Too old for you, darling ||Just a Wandering Eye I used to write stories but nowadays I find myself losing motivation. Now I just read for the fun of it.
Tags: Zoey/Reader, Streamer!Reader, Time Jumps, Mentioned Bullying, Crushing On Someone You Never Met, Various Video Game References,
This is more Zoey-focused than anything. If the ending half feels rushed, that's because it probably is. I enjoyed writing this one even if it's not necessarily the most cohesive.
WC: 7300
It all started with Zoey having a bad day.
That was a lie—that was an understatement. It was more than a bad day. A bad week. A bad month. A bad life.
School was filled with classmates who made fun of her for the ‘weird lunches’ her mom sent her to school with, teasing her because of her interests, teachers disappointed because she wasn’t doing as good as they expected of an Asian kid.
Home was filled with the cold wars between her parents, passive aggressive remarks back and forth until it boiled over into arguments and screaming matches, each demanding that Zoey take their side against the other.
Today was supposed to be different.
She was supposed to go to the aquarium today. Her parents had promised that if she got an A on the next three tests, they’d take her. She’d studied so hard, worked so hard, got her A’s—
And then her parents started fighting in the car.
She didn’t even know what they had been fighting about, never understood what they fought about. Only that it had gotten so bad this time that her dad had turned the car around and took them back home.
Zoey had tried to ask him, tried to beg him to stop, that he had promised—and got yelled at in return.
And so she’d sulked back to her room while her parents continued to argue, trying to push down the hurt she felt. She had been looking forward to this trip; it was supposed to be the highlight of her week.
Had she done something wrong? Was that why they were fighting?
Crawling into bed, Zoey had dragged her laptop onto her lap and put on her headphones, seeking a distraction that could silence the arguing below, could make her stop thinking about the hollow ache in her chest.
It was by chance that she found your video. Zoey had meant to click on a different one, but with her vision blurry from the tears she was fighting back, she’d misclicked. She had been prepared to back out and go to the stream she had wanted, a tried and tested classic for when she was sad, when—
“Sorry, mommy, I’ll go faster, mommy.”
Zoey stopped, blinked back her tears, and stared at the screen in confusion.
On the screen was another teenager, probably no older than herself, playing a first-person…shooter? That looked like a gun on the screen. A really weird looking gun. Going down the stairs in a really trashed chamber with an elevator of junk.
You were grinning, laughing at your own joke as you moved down to the next level. The quality of your stream was—well, Zoey didn’t want to be mean and say it was bad, but…it was obviously beginner tier. Your camera and lighting wasn’t that great, your microphone had some bad quality to it, and it was pretty obvious you were in your bedroom from the clutter behind you.
The fact that Twitch showed you had less than a dozen viewers and your chat was empty more or less confirmed to her that you were new to streaming, your viewer base practically nonexistent. She’d been tempted to back out and go back to the original stream she’d planned to watch.
But there was something about the light in your eyes and that carefree grin that had Zoey stay.
[This next test involves the Aperture Science Aerial Faith Plate. It was part of an initiative to investigate how well test subjects could solve problems when they were catapulted into space. Results were highly informative: They could not. Good luck!]
“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll do my best!” you said, offering a salute before taking a look at your surroundings. Zoey realized then that this was some kind of puzzle game.
You shot a portal into the wall, and another onto a different wall, sending the camera into the water. “Don’t mind me, GLaDOS, I just thought you might like a closer look at this gnarly water you’ve got going on,” you said cheerfully. “You should really look into getting some filtration going.”
As you went onto the aforementioned ‘faith plate’ and were sent flying, the bubbling laughter you let out was infectious, even Zoey found herself chuckling a little. You took to ignoring the simple puzzle entirely for a few minutes in favor of just catapulting yourself back and forth.
Eventually you did get back to the puzzle, rewarded with the door opening and GLaDOS telling you about how the air you were breathing was not ‘real air’ but recycled carbon dioxide she freshened up. [So you’ll be breathing the same room full of air for the rest of your life. I thought that was interesting.]
You took it in stride, grinning, “That is interesting. I mean, I’m more interested to know how I’m still alive if I’m just breathing in scented carbon dioxide. But hey; its Aperture. We don’t need the science to make sense.”
Zoey continued to watch your stream, unaware of how much time was slipping by as you went through different levels of puzzles. Some of them you breezed through, some you struggled for quite a while with. Each one you clearly had fun with.
You were surprisingly funny, and you were chill. Even with the more difficult puzzles, you didn’t get frustrated, and you knew how to have fun with what was going on, poking fun at the game and at yourself in equal measures.
It was only when her mom called her down for dinner time that Zoey realized how long she’d been glued to the stream.
Zoey hesitated a moment, watching you step into the elevator for the next level, and then to her bedroom door. She didn’t want to just abandon the stream, especially with how much she had been enjoying it. But if she took too long, her mom would come banging on it, demanding she come down that instant.
She was being stupid, overthinking things, she knew that she was overthinking it. This was probably pointless anyway. But…mind made up; Zoey typed a quick message into the chat.
TurtlemonMaster: I’ve got to go eat dinner, but I’ve been having a lot of fun watching this stream <3
Before she closed out of the stream, Zoey hit subscribe.
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.
.
“Nazeem, I swear to the Nine that I will send you to the ‘Cloud District’,” you threatened between gritted teeth as your avatar kept bodychecking the NPC. Your voice was dripping with raw hatred.
Zoey couldn’t fight the grin on her face as you continued to threaten Nazeem, much to the delight of your chat.
She hadn’t been able to make it to the stream, and so she was instead catching up with the VOD instead—and how could she not enjoy you playing Skyrim of all games? It was a classic!
RavensBallad0712: Fus Ro Dah that mfer into the sun!
Kirbyoshi: Nazeem is the worst!!!
JameyTown: What quest you doing?
SanicsDawgs: The Cloud District aint shit! Plains District for life!
Zoey chuckled as the chat erupted with a mixture of complaints towards Nazeem, and idle chatter, questions, and random comments. The usual for your ever growing fanbase.
Eventually you left Nazeem alone, apparently remembering the whole reason you were in Whiterun as you ran to Belethor’s, intent to sell all the excess items you’d collected on your last few quests.
“We really are channeling our inner dragon,” you laughed as you scrolled through your inventory. “Literally snatching anything that’s not nailed down to hoard until we can carry nothing more.”
Zoey let out a soft snort as she laughed.
