 

“You’re welcome. Good night, Y/N.” Donghyuck puts his hands in his pockets and tucks his chin into the scarf as he watches you go.

As your hand hovers over the doorknob, you know you should just open the door and walk inside so you don’t keep him waiting in the cold. You really shouldn’t look back because it would mean that you wanted to. Not because he asked you to. 

But you do. You look back—

only to meet his eyes, the two of you exchanging knowing smiles.

extra | is it me? am i the drama? i don’t think i’m the drama…

r/AmITheAsshole

u/justgirlythings-arson119 • 9h

(UPDATE) AITA for setting my cheating ex’s car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

So, it turns out my cheating ex got catfished. His supposed Discord kitten was actually some random guy and his friend who were dicking around. They ended up leaking the DMs so they’re all public now for those who would like to read them (by now, I’m sure you all know who my cheating ex is). I would highly advise against listening to the rap confession though. Godspeed if you choose to. I am also selling his expensive PC setup on Facebook Marketplace if anyone’s interested. Happy New Year!

P.S. I ended up inviting the cousin over for hot cocoa. He’s very sweet. 

⥣ 11.3k ⥥ 2,293 Comments

pissrevolver1122 • 8h rip bozo got catfished by me n bro for some robux 

➥ Reply ⥣ 3.8k ⥥

pooprevolver0205 • 8h can’t believe bro actually jacked off to a pic of knees LMAO ➥ ⥣ 1.9k ⥥

piss-k1nk0219 • 2h yall are about to have the awkwardest family get togethers ever lmao

➥ Reply ⥣ 910 ⥥

bigsnowballs0813 • 4h $5 and an iced coffee for the pc take it or leave it

➥ Reply ⥣ 748 ⥥

femboyluvr0701 • 1h are u gonna set the cousin's car on fire too

➥ Reply ⥣ 639 ⥥

justgirlythings-arson119 • 1h probably not he’s very good at putting out fires :(  ➥ ⥣ 482 ⥥

[luvdsc]

Revenge is best served cold—or on fire. Literally.

USER u/justgirlythings-arson119 ( @choerrypuffs ) POSTING ON december 31, 2024 SONG is it new years yet? by sabrina carpenter

(1) DRAFT SAVED.

A broken arm is temporary. Labubus (and winning your affection) are forever.

USER u/ifyouseekamy-yn3435 ( @luvdsc ) POSTING ON december 31, 2024 SONG buy me presents by sabrina carpenter

(1) DRAFT SAVED.

“I would let the owner stuff my stocking in exchange for the monte blanc recipe.”

“… You promise?”

USER u/YeastMode6969 ( @wincore ) POSTING ON december 31, 2024 SONG santa doesn’t know you like i do by sabrina carpenter

(1) DRAFT SAVED.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐒, 𝐋𝐔𝐕𝐃𝐒𝐂, & 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[choerrypuffs]

[choerrypuffs]

hi hi hi ! 💕 so happy to see you update a lil bit hihi, how are you ? seing your notif made me jump on the occasion of sending you an ask !! is it okay if i ask you something ? pls tell me if i’m crossing the line… but do you still have the inspiration to write the series demigods: electric boogaloo ?

hi my love!!! i’m doing well tysm for asking 🥰 💖 i got a big girl job now so unfortunately it’s been hard to sit down and write anything 😩 i feel like i’m making it a trend to only drop one fic a year LMAO but i really do still love writing on here (even though i don’t really keep up with nct anymore).

i definitely do still have inspiration for demigods: electric boogaloo but due to some certain member(s) who i planned on including in the series being actual vermin, my plans have been a bit derailed :/ that’s why it’s been delayed for so long + just being busy with life. i’m trying my best to restructure the plot but whatever i come up with feels so random and like it’s pretty obvious i had to whip up something last minute 💀 it just feels discombobulated bc i’ll have to bring in people who haven’t been introduced in the original series and i hate it when things don’t connect.

anyways sorry for such a long answer lol. a lot of people have been asking me about demigods, so i wanted to give an update. i am truly grateful that people still care and would love to hear feedback or suggestions!!! 💗

[choerrypuffs]

shitting my pants

LANA STRIKES AGAIIINNN OMG I CANT WAAAIT TO READ THIS UR LITERALLY THE BEST EVERRR WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH 💓💓💓💓💓💓

albeit my ult now being jeno i still have a spot in my heart just for hyuck so i am !!! so excited <33

- ccsa anon 😚😚

ccsa anon!!!!!!! 💖✨💕🌷🥰 IVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH MY LOVE 🥹🥹🥹 i always check my inbox for you even when i was inactive and seeing your messages always makes me so happy!! i’m sorry i haven’t been able to reply much but i’m glad to see you doing well!!

WHAT?????? YOUR ULT IS JENO NOW???? OH THE BETRAYAL AND THE HURT 😩🥲 WHY HAS GOD TAKEN ANOTHER SOLDIER FROM USSSSSS 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️ wait you gotta update bc WHY 😭😭😭 praying for your recovery soon 🙏🛐

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[choerrypuffs]

master of all elements.

synopsis: y/n, a waterbender of the northern water tribe, has been named the new avatar. she must master all of the elements in order to keep the peace of the four nations. which path will she choose first?

pairing: 00 line x reader

genre: fluff, angst

author’s note: i am so late to the game but i finally watched all of avatar the last airbender and i knew i had to make a fic/series about it so here i am. this series is formatted like a dating game. you pick a route with a character (00 line) and then once you finish that route (the fic), you go back and pick another one. the stories have nothing to do with each other, like wiping clean the slate!

the element of change | na jaemin. 

your childhood best friend and longtime crush. in your opinion, he should’ve been the avatar but that’s not how it works unfortunately. kind, patient, and achingly handsome, keeping your focus on the bending and not him will prove to be a challenge.

the element of substance | lee jeno.

a gentle, but mysterious, earthbender that saves you when you’re in a sticky situation. for some reason, he refuses to teach you earthbending no matter how much you beg him. it would be much easier to just find another teacher, but there’s just something about him that draws you in.

the element of power | huang renjun.

cold and armed with a nasty temper, this fire nation soldier knows just how to push your buttons. despite his bad attitude, there’s no dispute that he is among one of the most skilled firebenders that’s ever been. at this point, you’re not really sure if you want to kill or kiss him.

     ↳ the story continues in sunrise: an element of power story. 

the element of freedom | lee donghyuck. * for the sake of my sanity, we’re just gonna pretend that the air nomads don’t shave their heads.

a mischievous airbending thief that somehow ropes you into his antics. in exchange for being his accomplice, he teaches you bending. life is never dull with him, but he seems to be running from something and you desperately want to know what.

[choerrypuffs]

demigods.

synopsis: summers at camp half-blood are never dull—especially when there’s a cute boy at every corner.

pairing: 00 line x reader

genre: fluff, angst

author’s note: back at it again with another 00 line series because i like pain! i recently discovered my old copy of the last olympian in the depths of my messy room, and i knew i had to do a camp half-blood au (edit: percy jackson is getting a disney+ series so i guess i’m psychic). i wanted to make the fic names resemble rick riordan’s chapter titles, and they’re kind of cringe but i tried my best. like my avatar series, the fics are standalones and can be read in any order (though you might miss a couple of easter eggs here and there)! 

important: this may not be 100% accurate to the camp halfblood in the books because i needed to bend some rules/traditions for the flow of the story. hardcore stans, please don’t get mad at me!

credit for the template used in my edits ( x )

my best friend wants to be abducted by aliens | son of athena!renjun x daughter of aphrodite!reader

as the self-proclaimed matchmaker of camp half-blood, you have had a 100% success rate with all of your matches. your current project is finding a date for your best friend, huang renjun—a prickly smart aleck that perfectly fits the child of athena stereotype. unfortunately for you, he seems to be hellbent on tarnishing your perfect record. his refusal to get a girlfriend prompts you to come up with all sorts of conspiracy theories (alien abduction, ghost possession, lizard people etc.) in an attempt to crack the code that is renjun. even though you’re able to create these insane scenarios inside your head, you can’t seem to realize the glaringly obvious: renjun is in love with you.