Her mom glanced over to her from the driver’s seat. “What are you laughing about?” she asked, and without waiting for Zoey’s answer, looked over to her phone. “Are you watching those stupid videos again?”
Your videos aren’t stupid, Zoey wanted to argue. Instead she shrunk back into her seat, feeling small. “…Yes.”
Scoffing, her mom returned her attention to the road. “Someone like that has no future ahead of them,” she stated. “That’s why you need to study hard in school and get into a good college, I don’t want you to waste your life on something pointless like video games like they do.”
Zoey didn’t answer, looking down at her phone’s screen again as you ran out of the city. She wouldn’t say you’ve wasted your life.
If anything, Zoey wanted to say you were doing pretty good for yourself.
You were around her age, and you’d already gone from the small handful of followers you had when she first found your channel to several thousand. Between the donations and the monetization, you were probably making a decent amount of money, too. It was clear just looking at the improvement in your streams just how well this was working put for you. Your setup was cleaner, your equipment better. Gone was the grainy camera and crackling microphone.
Not that her mother was ever going to understand that. She didn’t seem to care about anything if it didn’t involve ‘furthering Zoey’s academic future’. Because nothing else mattered beyond Zoey getting into a good college and getting into a good, well-paying career.
She wouldn’t understand—or care—about how much your videos helped Zoey. You brought a distraction when everything at school became too much. You provided comfort whenever she got dragged into the middle of the fights her mom and dad would have.
You were a light in her otherwise miserable life.
How sad must that be? One of the few comforting figures she had in her life was a person who didn’t even know her.
Her attention flickered back to the screen in her hands. You were running through the wilderness, laughing loudly at a joke someone in chat must have made, full of life and without a care in the world. Zoey wondered what that felt like.
Were your parents supportive of your streams? They must be if they let you continue for so long. Or did they just not care so long as you didn’t bother them? Were you happy with your life, or did you only pretend to be for the camera?
There were so many things Zoey wanted to ask you, things she wanted to know.
.
.
.
Zoey stormed into her room, slamming her door shut the moment she was inside. Her eyes were burning with tears she was fighting desperately to keep from falling.
Stupid school. Stupid classmates. Stupid parents.
All she wanted was to go to a dance. A school dance. A classmate had asked her to go as his date and she’d been so eager, so excited. A night with a new friend, having fun dancing, feeling pretty in the dress she’d begged her mom to buy her.
Of course it was too good to be true.
Someone wanting to take her to a dance? She should have known it was a prank from the very start.
And now here she was, stripping out of a punch-soaked dress while her parents argued downstairs over how she shouldn’t have even gone to the dance to begin with. As if this had somehow been her fault. Because of course it was. It was always her fault. If the other kids did something to her it was because she didn't do something right.
They weren't even married anymore, why did they have to keep yelling. Why couldn't her mom just turn around and go back to her home so they could stop screaming at each other. Zoey was tired of hearing them yell, she wanted it to stop, everything to stop.
“Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry,” Zoey hissed at herself as she pulled on her pajamas and collapsed into her bed, burying her face into the pillow.
She should have known there was no way any of the other kids was going to actually want to take her to the homecoming dance. Should have been suspicious from the start, but she’d been so excited, so hopeful that maybe someone did care about her.
The shouting below got louder, and Zoey patted around her nightstand until she found her headset, putting it on and taking out her phone.
Distraction. That’s what she needed, a distraction from everything.
As if sensing what she needed, the very first thing YouTube recommended was an ongoing livestream. Your livestream.
She didn’t think twice before tapping the stream.
Immediately, your laughter rumbled through her headset. Soft, warm as a summer day, warm enough to seep into her chest.
“Thirty new skeletons—and that is why Isra is the MVP,” you laughed. It seemed she’d joined the stream right as you had finished a battle in a turn-based strategy game, and you were eagerly going over your spoils of war. “Necropolis heroes are dangerously OP: who needs elementals when you can have legions of skeletons?”
Though her eyes still burned with the need to cry, a soft, genuine smile formed on her face as Zoey sank deeper into her blankets, watching on her phone as you clicked on the map, moving your hero to lay claim on a gold mine.
As the game progressed, you continued to talk about the game and your strategy for how you were going to conquer the other cities with nothing but thousands of skeletons to the chat, the games heroically upbeat background music matching your tone perfectly.
The sound of her parents fighting, yelling, the front door slamming shut as one stormed out was drowned out by your laughter and chatter.
A ding echoed through her headset, followed by a robotic voice reading off a donation message. You laughed, raising your bottle of water in toast. A 5-dollar donation meant you had to hydrate. Those were the sacred rules of the donations.
“Thanks for the donation, Mothbrain-15. And congrats on the A!” you cheered. Your smile, the joy in your tone was sincere, nothing like the glint of mischief and malice that your classmates carried with theirs tonight. “See, I told you that you’d pass. You’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
Chat blew up, a rapid fire of messages congratulating and praising Mothbrain for acing their history essay. There were so many messages that it was hard to keep up with.
Smile growing larger, Zoey adjusted her phone to rest against her pillows as she then pulled her large turtle plush into her arms, giving it a tight squeeze. You continued to talk with your chat, laughing and joking with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Already, she could feel the suffocating pressure in her chest ease, the vice-grip on her heart relaxing as she settled into the familiar comfort that was you.
You were nice.
You were so unfairly nice. She was sure that if she spoke up in chat, made her presence known rather than hide in silence, you’d welcome her with open arms like you did for everyone.
She was sure you’d listen to what she had to say. Really listen.
You wouldn’t make her feel like an unwanted burden. You’d tell her that she was enough just the way she was, that what she had to say mattered. You wouldn’t brush her off because you thought what she had to say was irrelevant.
You wouldn’t pretend to want to be her friend just so you could hurt and mock her.
It was a stupid, delirious thought of a heartbroken teenager, desperate for connection, desperate to feel wanted.
But Zoey clung to that thought like a lifeline as she watched you play, the sound of your voice more soothing for her aching heart than words could describe.
She fell asleep to the sound of your laughter.
.
.
.
It was one in the morning and Zoey couldn’t sleep.
She’d been tossing and turning in bed for the past few hours, and still she couldn’t sleep. How could she sleep?
She had impulsively signed up for a rap battle this weekend, and now Zoey’s mind was filled with doubt and anxiety.
It was a mistake. Where did she get off to think her stupid ramblings would be good enough? She was going to get laughed off the stage. People were going to have new reasons to bully her.