i become attracted to seaweed | son of poseidon!donghyuck x daughter of athena!reader

ever the perfectionist, you take your job as the head counselor of the athena cabin very seriously. unlike others, your summers at camp half-blood are when you are at your absolute busiest. you don’t have a moment to rest, constantly running around to make sure everything is perfect. but the gods seem to have a twisted sense of humor, throwing a wrench into your meticulous schedule in the form of an unconscious boy right in front of the entrance of the camp. because you’re the one who discovers him and the fact that he’s taken a liking to you, you’re tasked with looking after him—donghyuck—until his godly parent claims him. you become a sort of mentor to him, despite your initial protest. his presence eventually goes from a nuisance to a solace to you, and you find yourself wishing he could stay by your side.

captain sparkle fingers revives me from the dead | son of apollo!jaemin x daughter of hades!reader

after a mission gone awry, you’re severely injured and rushed to the infirmary. you have an extremely close brush with death (and your father), but you manage to somehow survive. once you come to, you find out your life was saved by the camp half-blood’s golden boy, na jaemin—the unspoken favorite son of apollo and the infirmary’s most talented healer. you want nothing more than to get back to your mission, but you can’t get past jaemin. even though everything he says is delivered with a sweet smile, you find him to be quite terrifying. during your recovery period, he does his best to try and befriend you, but you’re making it quite difficult for him. you really don’t want anything to do with him, in fear of misunderstanding his kindness for something else. but you know, and so does he, that it’s only a matter of time.

i suddenly realize my archnemesis is hot (during a battle to the death) | son of ares!jeno x daughter of nike!reader

being the daughter of the goddess of victory, winning is literally life or death for you. when it comes to battle prowess, you’re close to unmatched. the only one who can give you a run for your money is lee jeno—the frustratingly handsome son of ares, who also happens to be your greatest rival. you’ve been duking it out with him since your first meeting, turning everything into a competition. the two of you easily cement yourselves as the top two warriors at camp half-blood, which is why you get paired together for a top secret mission: to retrieve the stolen golden fleece. both of you reluctantly agree to a truce for the sake of the camp. however, the more time you spend with him, the more your hatred for him seems to dwindle. you tell yourself that the fog of war is just getting to you, but deep down, you know it’s something more.

finished reading? check out the sequel series, demigods: electric boogaloo!

[choerrypuffs]

what the puck!

pairing: hockey player!donghyuck x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst, a crackfic turned way too serious lmao

word count: 11.6k

synopsis: you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue. 

author’s note: sorry i came back after almost an entire year and dropped this instead of anything people actually asked for teehee 😋 also i know nothing about hockey so none of the sports stuff makes sense pls kindly ignore <3 big shoutout to miss cat and moon for coming up with the only good parts of this fic 

warning(s): brief descriptions of injuries 

playlist: and july (feat. dean and dj friz) by heize ― mixtape 2003 by the academic ― chit chat by beach weather ― 1983 by neon trees ― fearless by taylor swift

part i. lee taemin once said his ideal meet-cute is a girl running him over with her car <3

First off, to set the record straight—

You are not a bad driver.

There just so happened to be a bad thunderstorm, and your windshield wipers happened to malfunction, and you happened to lightly tap someone with the front of your beat-up Toyota Prius. Honestly, the person probably did more damage to your car that’s one airbag deployment away from spontaneous combustion than the car could ever do to him. 

However, for some reason, the blurry figure that you can barely make out through the onslaught of rainfall doesn’t seem to be getting up off the ground. 

Hurriedly putting your car in park, you clamber out in a panic as water pelts you in the face like one of those super strong hoses set on sprinkler mode. Without even asking if the person is okay, you lift him up by the shoulders and shake him violently. 

“Oh my God, please don’t die! I literally can’t afford to pay for someone’s funeral right now,” you wail. 

You’re met with a pained chuckle, and a hoarse voice replies, “I’m not dead, but thanks for the concern.” 

His words cut through your blubbering like the sun peeking through the dark rain clouds, and the violent storm that nearly killed him five minutes ago suddenly subsides into a pleasant drizzle. Now that you can open your eyes without getting waterboarded, you blearily blink at him, finally able to get a good look at your victim. 

Even though he’s soaked to the bone with rain, the guy in front of you takes your breath away. He has angled features but big, round doe-eyes and heart-shaped lips that brings a softness to his face. His dark hair, presumably having been styled before this whole fiasco, is flat against forehead and falls into his eyes, brushing against his eyelashes. If you hadn’t just almost committed vehicular manslaughter against him, he’d definitely be someone that you would make eye contact with by chance and have delusional fantasies of living in domesticity with him before looking down at your feet and making a beeline in the opposite direction. 

His expression is a bit dazed, a half-smile tugging at his lips, as he makes eye contact with you―almost like he isn’t aware that he’s smiling. You grow a bit concerned, wondering if he’s fallen into a stupor because of the adrenaline. 

However, there’s another thing that’s been bothering you more.

And it’s the fact that he looks so familiar―

Then, it suddenly hits you (no pun intended). 

You know exactly who this guy is because you pass by a banner with his face on it twice a week on your way to your statistics class. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, “you’re Lee Donghyuck.” 

A star hockey player whose talent hasn’t been seen in generations, the guy that is single handedly carrying the university’s legacy on his back, a permanent fixture in recent sports news cycles, the shoo-in for the upcoming NHL draft, and someone who definitely cannot afford to be injured just as he’s reaching the peak of his career―that Lee Donghyuck.

“Yep, that’s me,” he replies with a fairly cheerful demeanor for someone who was just hit by a car. “And you are?” 

You just stare at him for a beat before you realize that he’s actually talking to you. “Oh, I’m Y/N.” 

Donghyuck goes to say something but stops, clenching his jaw. He reaches down and grasps his right leg, face twisted in pain. Dread sinks into you with the pressure of a dozen semi-trucks. 

Before you can bring yourself to look at how bad the damage is, you pray to every god that you can think of that it’s just a teensy-weensy little scrape and Donghyuck has a low pain tolerance. After all, you may not be particularly religious, but you consider yourself a pretty decent person that hasn’t committed a sin grave enough to incur this kind of punishment.

Unfortunately, the gods don’t seem to agree because when you look down, Lee Donghyuck’s calf is bent at an angle that no human’s calf should ever be bent at, his leg resembling an extremely grotesque and mangled L-shape. 

You may not have to pay for Donghyuck’s funeral, but you might be holding one of your own.

“Yeah, it’s broken,” the ER doctor says matter-of-factly. 

You put your head in your hands, feeling the urge to curl up in a hole and die as if it were your career on the line. 

“You’ll be out for six to eight weeks. But on the bright side, it was a pretty clean break, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting back on the ice once you’re healed,” the doctor continues, thumbing through the X-rays on his clipboard. “You were hit in a very methodical way.”

Whipping your head back up and nearly snapping your neck, you gawk at the doctor. “Why are you saying it like I did it on purpose?”

“Hm,” is the only response you get before he turns back to Donghyuck, patting the latter on the shoulder. “Anyways, just know that the whole staff here are huge fans of you, and we’re all rooting for ya. Get well soon, and make us proud.” 

Donghyuck just gives him a strained smile, stiffly trying to sit up on the bed without jostling his leg that’s been propped up in a heavy, thick cast. The doctor fanboys a little more before finally leaving, drawing the privacy curtain closed behind him. 

An extremely awkward silence hangs in the air between the two of you. You wait for him to start crying or screaming or have some sort of emotional outburst. However, he doesn’t react at all, just quietly sitting and fiddling with the heart rate monitor clipped on his finger. 

“So, um, are you…are you okay?” you ask quietly. 

Donghyuck laughs. “I think that’s the first time you’ve asked about my wellbeing since we got here.” 

That’s the second time he’s smiled in front of you. You don’t understand why he hasn’t reached over the railing of the bed and throttled you yet. You can’t even imagine how frustrated and disappointed he must be right now. While the doctor did say he’ll be fine once he’s healed, it’ll take at least a month for him to fully recover. That means he’ll be missing at least 7 or 8 games―games that will undoubtedly have important scouts present.

Hell, Donghyuck even had to pay the ER bill too (luckily, his insurance covered the majority of it). 