But deep down she was looking forward to it. A chance to show off her writing, her lyrics. Maybe they weren’t really as bad as her classmates said. Maybe they were actually good.
This could be fun. This could go terrible. She was excited. She was terrified.
Zoey hugged her turtle plush tight, burying her face in his soft shell, and tried for five more minutes to fall asleep before giving up and snatching her phone from her bedside table. Maybe she could find one of those quiet white noise videos to help her fall asleep—
She stopped and squinted at the screen, unsure if she was seeing things right.
Blinking against the bright light, her vision adapted and, no, she’d read the title. There right at the top of the app was your stream. Not usually weird, except you had a very clear schedule for streaming, and this was not it.
Surprise Sleepless Stream!!
Sleepless stream…? Were you having trouble sleeping, too? It was a strange thing to feel a connection towards, but Zoey felt her heart flutter a little at the thought that you’d both happen to have trouble sleeping at the same time.
She tapped on the video and popped her earbuds in, immediately being met with quiet Stardew music and your avatar on the docks fishing.
It was surprising to see the chat so slow for the first time in what felt like ages—but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Most of your viewers were probably in bed around now, too.
“The bar is just so tiny, it’s the size of the fish,” you pouted as you struggled with the mini game, “all this effort for a singular sardine? At least get me a sea cucumber.”
You cast the line and moments later, you got another bite. The fish no bigger than the last one. “This has to be another sardine. Or a herring,” you amended after a quick pause, noting that the fish was a bit more erratic than the sardine. “This is definitely herring behavior—”
It was an anchovy.
“I know nothing about fish, guys.”
Your tone of accepted defeat had Zoey snickering into her turtle plush.
She continued to watch you fish for a while longer. You caught a few more fish, ran around the town to talk to the different villagers, handing out gifts or completing quests, talking about this and that.
This stream was vastly more chill than your usual ones, your voice quieter—probably to avoid waking anyone up—and even the chat was calmer than usual.
Maybe it was because of how relaxed everything about this was, maybe it was because Zoey was so tired already that she couldn’t stop herself. Maybe it didn’t matter what the reason for her actions were.
She tapped at the text box and typed in the chat.
TurtlemonMaster: What’s with the late-night stream?
You paused in whatever you were saying to Clint to read over the chat, and Zoey could have swore your smile grew wider. “Oh? Oh! Turtlemon, I haven’t seen you in the chat in ages.”
What?
Zoey had only ever talked in chat the one time, did…had you remembered her all this time? It’s been almost two years. Her face was burning. You remembered her from that one message, what did that mean???
“And to answer your question; insomnia is a royal bitch,” you said with a sing-song tone. Several others in your chat piped up in agreement.
Zoey hesitated a moment, but—you were talking to her. It was an invitation to continue. You might think she didn’t like you if she went silent.
TurtlemonMaster: I know that feeling. That’s why I’m still up, too.
“Hooray, another for the insomnia club,” you let out a long yawn before flashing a grin to the camera—to Zoey, she wanted to think. “I’d say we have t-shirts, but that’d be a lie.”
She was talking to you, this felt surreal. Had she fallen asleep, was she just dreaming she was talking to you? That had to be, right? There was no way this could be real.
And still, Zoey wanted to pretend that it was.
TurtlemonMaster: What are you doing? In the game?
“A bit of this and a bit of that," you said, mimicking the tone of a Skyrim shopkeeper. "I’ve no real goal at the moment, just chilling,” you shrugged, your sprite dashing across the screen. “Felt like the best way to pass the wee hours of the night was with something as relaxing like Stardew Valley.”
SharkeyMarkey: Stardew Valley is NOT relaxing!!
PikaPika: “Relaxing” as if you’re not on a constant time crunch keeping this village alive.
Nimzo: Excuse me? You were fighting for your life against that snapper earlier.
Chat continued to flip out, calling you out for the audacity to call the farming game ‘relaxing’, and Zoey couldn’t help but muffle a laugh at the messages as they roasted you to hell and back.
Chat continued to flip out, calling you out for the audacity to call the farming game ‘relaxing’, and Zoey couldn’t help but muffle a laugh at the messages as they roasted you to hell and back.
You continued to talk, to your chat, to Zoey—and she continued to talk back. Messaging you in chat, talking to other watchers, feeling more and more relaxed by the minute.
When you returned to your farm, Zoey wanted to say, for the record, that she did not flip out seeing you had a pet turtle in a cute lil panda hat shuffling around. The chat replays in the following VOD are lies.
As the stream went on, it became harder and harder for her to keep her eyes open and Zoey found herself falling asleep to your stream, feeling lighter in her chest and smiling.
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.
.
The rap battle ended up a huge success.
Not only did Zoey win the contest—which that alone would have had her riding a high for the entire night—but Celine was there. The Celine of the Sunlight Sisters. Her idol, her favorite singer ever, her celebrity crush, that Celine.
And she had impressed Celine. More than just impressed, had blown her socks right off with how good Zoey was. So much so that she wanted Zoey to be part of a new idol group she was making.
Next thing she knew, she was in Korea, meeting Rumi and Mira, beginning training to debut under the name Huntr/x. It was like a fever dream and Zoey didn’t want to wake up.
And all the while, time zones be damned, Zoey still managed to find the time to watch your streams or VODs. Breaks between practices, late nights before she went to bed, on the long rides between locations.
She even managed to get Rumi and Mira to watch a few videos, under the guise of helping them improve their English, of course.
They clocked her crush right away, unfortunately, and that meant a lot of playful teasing whenever the opportunity arose. But Zoey shouldered it with pride. Sure, she might have a small crush on you, but that didn't mean anything.
Besides, she had more important things to focus on than her growing feelings for you. Her schedule packed with practice and training.
Soon enough training turned into debuting; their first album dropped after one year. Performing in front of Celine and Bobby turned into performances in front of crowds of hundreds, then thousands.
One year passed, then two years, then three. Huntr/x was steadily climbing up as the top idol group in Korea, their popularity expanding internationally, too.
And still Zoey always came back to the comfort that was you. Your streams, your voice, your laughter and smiles. You were still her source of comfort.
She'd been so proud, too, when she was able to make her first donation without fear of her parents seeing the charges on her account and start demanding answers. Zoey had her own money, now. she had a lot of money now, and she wanted to spend it on the things she liked.
That just so happened to include you.
Things had been going great, and though her life was a constant ride between idolhood and hunting, you remained a consistent rock for her to anchor to at the end of a long day.