“I’m really sorry,” you sigh, finally giving him a well overdue apology. “I wasn’t thinking straight back then. When I panic, my head goes empty, and I just blurt out stupid shit all the time. I know saying sorry isn’t nearly enough, but if there’s anything I can do for you, I will do my best to make it happen.” 

You watch him pause to think. “You know…there actually is.”

You lean forward eagerly, nodding for him to continue. You’re expecting something labor-intensive or gross, like cleaning his house or doing the hockey team’s laundry. 

“Could you drive me to and from my classes and practice?” he simply asks. “My parents live out of state, and my teammates’ schedules are always packed, so I kind of need someone to help me.” 

You blink at him. 

He blinks back. 

“You want me to drive you around?” you ask slowly. “In the same car I hit you with?” 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I’ll be in it this time, not in front of it.” 

You’re not sure if you should be impressed or concerned by his faith in your driving ability. 

“If you’re too busy then―”

“No, no! I can,” you quickly interject, “As long as you’re okay with it.” 

You still find it surreal how calm he is about everything. 

Donghyuck beams. “Perfect. Because I have practice in twenty minutes.” 

“Wait, you want to go to practice now? But shouldn’t you go home and rest?” 

“Eh, I’ll be fine. Even if I can’t play, I want to show up for moral support,” he replies nonchalantly. “Plus, I still haven’t told them that my leg is broken.”

You make a mental note to casually slip out of the room when that conversation takes place.

“Um, okay then,” you start hesitantly, “once you’re discharged, I’ll drive you there.” 

He gives you another grin, and it suddenly hits you that you’ve just committed a whole month of your life to chauffeuring the pride and joy of the hockey world. 

Then again, you’ve already hit him with your car, so surely nothing worse could happen.

Right? 

When Donghyuck is finally discharged from the ER, you help him hobble along to your car with his crutches and carefully into the passenger seat. You had already haphazardly swept all the empty water bottles, crumpled receipts, and miscellaneous trash under the backseat, so luckily, he doesn’t notice the absolute abysmal state of your vehicle. 

You play some music once you hit the road, and he hums along, tapping his uncasted foot to the beat. You, on the other hand, can barely hear the song. You keep your back ramrod straight and grip on the steering wheel so tight that your knuckles turn white, driving with the focus of a Secret Service agent escorting the President. 

“So, what’s your major?” Donghyuck asks jovially. 

“What?” you jolt. “Oh, um, communications.” 

“Oh cool,” he says, sounding genuinely interested. “What do you want to do when you graduate?” 

“Uh, just a typical 9-5 office job, I guess,” you answer half-heartedly. 

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you hurriedly continue, “I’m not a very ambitious person, as you can see. It probably sounds so mundane to a hotshot like you.” 

“You think I’m a hotshot?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

You give him a confused look. “Your face is literally plastered all over our school.” 

He shrugs like you have a point.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with mundane,” he continues reassuringly, “Besides, I doubt a communications degree would entail a super flashy job or anything.” 

You shift in your seat, now feeling strangely defensive over a degree that you care nothing about. “Well, I could be, like, a PR manager for a celebrity or something.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you really want to clean up the messes of a bunch of entitled millionaires that would probably treat the gum stuck to their shoe better than you?”

You rack your brain for a clever retort and eventually give up when your silence drags on much too long for a quip, no matter how smart, to have any merit anymore. 

“No,” you finally admit, shaking your head like a toddler who just got caught doing something bad. 

“Aw, don’t look so down,” Donghyuck says, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “Don’t worry. If I become a professional hockey player, I’ll hire you.” 

Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “So when you become an entitled millionaire, you want me to clean up your messes while you treat the gum stuck to your shoe better than me?” 

“Ah, but you see,” he trails off dramatically, “the twist is that I’m going to remain my angelic self as always and then you won’t have any messes to clean up. You’ll basically just be paid for sitting around and doing nothing. It’ll be a nice, easy, cushy job. Perfect for someone with no ambition.” 

You laugh, leaning back in your seat. “How generous of you to offer a job to someone who almost killed you a couple of hours ago.”

“Bygones,” he says breezily. “What do you think? I promise I’ll treat you well.” 

Donghyuck puts his elbows on your center console and props up his face in his hands, batting his eyelashes at you. 

“I think the doctor might have given you too much morphine,” you reply, rolling your eyes. 

“Is that why I’m seeing so many shapes and colors?” 

You whip your head towards him in concern. 

“Just kidding.” He winks. 

“Not funny,” you grumble. 

“I think I heard your neck crack.” 

“Shut up.”

“Do you know what tech neck is?” 

“Are you always this annoying towards strangers?” you demand. 

“Oh come on, we’re not strangers anymore,” he insists. “We’ve become trauma bonded.” 

You actually can’t dispute that. 

“And are you always this chipper after sustaining a severe injury that inhibits your burgeoning career?” 

“Only when I have good company,” he replies smoothly. 

While your eyes are focused on the road, you can still see him through your peripheral vision. You know he’s looking at you, feeling his gaze like a beam of sunlight shining directly on your face (also probably why it feels so warm). He has one arm on the center console, covering his mouth with his palm, but you can tell he’s smiling by the way his animation-like eyes crinkle in the corners and how his cheeks are puffed up.

You’re not sure how to respond to a joke like that; rather, you’re not really sure how to respond to Lee Donghyuck at all. 

“Oh, we’re here!” you announce, sounding a little too relieved when you see the skating rink right up ahead. 

Much to your surprise, you do an amazing job at parking, carefully easing into the lines with a doctor’s precision. Performance anxiety really does make a person thrive.

You quickly get out and grab the crutches from the backseat before going over to the passenger side door, where Donghyuck is balancing on one foot as he tries to exit the car on his own. 

“Be careful,” you scold, immediately grabbing his arm and looping it around your shoulder. “Wait for me to come get you. I’m supposed to be helping you.” 

“But I want to look cool in front of you,” he replies sheepishly. “Want you to see my swagger when I walk.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hand him his crutches and hold him steady until he’s able to stand on his own. Even though he insists that he’s fine now, your arms still hover by his side, ready to catch him at any moment if he slips. 

Just as the two of you are about to reach the entrance of the rink, you see another guy walking towards it as well. He’s carrying a hockey stick covered in tape and a giant duffel bag that isn’t zipped fully, overstuffed with what you can only presume to be hockey gear. His red and blue jersey has the number 2 and the name ‘LEE’ printed on the back of it. 

Hearing your shuffling footsteps, he glances over and catches Donghyuck’s eye before doing a double take when he realizes that the latter is in a cast. 

“Dude, what the hell?” he gawks, marching right over to Donghyuck. “What happened to your leg?” 

“Mark, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Mark,” Donghyuck quickly introduces the two of you, ignoring Mark’s question completely. Mark gives you a confused wave before turning back to Donghyuck and raising his eyebrow. 

“Anyways, Y/N hit me with her car,” Donghyuck explains casually.

You gasp, nearly punching him in the arm but holding back just in time because a) he’s already injured and b) he’s right. You just wish he didn’t say it like that. 

Mark’s expression grows more bewildered when he looks at you. “Why? I mean, I know he’s annoying and a bit of an eyesore, but he’s still a pretty good guy…” 

“Accidentally,” you clarify through grit teeth. “It was an accident.” 

“Oh okay,” Mark nods as if everything suddenly makes sense now. “You know Coach is gonna lose his shit, right? We have a month before playoffs.” 

You let out a small squeak of fear even though Mark isn’t talking to you anymore. 

Donghyuck certainly never mentioned that. Your guilt only grows tenfold; of course, you couldn’t just hit this prodigy player on any random Tuesday. You had to hit him right before the playoff games that determine the championship. 

“Yeah, well,” Donghyuck mumbles, shrugging. “At least you boys will be treated to a nice show.” 

Mark snorts before grabbing the handle to the door and holding it open for the two of you, gesturing for you to walk in first. You feel both of their expectant gazes on you, waiting for you to move, but your feet feel like they’ve been bolted in place. 

“What’s wrong?” Donghyuck asks, shifting all his weight onto one crutch so he can lean forward and look at your face. “Are you feeling sick?” 