Then you went and threw a curveball.
It was late at night, Zoey curled up in bed tired and sore after a long day of practicing choreography for their newest album, and an even longer night fighting demons. But she was smiling, earbuds in, phone in hand, as she watched your stream.
You were playing Animal Crossing and chatting with the chat, it was more a chill stream than anything, the kind of streams Zoey had grown to like the most.
Somehow, the topic of conversation had flickered to music—Zoey had been no help at all as she immediately began to push the Sunlight Sisters agenda, recommending several songs for you to listen to, insisting that you’d love them.
SharkeyMarkey: Speaking of Kpop, anyone else listen to Huntr/x???
Baron1220: Who hasn’t at this point?
Jutiper: eh they kinda overrated
SharkeyMarkey: TAKE THAT BACK!!
ilyuri: #polytrix my beloved
SanicsDawgs: Rumi kinda fine tho
Kirbyoshi: Mira's more than fine. I'd let her step on me in a heartbeat.
Zoey let out a nervous laugh as the chat flooded with remarks about Huntr/x, most of them overwhelmingly positive and if not a bit thirsty, though a few were rather hurtful. It was still nice, if not embarrassing, to see so many people talking about her.
Was this one of those moments she should speak up? She didn’t want to accidentally out herself to the chat.
Your eyes roved over the scrolling chat box and grinned. “Oh, fuck guys, I love Huntrix! Wait, hold on!” you said, and practically threw yourself out of your chair. She could hear shuffling, the sound of you tripping in the background.
Moments later, you were in front of the camera again, holding up a Huntr/x hoodie proudly.
“Their music is absolutely phenomenal!” you gushed, with a laugh. “You need a fainting couch after listening to L.U.V. U, absolute bars.”
Zoey felt like her face was burning. You were a fan of Huntr/x? That was—oh, she felt so giddy inside, and so, so flustered. You’ve seen her, then, you’ve listened to her sing and rap, and—and you liked it?
You did like her parts, right?
Or maybe… or maybe you preferred Mira and Rumi over her? She would understand if you did, they were way better than her both in dancing and in song. They were more mature than her, prettier than her.
But maybe.
Her fingers were moving before she could stop herself.
TurtlemonMaster: Who’s your bias?
Throwing her phone down, Zoey buried her face into a pillow as she was immediately kicked with regret. Why did she ask that? Oh, why oh why. She’d delete that message immediately if she could, but there was no way.
Her only hope now was that maybe you’d miss her message. But she should have known better than that.
“Zoey,” you answered with pride in your voice, chest puffed out. The way you said her name sent shivers down her spine. “I mean, come on guys—how can you look at her and not have her as your favorite?”
She pulled her head from the pillow to look at her phone again, to see you grinning like an idiot as you talked, scratching at your cheek a little sheepishly.
“She’s incredibly pretty, of course, but more than that—she’s the main lyricist for Huntrix," you said, eyes practically sparkling from your excitement, "and that’s insanely cool. Her songs are bangers!”
It was like the floodgates had been opened. Game forgotten, you continued to talk, gushing about how cool you thought Huntr/x was, how cool you thought Zoey was.
If she hadn’t been blushing before, Zoey was now. Her face was burning as you sang her praises, unable to stop herself from giggling, feeling like she was on cloud nine as you talked.
You talked about how beautiful you thought Zoey looked in her costume from the Busan concert three months ago, and brought her parts of different songs that were your favorite. You thought she was talented. You thought she was amazing.
Her heart was doing flips in her chest.
A few days later, Zoey had been unable to help herself as she threw it all right back at you during Huntr/x’s newest interview.
The host had been asking questions about their personal lives. The things they liked to do to unwind, any hobbies they had outside of music, personal interests they had. The sort of questions fans would eat up.
“I like watching gaming livestreams,” Zoey had said when it came her time to answer, without thinking about what she was saying, she had continued. “There’s actually this one channel I’ve been a super fan of for years—”
She told the host—the world—about you.
Talked about how when things got rough at home, when everything felt like it was too much, she would find your streams, and she’d be able to breathe again. How no matter how bad a day she had, you would always be able to make her smile and laugh, make her forget about why she was upset.
Zoey should have expected that interview would blow up.
But it was worth it to see you become a flustered, panicking mess during the next stream when chat went crazy about the interview.
.
.
.
It had been six months since you derailed a stream to talk about Huntr/x. Six months since Zoey derailed an interview to talk about you.
And now she was in a post-concert fan signing event. Riding the high of adrenaline after a successful show, laughing with her girls, talking to her fans, feeling like she was on top of the world.
She’d adjusted her posters, popping open the cap to a new pen, buzzing with energy as her line kept moving. One fan after the other. “And who can I make this out to?”
“Your biggest fan,” came an excited, nervous response. A voice she was very, very familiar with.
Zoey’s head snapped up and—oh. Wow.
You were far prettier in person.
For a moment, all she can do is stare at you as you stand across the table from her. Wearing Huntr/x fan merch, shifting from one foot to the other looking shy and eager in equal measures.
“It’s—it’s you,” Zoey said without realizing, having to keep herself from surging to her feet. Her mouth started running before she knew what she was saying. “Oh, oh, I—you’re here? I’m a huge fan!”
You laughed, cheeks darkening, “I, uh, gathered from that one interview,” you admitted, still smiling, even if it was more sheepish now. Oh you were just so cute, it was unfair. “I’m a huge fan of yours, too. Though you might have already known that.”
She absolutely knew that.
You ranting about how much you loved Huntr/x was clipped, and Zoey had watched you talking about how much you liked her an embarrassing amount.
“I—uh, I love your videos. That last stream you did, with that new horror game?” Zoey asked, her hands moving in the air as she talked. “It was so fun, I would never have the guts to play something that scary on my own. You’re just so amazing!”
“Oh, I was scared out of my mind that game!” you shot back, laughing. “If the chat hadn’t been there to help make it less scary, I would have called it quits in the first twenty minutes.”
Zoey felt like she was buzzing with energy. Talking with you in person, even if she was a mix of nervous excitement that left her feeling dizzy, was just as easy as it was talking with you over chat.
It really wasn’t fair to her heart; you were just as friendly, just as nice, just as charming off camera.
“Enough about me, I’m boring compared to you,” you dismissed easily, and Zoey was about to argue that you weren’t, that you were the furthest thing from boring, but you kept talking. “You’re the amazing one!”
Wow it was hot in here! Was she blushing? Her face felt like it was burning.
“O-oh, I don’t know about that,” Zoey giggled, tucking some hair behind her ear, flustered by your praise.
“But you are! Your songs are phenomenal, you’re phenomenal!” you argued back, sending Zoey’s heart into another fit at the praise. “Your lyrics are pure genius, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone who can switch so seamlessly between rapping and singing!”
Yep, she was blushing for sure now. Did you even hear the things you were saying? “I—thank you, that actually means a lot to hear you say,” and it did.
Sure, she’s listened to you ramble on various streams about how much you loved Huntr/x plenty of times. But having you tell her, to her face how you felt?
She really stood no chance against this crush of hers.
“Zoey,” Mira whispered from beside her, nudging at her calf with her boot.
A sharp, sudden reminder that it wasn’t just her and you in this room. Zoey was still in the middle of a fan signing, and there was a line behind you that was bound to be getting impatient having to wait while you and her chatted.
Oh, but she didn’t want to stop talking with you, either! She was having fun, she always had fun when she got to talk to you, and saying goodbye was the last thing she wanted. Once this event was over, she might never get to have this opportunity again for who knew how long!
An idea popped into her head.
A risky one. This could backfire on her big time. But Zoey’s impulse control had taken the backseat once she’d seen your face.
She quickly signed her posted, and then gently rolled one corner back to scribble something extra on the other side.
“Right! Well, it was really awesome getting to meet you, properly, in person,” she said as she held the poster out to you, her face still burning. “I’m glad you were able to come see the concert!”
You smiled as you took the poster, all warmth and sunshine that sent butterflies loose in her stomach, “Thank you,” you said in return, holding her poster like it was something fragile, something precious, just because she gave it to you. “Keep being awesome!”
It wasn’t the best goodbye, and you even let out a nervous laugh in acknowledgement of that before offering her a better one and stepping away.
Zoey tried to watch you go, but she quickly lost sight of your in the crowd and quickly returned her attention to the rest of her fans as the next one in line stepped forward.
She was still riding that buzz even after the event ended, foot tapping, hands fidgeting, unable to sit still, unable to keep the smile off her face as she kept refreshing your social media page in hopes you might post something new.
It was an hour and a half after she had seen you, on the dot, that her phone began ringing with an unknown caller notification.
Zoey almost dropped her phone when it did that, and was quick to press answer, bringing it to her ear, her heart thundering in her chest with nervous hope. “Hello? Zoey speaking.”
“Zoey? Awesome!” your voice carried over the line. “I was a little worried you might have given me a fake number.”
Relief settled across her bones like a warm blanket, and Zoey sank deeper into her bed as she let out a slight scoff. “Why would I give you a fake number?”
“I dunno. I just got worried. Not like I have any experience getting popstars phone numbers given to me on the back of posters.”
She snorted a little as she laughed. “Well I promise you this is my real number,” Zoey said, rolling over onto her stomach as she pulled her turtle plush over to her with her free arm. “I’m so glad you called! I really liked talking with you.”
“I loved talking with you, too—” loved. That shouldn’t make her heart feel as gooey as it did.
“I was actually wondering," you continued in a tone she knew well, it was the nervous, awkward tone you got in gaming when you were trying to parse out what to say because you wanted to get it right, "and if this is out of line just tell me, but—would you maybe like to get coffee later? This can be as casual a thing as you want it to be!”
Were you—
Were you asking her on a date?
No, no, you said casual. This was just two friends getting together to talk. Nothing more. But—Oh, oh wow. This was—Zoey didn’t expect this. This came out of nowhere.
“I’d love to!” she blurted out, and immediately buried her face into her plush to try and muffle anything else she might say.
Your laughter could be heard over the phone. “Great! I, uh, you’re the one with the busier schedule, I imagine, so just let me know when you’re free, and we can plan from there?”
She murmured an agreement, face still burning, mind still reeling.
Zoey needed to check in with Bobby ASAP, needed to find out the earliest she had free time so she could go on this date—hangout—with you as soon as possible. Wow, this is happening, this is actually happening.
.
.
.
Unsurprisingly, the coffee ‘hangout’ took no time at all to become a coffee ‘date’, less than an hour if Zoey were to count.
She liked to think that telling you that she was TurtlemonMaster helped, because the way you got excited that ‘your favorite viewer’ and Zoey were one in the same was adorable.
She got to spend that hour between ‘coffee hangout’ and ‘coffee date’ listening to you ramble about how much you enjoyed seeing Zoey in chat, how much you loved it when she started rambling about whatever topic had caught her interest.
Apparently you were always looking forward to seeing her show up when you started a new stream.
Zoey hadn’t realized she’d meant so much to you already, not even the 'Idol' Zoey, but the faceless girl in your streaming chat, and she would stubbornly deny that she got misty eyed at all over it.
A few days later, Huntr/x was on their jet, heading back to Korea, and—time zones be damned—her night back in the penthouse was spent on her computer for a long distance ‘movie night date.’
A couple of months later you were in Seoul and Zoey got several days of non-stop dates with you before you went back home after a week.
Mira and Rumi might tease her a little for speed blitzing the relationship, but she was quite proud of herself when she talked you into moving to Seoul.
Not that it took a lot of convincing in the first place.
.
.
.
“Yes, yes, I’m all done moving and am back to our regularly scheduled streaming,” you said out after a few minutes, popping your back as your chat continued to freak out in front of you. “Now, if you’re all done gawking at my new apartment—You ready for a Pokémon beatdown? Cause I’m ready to decimate some noobs!”
SharkeyMarkey: Yooo gonna be a sweep!
RumisWifey: Share the team!!
Dex-T-er: LETS FUCKING GOOOO
You laughed, clicking the tab to show off your crew. “Wanna see the squad? Then let’s go. My lovely girlfriend helped me build this team, so I better not hear ya’ll complaining when I kick your faves asses.”
On screen, your party of six appeared: Blastoise, Carracosta, Torkoal, Drednaw, Turtonator, and Torterra. The Turtle Squad, as Zoey affectionately called.
“First up, the classic, the king, Leonardo,” you said, bringing up Blastoise’s stats. “My boy is the goat. Hydro Pump, Earthquake, Dark Pulse. He don’t miss, gonna hit you harder than your dad did.”
“Then we got Raphael, the hothead himself,” it was Turtonator’s turn. “This bad boy is gonna cook you like a Christmas ham with his Fire Blast, then roast you more with Taunt.” You flipped over next to Carracosta. “Donatello, we love you. Don’t even try it, Flying types, or you gonna get caught in a Rock Slide.”