“You could say that,” you mutter, “I suppose the crippling fear of being skinned alive by your coach might be the reason why I’m so nauseous and sweaty.” 

“Don’t be afraid,” he reassures you, puffing up his chest. “I’ll protect you!” 

“How are you going to protect me?” you demand. “You’d last three seconds against him with that leg and then we’d both just die.” 

“You could use him as a human shield,” Mark suggests. “Just throw him at the Coach as a distraction and then run away.” 

“No,” you sigh. “He’s too heavy with that cast. I can’t lift him.”  

“Ack,” Donghyuck gargles dramatically, “Did you hear that? That was the sound of a knife entering my back. Et te, Brute?” 

“It’s Et tu, genius,” you correct, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, dumbass. Didn’t you read Julius Caesar in high school?” Mark sneers. 

“Sorry that I was cool in high school, ” Donghyuck retorts, “Get out of my way, nerds.” 

You chuckle as he hobbles past you and shoves Mark on the way, heading into the rink at a snail’s pace. After lightly bullying Donghyuck, you feel much more relaxed than before. Even though you’re still terrified of the reactions you’ll be met with later, you decide to finally gird your loins and step foot into this godforsaken place.

Donghyuck and Mark kindly give you an informal tour as you make your way down to the skating rink, pointing out the locker rooms and where the student section is in the seats. It astounds you that you’re only a couple quarters away from graduating and yet you’ve never been here before. You have some friends who are fans or just show up to ogle hot players, and they’ve invited you to games, but you’ve just never really cared about the sport in general.

How ironic, you think to yourself and stifling a slightly hysterical giggle. 

The rest of the team are doing warm-up exercises on the ice, and you notice the burly-looking coach watching over them with a hawk eye and a whistle in his mouth, arms crossed. His face is turned downwards in an extremely scary scowl. 

Your palms start to grow sweaty and your footsteps become heavier again, and Donghyuck seems to notice instantly, turning around and giving you a wink. 

“I got this,” he says coolly. 

You watch Donghyuck confidently swagger (as best as he can) towards the coach, who looks at him like he just saw a ghost, all the blood draining from his face. The coach’s mouth hangs wide open, the whistle slipping out of his mouth and hitting his chest. 

The sounds of the blades of the skates skidding across the ice come to a sudden halt as everyone in the room stares at the cast on Donghyuck’s leg and slowly starts to register what that means. 

“Heeey, Coach!” Donghyuck walks up to him and does jazz hands like an idiot. “What’s kickin’? Haha, not me!” 

And you realize that Donghyuck does not, in fact, got this. 

You might as well just grab a shovel and start digging your own grave. 

“Lee Donghyuck, stop dicking around and get your ass on that ice now. I don’t have time to deal with another one of your pranks. Not when playoffs—”

Donghyuck, the little arsonist who likes to dump fuel on the fire he is, takes out the X-rays of his broken bone from his pocket and proudly presents it to the coach. 

“What the hell did you do?” The coach asks after staring at the X-rays like they had complex quantum physics equations written on them. 

“I got hit by a car?” Donghyuck answers sheepishly, holding his arms out as if he were announcing something grand. 

You watch as the gears start falling into place in the coach’s head.The blood that had drained from his face earlier suddenly comes rushing back, and you’re surprised steam doesn’t come out of his ears.

“Did I or did I not tell you to not act like a little shit before playoffs? I asked you to behave for just once in your life and then you go and get yourself hit by a car!” The coach hollers, fuming. “What, did you finally piss someone off enough? Who hit you? I want to meet them and ask why they didn’t just kill you right off the bat. You’re of better use to me dead because then at least I would be sad for you. What the hell am I supposed to do with you now? Limping around like a three-legged dog.”  

“Aw, Coach, you’d be sad if I died?” Donghyuck sniffles. Judging by his reaction, you can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been chewed out by the coach before. Despite the coach's harsh words and tone, it’s clear that he has a strong familial bond to his players. 

“Get out.” 

“I get that you’re mad, but it’s kind of rude to compare my gait to a three-legged dog’s, as adorable as they may be. Admittedly, my swagger is kind of off, but I’d prefer you call it something with a little more pizazz. Like ‘fracture swagger’ or—”

“Get out!” The coach hurls his whistle at Donghyuck’s head.

Even with his injury, his athlete instincts kick in and he dodges it with ease. 

On the other hand, you—who had sneakily slipped behind Donghyuck without him noticing in an attempt to hide yourself—not so much.

Luckily, the metal whistle doesn’t hit your face, but the lanyard it’s attached to slaps you across your cheek like a whip. You let out a yelp, but it’s not really out of pain. It’s more out of surprise and terror of being on the receiving end of the coach’s wrath.

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks immediately, looking way more concerned than he should be. “Did it hit you in the eye?” 

“Nope. I’m totally good,” you answer a little too quickly, nodding like a bobblehead.

He hesitantly reaches over but drops his hand right as his fingers brush your jaw. Turning away stiffly, his concerned expression quickly morphs into a glower. 

“Coach,” he says, all humor draining from his tone. “Apologize.” 

Donghyuck lowers his voice, but the weight of his words loom in the air like a rumbling storm cloud—the ones you see on weather satellites that eventually amasses into a hurricane. 

“I’m…sorry,” the coach stammers, clearly taken aback. 

You feel like all of the air is being sucked out of the room, so you just give him an awkward thumbs-up. 

Another beat of silence passes by before the coach snaps out of his surprise and yanks Donghyuck by the ear. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me with that attitude, little brat. Especially after the stunt you pulled today. Who the hell is she anyways?”

“Owie,” Donghyuck whines, pawing at the coach’s wrist before finally being released. “Oh, that’s Y/N.” 

As if it were just a blip in time, that unimaginable pressure dissipates in an instant. He goes back to his mischievous self so smoothly that you wonder if you had just imagined everything before. 

“Hello,” you greet, trying your best to smile naturally even though it probably looks like you’re just opening your mouth and showing your teeth. 

“She’s the one who hit me with her car—”

In that moment, the gods suddenly decided to grant you the same athlete instincts that Donghyuck is graced with because you lunge forward in a blur, slapping a hand over his mouth. The clap reverberates throughout the whole rink, but you just smile sweetly. 

“Accidentally. It was an accident. I’ll be driving him around until his leg heals.” 

It takes another second for the coach to register what you mean, and you brace for the worst, expecting another object to go hurtling towards you—this time with intent. 

Instead, the coach glances at Donghyuck before looking back at you, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“Welcome to the team, I guess.” 

Despite your initial qualms, you adjust to your new norm pretty quickly. 

In fact, it’s kind of surreal how suddenly you were thrust into Donghyuck’s world and how perfectly the pieces of your life and his mesh.

He’s a morning person, so he’s always ready and lively when you pick him up at 7AM, even if you’re running late. But no matter how late you are, the two of you always get coffee first. It’s become a routine that actually makes you look forward to waking up at the ass crack of dawn. 

Your classes also end an hour earlier than his, so you have time to grab food for the two of you before screaming Taylor Swift song lyrics together at the top of your lungs in your car on your drive to practice. You watch all of the practice and official games with him, and he tries his best to explain what’s happening, though the terminology mostly flies over your head. You’re on first-name basis with all of his teammates and even managed to ingratiate yourself with the coach by offering to help him fill up water bottles. Everyone treats you as if you were part of the team; though they were already a completed puzzle, they softened their edges to make room for your mismatched piece. 

It’s unnerving how attached you grow to them—to Donghyuck—since it will all go away in a month. You feel like you’re a part of something here; Donghyuck makes you feel special, as if he’s made a place just for you in his life.

You suppose time truly flies when you’re having fun because, before you know it, three weeks have already passed by.

The team’s last official game before playoffs is finally here. 

When you pick Donghyuck up to take him to the game, you can tell he’s a bit off today. He still puts on a brave face and tries to goof off like he normally does, but you know he’s nervous by the way he’s nervously tapping his uncasted foot to the music. In fact, you’ve been sensing his growing anxiety at the past games for a while now. The team has been holding their own relatively well without him, but their momentum has definitely started to slow as they get closer to playoffs. 

You can’t really blame him for getting antsy; he may have been eerily calm and in good humor when he first got injured, but you’ve realized that his playful nature is often used to deflect from his actual feelings. You used to think he did it to push other people away, but it’s really so he doesn’t crumble under the weight of the immense pressure he puts on himself.

You won’t mention it, of course, since you’re probably not supposed to know that. 

Instead, you turn the music up as loud as it’ll go and grab his hand, yelling at the top of your lungs, “You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless!” 

Donghyuck tries to sing with you, but his voice catches in his throat and cracks. 

Oh, that’s another thing about him—he can dish it but he can’t take it. He’ll flirt with you like there’s no tomorrow, as if he were a corny protagonist from a dollar store romance novel, but the moment you get too close to him or brush his arm as you walk past him, he suddenly becomes petrified like he looked into Medusa’s eyes. He reacts like he couldn’t even fathom you reciprocating his flirting, and you’re not sure if it’s because he thinks you’re that much of a loser. Either way, it also makes you flustered in turn when he acts like that, so the two of you just end up awkwardly standing there like two embarrassed fools.

But this is different. This isn’t just simple flirting; this is…something else. 

So you squeeze his hand tightly and sing even louder, hoping it’s enough to drown out his worries even if for a little bit.

.

.

.

There’s only a minute left in the third period of the game, and the score is tied 3–3, but you can’t even focus on the game. 

You’ve never seen this kind of expression on Donghyuck’s face before.

Despite the fact that he’s sitting right next to you, you can tell by the glisten in his eyes that he’s feeling all of the emotions that his teammates on the ice are. Hockey usually brings out a boyish energy in him, as if he were a child full of wonder. Yet here, he looks down at the rink with a wistfulness, a sense of longing. A homesickness. 

So when the opposing team scores a last-minute goal, followed by the blaring buzzer that signals the game is over, you know that Donghyuck is blaming himself for the end of his team’s winning streak—when he should be blaming you for hitting him with your goddamn car. 

He was born to be on the ice, to be a champion. He doesn’t belong here in the stands, to be a spectator on the sidelines. 

That role has always been meant for you. 

You don’t realize you’re crying out of frustration until the tears hit the back of your hand, the warmth a stark contrast to the chilly temperature of the rink. Donghyuck turns to you to say something and jolts in alarm when he sees your state. 

“Wha…What’s wrong?” He leans in closer when you try to turn away, grasping your forearm gently. “Are you not feeling well? Do you feel sick? Is it too cold? Do you want my jacket?” 

You shake your head, trying to choke down the ugly sob in your chest. 

“Is it because we lost?” He asks hesitantly. “Don’t cry, Y/N. I’m gonna recover in a jiffy, and we’ll breeze through the playoffs—”

You shove him weakly before the wail you’ve been holding back rips through your throat like projectile vomit. Fat tears fall freely from your cheeks, and you’re pretty sure snot is dripping from your nose. “You’re an idiot!” 

Donghyuck stares at you in bewilderment before slowly saying, “Well, I can’t really dispute that, but may I ask why?” 

“Stop being nice,” you blubber, “Just get upset because I know you are. It’s my fault that everyone lost. You should just cuss me out or something. Or punch me in the nose. How about you hit me with your car to make things even, huh?” 

You’re far too gone to know what you’re saying anymore, just blurting out your stream of consciousness. 

“You want me to hit you with my car because we lost one game?” Donghyuck laughs. He gazes at you with a mix of disbelief and awe—the same way he looked at you when you first met him. You wonder if his eyes warmed with adoration like this the first time too.

“—and you’re supposed to be the protagonist while I’m just a side character. Me hitting you with my car derailed the canon event of your undefeated season. I ruined your life—” 

“Okay, okay,” he finally interrupts your nonsensical rambling, brushing the tears from your face with his thumbs before dabbing away the snot from your nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying, so no more of that.” 

But you’re inconsolable, holding your head in your hands. “It’s all my fault. I’m the reason you lost. The team lost because you weren’t there.” 

“You know, going by that logic, that means you’re also the reason why they won the last couple of games without me,” he points out. “So, I guess that means I should also cry and thank you.”

“What? That makes no sense—” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Donghyuck says softly, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone, running along it with a feather touch. “For crying for me. For comforting me.” 

“You’re so full of shit,” you sniffle, swatting his hand away in annoyance. “You’re the one comforting me right now. I haven’t done anything to comfort you. ” 

“You’d be surprised,” he whispers underneath his breath, but his words are lost among the bustle of the packed rink. 

Not that you would’ve heard him anyways.

Now that you think about it, there really hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done for him other than driving him around, but that doesn’t count. You want to do something for him—something that would make him look the way he does when he’s excitedly telling you about a good hockey play that you didn’t understand but nod along anyways to. 

And you have just the idea. 

part ii. hey girl are you the american healthcare system? because i’ll be indebted to you for the rest of my life <3

You drum your fingers in against your steering wheel in anticipation as you wait for Donghyuck’s last class of the day to end. When you see him walking out of the building and to your car, you try to act cool, but it’s hard when you’re literally bouncing in your seat. 

Naturally, Donghyuck notices.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he teases as he buckles himself in. “Did you do well on that statistics quiz from last week or something?” 

You’re surprised he even remembers that; you had only mentioned it in passing. 

“No way. I definitely failed that,” you dismiss, waving your hand to shoo off the negative energy if that cursed quiz. “I have a gift for you.” 

“For lil’ ol’ me?” He gasps loudly, covering his mouth and fanning his face.

Ignoring his theatrics, you whip out your phone from your back pocket and present it to him proudly. “Ta-da!” 

“Wow,” he claps politely. “You finally got your screen replaced. I was worried you would slice your thumb with how cracked—”

“Shut up,” you cut him off, “You just ruined my dramatic reveal.” 

Unlocking your phone, you go to your photo album and show him the video you took a couple days ago. “Look! I asked your coach which team you guys would be up against first in the playoffs and did some old-fashioned espionage by sneaking into one of their games and filming everything. Your leg is healing pretty fast, so I figured you’d want to study their playstyles before you got back on the ice.” 

Much to your satisfaction, Donghyuck seems genuinely surprised. He gingerly takes the phone from your hand and presses play on the video, and you see that spark in his eyes that you so desperately missed. 

Eagerly leaning on the center console, you point out of the players and say, “You see Number 30? I’m pretty sure that guy is the you of his team. He scored three goals in one game—oh wait, you told me that’s called a ‘hat trick.’ Anyways, he did a hat trick, and the last goal actually won them the game. So we have to make sure to tell the team to watch out for that guy. Oh my God, and halfway through the game, Number 21 and Number 4 started fighting! Dropped their gloves on the ice and started punching each other while the referees just watched. I know you said fighting is allowed in hockey, but it was still wild to see in 4K like that. Hold on, let me fast forward to show you—” 

When you glance over at him, Donghyuck’s face is about four inches away from yours, and he isn’t paying attention to the video at all. You’ve never seen this kind of expression on Donghyuck’s face before. If hockey brings out a boyish joy in him, then you wonder what this is. 

He gazes at you with a mellow softness, as if you were a moment of peace from the glaring stage lights, screaming crowds, and thunderous applause. Like you were a cloud of warmth enveloping him after braving through the unforgiving cold of the ice. He looks at you with a sense of longing—but it’s different from the way he looked at the game. That was wistfulness, a homesickness. A responsibility that he bears. 

This is reverie, a daydream. A moment of escape. 

Suddenly, your arms, which had been holding most of your weight on the console, give out. Your shoulder smacks into his, jostling the two of you out of whatever trance you had been under. Recoiling at supersonic speed, your face burns as your sputter, “J-Jesus, you scared me! Why aren’t you watching the video and just staring at me like the blue-eyed Miley Cyrus meme?” 

Donghyuck drags a hand down his face, and you see his ears turn a bright red. “S-Sorry. I didn’t even notice I was doing it—Hey! That’s rude. I’ll have you know that I’m often told that I have innocent Bambi doe-eyes.” 

You know he’s trying to give you an out by cracking a joke, and you’re grateful. Any more of that and your heart would’ve jumped out of your mouth. 

“Whatever. Just watch the video. I worked really hard to get it, you know. I even wore one of those oversized hoodies and giant sunglasses with a scarf to hide my face so I couldn’t be incriminated.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You wore sunglasses inside? What are you, a Republican?” 