Chat was updating so quickly it was hard to keep up.
Bibbidi_Bobbidi_FU: NOT THE DAD COMMENT 😭
Lucy_D: The Turtle Brigade!!
PikaPika: Are any of us even shocked that Turtlemon would help make a turtle-exclusive team?
JuPangi: I’d be more shocked if sheDIDN’T make a turtle team.
Mothbrain-15: Pure tanking power, gonna be wild!
You laughed along as you clicked into the matchmaking queue, and before long your opponent popped up. Wannabe ‘badass’ username? Check. Edgy anime profile picture? Check. Avatar design that screamed ‘Can’t Handle Losing’? Check.
“Oh, no, chat,” you drawled, leaning back with a hand over your chest in mock horror. “We’ve got an edgelord. However will we survive? I’m betting his team is gonna be dark and dragon types.”
The first Pokémon thrown in was Garchomp, proving you right immediately. Dragon-Ground type. Fast, a menace. An edgelords wet dream. You grinned, feeling your confidence rise. “Okay, Donny, you got this,” you said to the Carracosta on the screen.
One Ice Beam was all it took for a one-hit-KO. And moments later your opponent disconnected from the game. Like a coward.
Chat erupted.
Aenna: LMAAAOOO
Vid30Star: WOW he really just up and leave???
SharkeyMarkey: Can’t handle the cold!
DarthAnne: Oh that smirk!!! Staahp your too fine!
JameyTown: Loool careful there, thirst comments be fighting words!
DarthAnne: Not my fault she’s hot 🤷♀️
Lemon97: She do be killing it with that outfit
Jupider: I give it ten minutes before Turtlemon shows up
JameyTown: Fifteen
NunyaBismuth: Okay but she called it on the dragon type!
Hazmax: It was too easy a bet. Dude reeked of wannabe edgy
You laughed as chat shifted from tearing your previous opponent apart to placing bets on how long it’d take for the hammer to come down as the thirst comments started to seep in. “Settle down, children,” you said, rolling your eyes as hopped into another match, quickly showing off the Turtle Supremacy as you made quick work of your next opponent.
The next thirty minutes were spent switching between matches with other players and chatting with your viewers. As predicted, you were well on your way for a nonstop sweep, your turtles unstoppable.
It was as you were on your fourth proper match that the sound of the door echoed through the apartment, and you perked up, smile stretching wider. “Hey!” you leaned away from the mic to yell out. “I thought you weren’t gonna be here until later!”
From the hallway came another voice, “We got done early,” followed by a laugh, “I was sprinting to get here. I missed you, especially since I didn’t get my morning cuddle quota today.”
“Aw, I missed you too!”
Kirbyoshi: Wait hold up, is that Turtlemon in person?? I thought she’d just pop up in chat to lay her claim
Daothar: Girl sensed a disturbance in the force and fucking spawned in
TodoRodo: wait y she sound so familiar??
SharkeyMarkey: NOOOO WAAAAY I KNO THAT VOICE!!!!
SharkeyMarkey: WHY DOES TURTLEMON SOUND LIKE ZOEY FROM HUNTR/X?!?!
Ilyuri: There ain’t no way. Gotta be a coincidence
RumisWifey: As a certified Huntr/x expert who has listened to their interviews more times than I dare admit
RumisWifey: THAT SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE ZOEY FROM HUNTR/X
ArsonParty: Even if its not you can TELL she’s hot from that voice
If your chat was going feral before, they were absolutely rabid now that Zoey’s voice was cutting through the air far more clearly as she entered the room.
You’d managed to push your chair just far enough to keep her face out of the camera’s view, just in time for her to plop herself down on your lap and drawing you in to a kiss.
“Whatcha doing?” Zoey asked after pulling back.
You gestured to the computer. “Well, I was in the middle of streaming. Kicking people’s asses with the Turtle Squad,” you said, barely able to get that out before Zoey was pressing her mouth to yours in another hard kiss. “I take it you saw the chat?”
“Yep, and it’s pretty clear I have to remind everyone that you’re taken.”
More laughter. “You are the most jealous woman I know.”
Zoey let out a gasp, leaning away from you as she stared at you in betrayal. “You know other women?”
ArsonParty: Holy shit she sounds adorable in person.
SharkeyMarkey: I STILL CANT GET OVER HOW MUCH SHE SOUNDS LIKE ZOEY
TodoRodo: Goddamn girlfriend goals…
Pressing another kiss to your cheek, Zoey laughed as she looked to the chat, watching them flip out over her voice and over the cuteness that was her and you. An idea popped into her head at that moment.
“Can I?”
“Completely up to you,” you answered, stroking her cheek, “I wouldn’t want to force you to if you might get in trouble for it.”
“Trouble schmuble. I’m not afraid of what Celine’s got to say,” Zoey said before crawling off your lap so she could get in front of your webcam, waving her hands in greeting to the viewers. “Heeey everyone! It’s so cool to get to talk to you all from this side of the stream!”
Can we have a fluffy fic with Natasha where R is like some sort of background character like a PR manager or one of Stark's main scientist. And Natasha is so chill and tough with the Avengers but when R is around she goes all stuttery, soft, and clumsy.
The funny thing is R is oblivious. Like totally clueless doesn't pay attention and so focused with work clueless
PR Manager
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
[A/N] Don't like posting back to back of the same character if I can help it but we need some fluff on the timeline 😂 This request was so cute, loved writing it, hope you enjoy my lovely 😘
Natasha is barely paying attention to the morning meeting. It’s only an excuse for Tony to listen to the sound of his own voice as he talks through the same things day after day. The schedule barely changes – he could get a whiteboard and just write it down, would make the whole thing ten times easier and save a lot of time. Natasha takes a sip of her coffee, her gaze out the window as she drifts in and out.
“- And then we have a press conference this afternoon, Y/N will be here to co-ordinate-”
Natasha quickly tunes back in to Tony’s rambling at the mention of your name. You’d been hired as their PR Manager six months ago and Natasha was quickly developing feelings for you though she tried her best to deny it. Calling it a crush felt childish, she wasn’t a little school girl but your name only had to be mentioned for her to start blushing. Natasha hated it. She was a deadly assassin for goodness sake, why did the mere mention of your name turn her into a bright red mess?