“Do you want the video or not?” you snap.

“Hey, you can’t give me a gift and then threaten to take it back,” he retorts before quietly continuing, “Thank you, Y/N.” 

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his sincerity. 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble.

On the drive to the skating rink, neither of you notice that there isn’t any music playing—too distracted by the butterflies in your stomachs. 

.

.

.

When you pull into the parking lot, you spot Mark getting out of his car. Desperate to escape this suffocating enclosed space with Donghyuck, you nearly tumble out of the door after him.

“Oh, look, there’s Mark,” you say hurriedly, “I’ll show him the video too.” 

“Wait, Y/N—” Donghyuck calls, trying his best to hobble after you. 

Mark spots you in his peripheral and stops, waiting for the two of you to catch up. 

“Why are you running?” Mark asks when you jog up to him. “If you’re trying to get away from Donghyuck, all you need to do is power walk. Or you could hit him with a car again and break this other leg.” 

“Very funny, dickwad,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “And to think I did you a favor.” 

“You did?” He looks confused, but you’ve realized that he always perpetually looks confused. 

You go to show him your phone, but Donghyuck finally catches up and squeezes in between the two of you. “Wait, I need to talk to Mark—” 

“Hold on a sec, dude. Let me see this first. I’m curious now,” Mark huffs. 

“I asked Coach which team you guys would be up against first in the playoffs and snuck into their game to film it, so you could watch it and learn their tricks,” you announce proudly. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Mark replies breezily, “We already have recordings of a bunch of their games.” 

You slowly lower your phone, nearly letting it slip out of your hand. 

“What?” 

“Donghyuck didn’t tell you? We always review our opponents’ games before playoffs,” Mark explains, glancing between you and Donghyuck and realizing a beat too late that he said something he wasn’t supposed to. “Oh, I guess he didn’t, huh…”

“You have literal shit for brains, Mark Lee,” Donghyuck says through grit teeth. “How many years have we played together and you still can’t take a hint?” 

“Sorry! I thought Y/N knew—”

“Just go,” Donghyuck sighs, shaking his head. 

Mark runs away so fast that he almost leaves a puff of smoke in his wake like a Looney Tunes cartoon. Once he’s gone, Donghyuck cards a hand through his hair and turns to you with an apologetic look on his face. 

“Y/N—” 

“You could’ve told me,” you say quietly. “Instead of making me look like an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” he responds almost immediately. “You just looked so happy, and it made me happier, so I kept quiet. Besides, the video does help.” 

You laugh bitterly. “In what way? Was it funny watching me get all excited like a fool, thinking I had actually done something for you?” 

“Why are you being so harsh on yourself?” Donghyuck asks, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I mean it. The video really does help.” 

“I’m not being harsh on myself. I’m telling the truth. All I’ve done is just screw up your life, and when I try to help even a little bit, it just hinders you more,” you say in frustration. 

You’re not sure how the atmosphere grew so somber, but you suppose that's the energy you’ve always brought to  him. You’re just a dark rain cloud to his sunny skies. 

“Come on,” Donghyuck says, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards your car. “Let’s go to the mall.” 

“What? Why? What about practice?” you ask, completely caught off-guard by his seemingly out-of-nowhere suggestion. 

“Coach won’t even notice that we’re not there, and if he does, he’ll get over it,” Donghyuck replies. “Now come on.” 

“But I don’t want to go to the mall,” you say petulantly, pouting like a child and wanting to wallow in your own misery. 

“We’re going.”

“You know you can’t go anywhere without me driving you, right?” 

“Then you better hurry up and get in your car unless you want to unleash this traffic hazard onto the streets,” Donghyuck says, pointing to his leg. 

The two of you have a staredown before you finally relent, begrudgingly getting into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. He beams at your silent agreement to go, and you’re suddenly not as upset as you were earlier, though you still maintain a pissy expression because you’re dramatic.

Luckily, the mall is about a fifteen minute drive from the university, so you get there rather quickly. You wait for Donghyuck to explain why he randomly insisted on this impromptu trip, but he keeps mum about it, simply leading you to the lowest floor of the mall—where the skating rink is. Other than the handful of staff who are all either on their phones or hiding in the break room, the two of you are the only ones here since it’s the afternoon during a weekday. 

“So we left that skating rink to go to another skating rink?” you ask wryly. 

“Yup. Wait here,” Donghyuck says, leaving you in the changing area while he goes to the front desk. You awkwardly sit at a bench and twiddle your thumbs until he comes back with a pair of skates in hand.

“What are you doing? I know the doctor said you can walk on your leg now, but he definitely did not say you could skate,” you scold. 

“Good thing I won’t be skating,” he answers nonchalantly, handing you the pair of skates. “I didn’t know your exact shoe size, but these should fit.” 

“No way,” you shake your head. “Nuh-uh. I haven’t skated since I was, like, seven.” 

“Well, you’re about to receive a lesson from a damn good teacher,” he says, nudging your foot. “Hurry up and put them on.” 

“How are you going to teach me with that giant walking boot? Are you just going to get on the ice without any skates?” you demand. 

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he counters, “It’s not like the staff are going to call me out.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you sigh. Nevertheless, you slip your shoes off and put the skates on. “And I still don’t think you should be on a slippery surface even if you’re not skating.”

“And I don’t understand why you’re getting a communications degree with you when you have a PhD in nagging,” Donghyuck teases. 

“You’re a douche,” you say, giving the laces on your skates one final tug before standing to your feet, albeit wobbly as you try to remember how to keep your balance on the blades. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Donghyuck offers to hold your hand as you make your way to the entrance of the rink, but you quickly swat him away in fear of dragging him down with you if you fall and injuring him further. 

Your legs tremble like a newborn fawn when you finally step foot onto the ice, clinging onto the side railing with a vice grip. Donghyuck, despite his five-pound walking boot, comfortably walks onto the ice and maneuvers around as if he were uninjured. 

“Is this some sort of sick humiliation ritual? Is this how you’re going to get your revenge on me, by having me bust my ass on this ice?” you ask, voice wavering like just the rest of your body. 

“And you say I’m a drama queen,” he mutters. “Why do you always think of such dark scenarios? You were like this when we first met too. You just assumed I was dead first before asking if I was okay.” 

“I like to assume the worst,” you reply matter-of-factly, “Lowers my expectations. Makes my life a lot easier.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure it does,” he says sarcastically before gently grasping your wrists and carefully dragging you away from the railing. “Now stop hiding in the corner like a small injured animal. There’s only room for one injured animal, and that’s me.” 

“No, no, no. I’m going to fall,” your voice slowly escalates into shriek as your nails dig into his forearms. The ice is too slippery, too slick, and you feel your knees start to buckle as you lose your balance. 

But you don’t fall. Instead, Donghyuck wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him, keeping you upright even with your jelly legs. You feel the taut cord of muscle in his arm flex as he holds you, and he sucks in a sharp breath when your chest presses to his. Your breath comes out in labored white puffs from the temperature, and you curl your fists into his shirt, clinging onto him for dear life because you know you’ll crumple to the ground if he loosens his grip even a little bit. 

Even though your mind is whirring with a million thoughts and you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack, your body reacts naturally to him, curving to fit with his just right. The warmth of his calloused fingers splayed across the small of your back anchors you, and you feel so secure in his arms; he cradles you against him as if you were made of glass. 

“I got you,” he reassures you, his breath rustling your baby hairs. “Okay?” 

You give a small nod, and he takes a small step back. And another. And another. 

Slowly but surely, he manages to pull you to the center of the ice, where the logo of the mall is printed. 

“Do you remember what position I play, Y/N?” Donghyuck asks, leaning back so that he can look at your face. 

Now that you’ve regained some strength in your legs and have grown a bit more comfortable on the ice, you start to relax your grip on his poor shirt. You even manage to tear your eyes away from your feet to meet his gaze.

“Center,” you answer. A fitting title, indeed. 

“So you’re not just a black hole of hockey information, after all,” he sniffs. “I’m so proud.” 

“Get to your point quickly,” you warn. 