Press conferences had been the bane of Natasha’s existence when she first became an Avenger. As an undercover assassin she never had to talk to the press or justify her actions. She could work in solitude. Now everything is analysed, discussed in great detail, her entire existence and motives constantly questioned. Her pictures are in the newspapers, she gets recognised walking down the street. It’s intense. Now she doesn’t mind press conferences as much. At least she gets to see you.
The morning drags by slowly in a haze of training and then Natasha is sent off to shower and dress for the press conference. It turns out the press don’t want to see her in her gym gear with sweat trickling down her back. They’d wanted Natasha in a suit, preferably with a skirt and with her hair perfectly styled. Another reason that press conferences drove her insane. One of the things Natasha had loved about you was that your style of PR had been different.
“You don’t look comfortable in that.” You’d told her as Natasha had adjusted her skirt for the hundredth time.
“I’m not.” She’d replied, unable to meet your gaze even then without blushing “I only wear these things at press conferences or UN meetings, things like that-”
“What would make you feel more comfortable? What do you normally wear?”
“Leather jacket and my jeans.” Natasha had replied without even having to think.
You’d shrugged “So just wear those with a smart top. It’s just a Q&A, we’re not trying to impress the Queen.”
From then on Natasha had worn her leather jacket with a shirt and her smartest but comfortable jeans with black boots. She could still feel like herself. It had made her fall even harder for you.
When she heads downstairs you’re already there and she feels her stomach flip over, glad that she’d spent that extra fifteen minutes straightening her hair. You’re talking to Tony, your biggest PR nightmare. Once you’d told Natasha she was one of your easiest clients as she thought out everything before she said it – it had made Natasha’s cheeks go pink with pride. She was turning into Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer with how often she flushed red around you.
Natasha picks up her PR packet and starts flicking through it when you suddenly approach her. Immediately flustered she reaches out to shake your hand only to drop her packet, causing the papers to fly everywhere “I- Shit, I’m sorry-” You’re entirely calm as you bend down and gather all the papers back up, handing them back to Natasha. She gives a nervous laugh “You would think I wouldn’t be so clumsy… Given… You know…”
You smile, adjusting her jacket which makes her palms go sweaty and her heart start pounding even faster “Feeling prepared?”
“I- Yeah- As- Pretty prepared yeah.” Natasha eventually mumbles.
“Awesome. The last mission went pretty well, no major casualties so there shouldn’t be any difficult questions though there will be the discussion of who owes money for the damages-” You talk calmly and confidently as you give Natasha one final look over to make sure she looks presentable. Natasha is always amazed at how work focused you are. It’s like you don’t even notice how much of a wreck she becomes whenever she’s around you.
You move on to talk to Wanda, who’s always nervous before anything like this, whilst Steve saunters over and gives Natasha a grin “Y/N then, huh?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I barely knew what you were talking about, you were stammering so much.”
Natasha punches his shoulder and Steve just laughs “Why don’t you ask them out? I bet they’d say yes.”
“I don’t like them like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Natasha says stubbornly.
“Nat? Have you had your mic yet?” You call out.
“Beh- I- Buh-” Natasha stammers.
Steve has to look away to try and suppress his smile as you return to Natasha, clipping her small microphone to her jacket “There we go, good to go!”
Natasha glares at Steve as you walk away “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You’re really gonna look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like Y/N ‘like that’ after that little display? Come on now Nat.”
“Okay, fine, I like them like that.” Natasha says, folding her arms “Big deal.”
“Ask them out!”
“And embarrass myself further? No thank you. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, it’s not me…” Natasha sighs heavily.
Before Steve can comment further you usher everyone around for one final group huddle before the conference to go over topics that can and cannot be discussed, and how to answer any questions around damage repayments. Natasha can barely take in what you’re seeing, her gaze on the ground because every time she glances at you she feels her cheeks heat up and she doesn’t want the first few photos of her at the podium to show how bad she’s blushing.
Finally they go through to the conference room and Natasha manages to get through without making a complete idiot of herself. She knows that you’re listening in on everything but you’re stood at the side of the stage out of her eye sight which makes it easier. You field any questions you don’t think they should answer but otherwise stay quiet, just watching.
When the Avengers leave the conference room Tony sighs dramatically “Well, I think we all need a drink. Y/N, you staying for a drink?”
You shrug “Sure, why not?”
Natasha hadn’t been interested in drinks with the rest of the Avengers but the moment she hears your agreement her heart soars and she’s instantly locked in. Soon you’re all in the living room, spread out with everyone chatting and helping themselves to drinks. Natasha sees you at the bar and she approaches you, trying to sound as confident as she usually is “Hey! Can I get you a drink?”
She cringes a little when she remembers it’s an open bar – it’s not like she can buy you a drink. But you smile “Sure.”
Her face lights up and she grabs two glasses “White Russian okay?”
“You know… I’ve never had one. Enlighten me.”
“It’s my favourite.” Natasha explains, trying her best to keep herself focused solely on the task at hand but her hands are shaking as she does so. She can feel her palms sweating as she picks up your glass and holds it out to you “Here, you-”
The glass slips out of her hand because of course it does and shatters against the floor. A few Avengers look over whilst Tony cheers loudly and obnoxiously. Natasha’s cheeks are even brighter than usual now as she quickly bends down to start picking up the broken shards of glass. She notices your footsteps receding away from her and her heart plummets as she thinks she’s blown her chance to talk to you. Only for you to return a moment later to mop up the spilled drink with a cloth whilst Natasha sweeps up the rest of the broken glass.
Natasha stands back and slides her drink across the bar, not trusting herself to pick it up “Here, have mine. I guess I’ll make another.”
You pick up the glass smoothly and take a sip with a smile “Not bad. I’ve always been a Sex on the Beach person myself but I could be turned to White Russians.”
Natasha’s cheeks flush and she turns to face you “How are you so calm all the time? Do you not see the effect that you have on me?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? I’m cool! I’m a goddamn super spy for God’s sake, I’m as cool as a cucumber in life or death situations yet when I’m around you I can’t even make a damn drink without my palms going all sweaty and stammering and-” She cuts herself off with a sigh “I’m not like this. I shouldn’t be like this. I didn’t think I could have a crush on anyone, not after everything-”
“Wow, wow, wait…” You say, gobsmacked “You have a crush on me?”
“Oh for- You beautiful, oblivious idiot. Of course I do. How could you not have noticed?”
“I just figured you got a bit jittery before press conferences.”
“And my idiocy once the press conferences were over?”