“So impatient,” he tuts before breaking out into a smug beam, “You’re standing right where I usually am at games.” 

“You dragged me all the way out here to flex?” you gawk in disbelief. 

“Of course not!” He raises an eyebrow.. “But are you impressed?” 

“Take me back, you ass.” 

“Kidding,” he quickly says, stifling a laugh, but you still feel it rumble in his chest. 

“Why are we here, Donghyuck?” you ask again, exhausted. 

He pauses, and everything goes perfectly still. 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve stood here in a month,” he muses, almost unaware that he’s  speaking aloud. “This is the first time I’ve been on ice in a month.” 

“Well, you were injured—” 

He shakes his head. “Hockey players play with worse injuries than this constantly. If I had really wanted to get back on the ice, I would’ve done it.” 

You don’t say anything. 

Donghyuck looks around the empty skating rink. “It’s big, isn’t it?” 

You follow his line of sight and scan the vast expanse of the ice. From a distance, it doesn’t seem so big, but the ice feels like it stretches on for miles when you’re standing in the middle. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“I thought so for a while too. Trying to get to the goal felt like climbing Mount Everest. I loved that feeling of the cold air freezing my lungs, the air getting thinner as I got closer,” he describes before trailing off. “But one day, the rink felt like it was shrinking, closing in on me. I was being chased instead of the other way around. Centers cover more ice surface than any other player, but I was being held down. Anywhere I skated wasn’t far enough. But that didn’t matter. I had a championship to win. A team that I couldn’t let down. Scouts that I had to impress. A talent that I worked my entire life for. A career that people would kill for. It didn’t matter that I felt like I was suffocating every time I put on my uniform.” 

Your first reaction is to say something, anything to comfort him, but his expression tells you that the best thing you can do right now is hold your tongue and just listen. 

“And as comical as it sounds, being hit by your car couldn’t have come at a better time for me. For the first time in my life, I was relieved that I didn’t have to play. Even though my career could’ve been over, I didn’t feel a thing. I just wanted to quit everything, but the thought of throwing my whole life away terrified me too. I thought maybe if I attended the practices and the games that it would make me want to get back on the ice, but it didn’t. It wasn’t the game that made me want to play again. When you cried for me after we lost—”

Donghyuck draws in a shaky breath. 

“I had forgotten what it felt like—to have someone cry so wholeheartedly for you. To be yelled at for pretending to be okay. To be seen. Being with you has made me realize that maybe my world isn’t so small after all—that it isn't collapsing in on itself like I thought. You make me feel free again.” 

He lifts his hand and brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. You watch as his eyes drag across your features, going from your eyelashes to the slope of your nose before lingering on your lips. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said your video helped,” he reiterates, “When you showed me your phone with that spark in your eye, it made me want to play hockey again. I want to see it the way you do. I want you to see me.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. The hand on your back brings you closer while his other hand reaches down and grabs your own. 

“I’m really glad you hit me with your car, Y/N,” he whispers, a bright laugh escaping his lips. 

That sentence cuts through war raging in your head, and you let out an involuntary snort, giving him a half-hearted shove. “Stop making it seem like I did it on purpose.” 

“That’s all you have to say after I just poured my heart out to you?” he asks, raising his eyebrow in amusement.

“No! I just…I’m thinking,” you mumble, head swimming with the scent of his fabric softener. The way he talked about you, the way he’s looking at you—doesn’t that mean he likes you? But that makes no sense. The two of you are…well, you’re not sure what you are. 

“About?” he hums, lacing his fingers through yours and playing with your hand. 

“I—I don’t know. You’re being very distracting,” you sputter. Has he always this suave? You distinctly remember how he would turn bright red whenever your hand would just accidentally brush against his, and now he’s grown so emboldened seemingly overnight. 

“I am?” He blinks innocently. 

And you know you’ve got it bad when you even find that somewhat adorable. 

“Okay, back up, buster,” you order, pushing yourself off him. “I need five feet between us, so I can properly think.” 

“Wait, Y/N—”

In your frazzled state, you forget that you’re wearing ice skates that you are very much incapable of standing upright in without Donghyuck’s help. You feel yourself beginning to tip backwards and shoot your arms out behind you to break your fall. 

Crack. 

“Yeah, it’s broken,” the same ER doctor from your last visit announces, flipping through yet another set of X-rays. “Not as clean of a break this time. Probably going to take at least twelve weeks to heal.” 

If you could put your head in your hands, you would, but your right arm is currently in a thick cast and hanging from a sling. Not to mention it hurts like a bitch. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Donghyuck winces, “It’s my fault. I should’ve caught you.” 

“No, it’s fine. This is divine retribution, I’m sure,” you sigh. 

“If I may ask, what exactly do you two get up to in your spare time?” The ER doctor looks from Donghyuck to you and then back to Donghyuck. 

“I actually decided to pivot to a career in amateur wrestling, and Y/N agreed to be my practice partner, and sometimes we get…experimental,” Donghyuck responds without blinking an eye. 

“No,” you snap. 

The ER doctor gives the two of you one last side eye before leaving, drawing the privacy curtain behind him. 

“Why do you always insist on embarrassing me in public?” you ask, shaking your head.

“I simply have a natural calling for it. Like Michaelangelo and sculpting,” he insists.

“I hate you.”

“Well, that’s a shame because I really, really like you,” he smiles. 

And you think he really, really means it too. 

You look away, still unsure of how to answer him. You know it doesn’t go unnoticed by Donghyuck, but he changes the subject anyways. 

“I guess it’s my turn to drive you around now,” he says in a sing-song voice. 

“How the hell are you going to do that with the boot?” you ask, giving him a dubious look. 

“I’m getting it off in two weeks,” he points out. 

“So you want me to miss two weeks of school?” 

“No,” he sniffs, “I’ll get Mark to drive us.” 

“Mark’s car is filthy!”

“Are you really one to talk?”

You shut your mouth after that.

.

.

.

The two weeks whizz by, and Donghyuck finally gets his walking boot removed in exchange for a much more discreet brace. The doctor even gave him the OK to play but only for short increments at a time and no more than ten minutes. 

With Donghyuck so focused on his recovery in addition to the fact that the two of you have been carpooling with Mark, you and Donghyuck haven’t really had a chance to properly talk alone since the mall—not to mention the fact that you’ve been avoiding him like crazy. It’s also pretty hard to think about anything else other than how much your arm hurts and how sweaty your cast gets. 

However, despite everything, you still show up to watch Donghyuck practice for his first playoff game. He texted you that he could pick you up in the morning, but the thought of being alone with him after all this time made you feel way too jittery, especially since you were still trying to sort your feelings out. In the end, you lied and said your arm hurt too much, skipped your classes, and told him a friend would drop you off in time for practice (you just called an Uber). Since you leave your house a bit late, practice has already started. 

You see Donghyuck doing laps around the rink, warming up. This is the first time you’ve seen him in his uniform in person, and you realize that this is how a hockey uniform is supposed to be worn. You’ve always thought that hockey players always looked a bit like the Michelin Man with how bulky their gear is, but Donghyuck looks like he belongs in a modeling catalog. 

This is so pathetic. He gives you a little bit of attention and now you’re fawning over him like you’re sixteen again. 

But it’s hard not to fawn when he looks so natural on the ice. Even though he’s not at his prime, the way he glides so smoothly across the rink and how he dribbles the puck with his stick all feel like second nature for him. Every move he makes seems purposeful, graceful. 

You make Donghyuck want to play hockey again? Impossible. 

Not when he belongs on the ice. 

But why does he hold you in such high regard? Why does he make you feel so special? He makes you feel like you belong with him. The spot beside him is not a place someone like you could ever dream of taking, yet he makes you want to. He makes you want to be selfish, to expect something. 

Even if he does like you, he can’t possibly like you more than you like him. He may have been reliant on you this past month, but you’re going to need him more than he would ever need you. 

The more you watch him on the ice, the more you feel like you’re looking at the banner of him on your way to statistics. He’s not really a person that you know anymore but a pillar. A pillar of everything that is out of reach to you. You’ve gotten to see a different side of him for a short period of time, but you’ll be nothing but a blot of the past once he’s fully recovered. He’s going to graduate college and become a professional player in the NHL. He’s going to make a name for himself. You’re just going to be in a cubicle for the rest of your life. 

The two of you make no sense. 

It’s easy to not want something that you’ve never had, but it’s so much harder to let go when you’ve been given a taste. 

It’s a sobering feeling—reality. 

“Y/N?” 

You startle, turning to see Mark. 

“Hi, Mark,” you say, voice wavering between octaves. 

“You’re here to see Donghyuck, right?”

“No, I—”

“Donghyuck!” Mark calls out loudly, cupping the sides of his mouth with his hands. “Y/N’s here!” 

You wince at the echo of his voice, but Donghyuck’s head shoots up when he hears your name. A huge grin breaks across his face, and he gestures for you to wait while he starts to skate off the ice, ripping off the bulkier padding of his uniform and taking off his helmet as he goes. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, making his way up to you. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well. How’s your arm?” 

“Fine,” you squeak out a bit too fast. 

“You don’t sound fine,” he points out, completely unconvinced. 

You curse yourself for being such a shitty liar, avoiding his gaze like a criminal being interrogated. You absolutely do not need him to psychoanalyze you when you’re in such a vulnerable state. 

You can feel Donghyuck’s knowing gaze sweep across your features. “This isn’t about your arm, is it? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” 

Your silence is confirmation enough for him. “Y/N, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. You’re under no obligation to like me back. If you want me to pretend like it never happened, I will, but please don’t—” 

You really don’t want to have this conversation here or ever, but you suppose you can’t exactly ignore it any longer. 

“I do like you back,” you say gingerly. “Much more than you know. Much more than you like me.”

He goes to protest, but you cover his mouth. You want to say it all at once because you know he’ll change your mind if you let him talk. 

“I’m not an ambitious person, Donghyuck,” you whisper. “I know when I don’t belong. There’s no place for me here. We only have a little bit before graduation, and then we’ll probably never see each other again.” 

His expression wrenches. He looks like he’s in more excruciating pain now than he did when he broke his leg.

“I know you say I always think of the darkest scenario, so I’ll try my best to be optimistic this time,” you continue. “Once you become a famous hockey player, treat me to a meal or something if you remember me. Or we could have a listening party when Taylor’s new album comes out if you still like her music by then. But I don’t think we’ll be any more than that. We can’t.” 

“Why?” he asks harshly, grasping your wrist and removing your hand from his mouth. “Why are you deciding that before anything has even happened?” 

“I’m trying to make your life easier, Donghyuck,” you say, exasperated. “So you won’t have any baggage when you leave here. You’ll forget about me in no time.” 

“You are so mean,” his voice cracks on the final word, “I wish you just told me you hated me.” 

“I’m so—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts coldly, and you’ve never heard him speak like this to you before. “Don’t apologize. Just—please just leave.” 

You know he’s crying by the way his shoulders shake when he turns away from you. He doesn’t return to the ice, instead opting to head back to the locker rooms. Every step he takes grows more and more sluggish, and you’re worried that his leg is giving him trouble. You watch his figure disappear behind the double doors and stand there silently, listening to the sound of a whistle cueing drills followed by the ice skate blades skidding across the ice. They’re noises that you’ve heard thousands of times over the course of the month, but you think you’re going to miss them a lot. 

You’re going to miss him. 

This is for the better, you keep telling yourself. 

Eventually, the words don’t even make sense anymore. 

Against your better judgment, you decide to attend the first playoff game.

You haven’t spoken to Donghyuck since you rejected him—is it really a rejection if there was nothing to reject in the first place?—but it doesn’t change the fact that you care about him more than anyone. You want him to succeed. You want to support him, even if that support is unwanted. 

You tell yourself that you’re going to be selfish one last time and then you’ll let him go. 

As to not be a distraction to him in case he somehow spotted you, you decide to wear the same attire you wore when you snuck into the opposing team’s game, sunglasses and all. Luckily, by the time you arrive, the rink is already packed to the brim since it’s Donghyuck’s comeback game. 

You find an area in the back to stand, lowering the brim of your hat to avoid any unwanted camera shots on the big screen. Shortly afterwards, loud music starts to blare from the speakers and you spot the team skating out on the rink. Donghyuck leads the line to wild applause from the crowd, and you clap along as well, but your stomach turns at how exhausted he looks. He smiles and waves for the cameras, but his face is pallor and there are deep bags underneath his eyes. 

This isn’t what you wanted. 

You wanted him to thrive, much more than he would’ve without you. You wanted him to forget about you and focus on his career. You wanted him to be okay. 

So why do you keep hurting him? 

You dig your nails into your palms as you watch him skate to the center and take his position. There’s a momentary hush that falls over the crowd as the referee holds the puck above him and the other center’s head before dropping it between them, and the game is off to the races. 

Donghyuck ends up playing for way longer than ten minutes, throwing all caution to the wind, but he moves like a lightning streak across the ice—scoring a hat trick before the first period is over. His momentum carries onto the last two periods as well as he absolutely demolishes the opposing team. He is especially persistent in hounding Number 30, the player you warned him about. You almost feel bad for Number 30 since he is most definitely on the receiving end of Donghyuck’s poor mood. 

With only ten seconds left in the third period, Donghyuck scores a buzzer beater and the winning goal of the night. The crowd is on their feet, clapping their hands and stomping their feet so strongly that the whole stadium shakes. 

You feel like crying again as you watch Donghyuck’s teammates descend on him in happiness. 

They don’t understand. 

He’s playing like he did before—like he’s being chased. Like he’s being slowly crushed between walls of the stadium. It’s a lifeless victory, and it’s your fault. 

You were wrong. 

He’s not okay. You hurt him more than any physical injury ever could. 

You should’ve just thrown yourself into his arms, your fears of being hurt be damned. You should’ve believed in him, believed in his feelings. You should’ve at least given him a chance to prove you wrong. You should’ve just allowed yourself to like him first and foremost. 

When you look back at the rink, you see a reporter making her way onto the ice with a camera crew. Donghyuck’s face is suddenly on every screen in the skating rink. 

“So how does it feel to score so big after being away for more than a month?” she asks, handing him the mic. 

Donghyuck looks up—past the reporter, past the cameras, past the audience, past the lights. 

He sees you. 

Even with your sunglasses on, you feel how piercing his stare is. The mist that had clouded his gaze the whole game dissipates almost instantly. His eyes shine clearly, and you see that spark that you thought you had single handedly stomped out. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, clutching the mic so tightly that his knuckles are white. “Hey, girl wearing the sunglasses inside like a Republican.” 

You freeze as the crowd starts to mutter to each other, confused as to what he means. 

“You lied to me. You said I would forget about you, but I see you even in my dreams. And now you’re here too. Why are you tormenting me?” he demands. 

You hurriedly start to make your way down the stairs and to the entrance of the rink, not wanting him to say something he would regret in front of a live audience. When he sees you coming down, he skates over to meet you. 

“You were wrong,” he continues. “I like you way more than you like me.” 

“Donghyuck, I—” 

“I’m an ambitious person,” he states. “I can be in love and be a professional hockey player. I know I can. I’ll have enough ambition for the both of us, so please be with me. You belong right here with me, Y/N.” 

You finally make it down to where he is, trying to catch your breath as he watches you, looking at you as if you were just a figment of his imagination. 

“I promise I’ll treat you well,” Donghyuck says softly, lowering the mic. You realize that he’s echoing the words he said to you the way you met him, and you wonder if you’ve been in love with him since then. 

There are so many things you want to say to him, an apology especially, but you decide to save those words for when the two of you are alone. 

Instead, you march right up to him, loop your sling over his neck so that your cast can rest comfortably on his shoulders before cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against his. 

It only takes him half a second to kiss you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off your feet. You can feel the tension physically leaving his body, as if he finally released a breath he had been holding for a long time. 

When you pull apart, you ignore the loud whooping and hollering of the crowd, leaning in just close enough so that only the two of you can hear what you’re about to say. Your lips brush against his again when you say:

“I’m really glad I hit you with my car, Lee Donghyuck.” 

“Wow, I must say, that was like a scene straight out of a romance movie!” The reporter gushes excitedly. “So how did you two meet?”

You and Donghyuck exchange glances.

“Well…”