“I don’t know, I thought it took you a while to calm down again. I didn’t think it was anything to do with me.” Your own cheeks are flushing red now “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.” Natasha mumbles, looking away “I’m such a mess around you. It’s not like me at all.”
“Well maybe if you took me on a date and got to know me a bit better you wouldn’t get so flustered.”
Natasha meets your gaze, sees the flush spreading across your own cheeks and feels a little braver “Okay.” She says quietly “Friday night?”
“I’m free.”
“Well then… I’ll pick you up about seven.”
“Sneven sounds good.”
“Sneven?”
“Fuck, now I’m getting flustered.”
Natasha laughs and so do you. She takes a sip of her drink, careful to keep a hold of the glass. Hopefully you’re right and getting to know you better will make her less flustered around you in the future. Tony might be funny about her dating the Avengers PR Manager – but she doesn’t care. You’re the first person she’s ever truly felt nervous around. And she needs to see if this leads somewhere.
A Guide To J's Fanfic Timelines (And Recurring Characters)
Due to some mid-project changes, lack of forethought on my part, and the general fact that I have a million projects at any one time, there's been some confusion regarding which of my RE8 fics are connected to each other, partially due to the recurring characters within. So, I've set out to make this handy little guide, which I will update as new stories are added. Hopefully this helps! It might not, though, because this is how my brain looks at it, and I ain't exactly known for my sensible brain.
"Primary" Timeline:
Started with: Serenade
All fics in this timeline: Serenade, Renegade (the sequel to Serenade, not yet published), Masquerade (eventual sequel to Renegade)
Included characters: Avaskian Caldwell (Ava), Daphne, Ygritte, Juniper, Cynthia
Order of Events: Serenade comes first, then Renegade, then Masquerade. Renegade's introduction technically starts at the same time as Serenade, but the plot "kicks off" around the same time as chapter 9/10 of Serenade.
Notes: Each multi-chapter fic in this timeline follows a different reader (one for each of the Dimitrescu daughters). Serenade has "Songbird", Renegade has "Revering" (Rev for short), and Masquerade has "Dawn" (subject to change).
"Soulmate" AUs:
Started with: Bound Blood
All fics in this timeline: Bound Blood, Crimson Ties, Slumbering Hearts
Included characters: Avaskian Caldwell (Ava), Daphne, Ygritte, Juniper. Cynthia appears in Bound Blood and Crimson Ties.
Order of Events: Each fic is roughly concurrent with the others, in the sense of how they relate to the canon RE8 timeline, but does not take place in the same timeline. As each of these stories involves a different variation on the "Soulmate AU", they don't exactly work together. They're simply "grouped" due to sharing a concept.
Notes: Cynthia does not show up in Slumbering Hearts because the reader essentially takes her place. The reader is not, however, intended to be her. They simply fill the same role in the story that Cynthia fills in other stories.
"Mute Reader" Timeline:
Started with: Waking Comfort
All fics in this timeline: Waking Comfort, Sovereign Talks, Everybody Talks (Too Much), We Don't Talk (About That)
Included Characters: Daphne, Ygritte, Juniper, Cynthia
Order of Events: There are no important distinctions, other than "We Don't Talk" comes after "Everybody Talks".
Notes: The mute reader inspired "Avaskian Caldwell", hence Ava not being in this timeline. However, they are not the same character, instead filling similar roles (just as Cynthia and the reader in any Alcina-centered fic).
"Wounded Love" Timeline:
Started With: Wounded Love
All fics in this timeline: Wounded Love, unpublished future fics
Included Characters: Avaskian Caldwell (Ava), Daphne, Ygritte, Juniper
Order of Events: TBA
Notes: As the most "chaotic" timeline, this timeline is reserved for stories that severely break away from RE8 canon (usually in a violent manner).
"Misc" Timelines:
All fics without timelines: Sweet Talkin', Lying (Next) To You, all one word prompt fills, unpublished future fics
Included Characters: Everybody
Notes: While these fics feature any number of recurring characters, they are not directly connected to each other. The purpose of the recurring characters is for longtime fans (who read several of my fics) to have a cast of familiar faces to appreciate/get to know over time. Their backgrounds are the same in every single timeline, with occasional edits for AUs. For example, every timeline that features both Daphne and Ygritte has the two end up dating at some point. Within the Soulmate Aus, their relationship is upgraded to soulmates.
"Avaskian" Timeline/Universal Constant:
All fics in this timeline: Chasing Providence, unpublished future fics
Included Characters: Avaskian Caldwell (Ava)
Order of Events: Chasing Providence is set prior to every other RE8 fic I will ever write. Future Avaskian fics will have concrete points in the overall order of events, which will help determine the timing of other fics.
Notes: Similar to the recurring Maidens (described in the Misc section), Ava's background/backstory is considered canon in every timeline xe takes part in, with minor changes due to AUs. Ava stories are the "backbone" of all timelines, partnering with the official Resident Evil "timeline" (as in chronology/order of events) to give the reader an idea of when other fics take place. For example, Ava's story starts with xer introduction to Lady Dimitrescu, and takes place around 2010 (eleven years before the events of RE8: Village).
Commission Information: Writing, Art, Art examples COMMISSIONS ARE CURRENTLY CLOSED FOR RESTRUCTURING/UPDATES.
Ko-Fi: Here
Bandcamp: Here (yes, I make music!)
Multi-chapter fics will link to their most recent chapter, as each part lists the previous chapters. Anything NSFT will be clearly marked.
Current Status: Still writing, mostly doing art and music. My nephew is almost a year old now!!
NOTICE: I am having minor surgery on June 3rd, and will be mostly unavailable around that time (day of + at least a few days afterwards)
ARCANE-
Multiple/Misc:
Short Prompts: Migraine Comfort pt 1 (Sevika, Vi, Jinx), "Tell me something I don't know" , pt 2 (Silco, Viktor, Grayson, Ekko), pt 1 (Jinx, Sevika, Caitlyn, Vi)
Original Characters:
Runnek: Eye loss excerpts, Power Explanation, Basic Outfit Sketch, Glass Eye Art,
Vi:
One-Shots: To Exist Is Enough, Hug Me Like You'll Lose Me,
RESIDENT EVIL: VILLAGE-
A guide to timelines/recurring characters/which fics connect to each other: link
Original Characters: Avaskian Character Info, Avaskian Virus Analysis, Chasing Providence Pt 1, Sketch Dump, Cadou!Ava Art
RESIDENT LOVER:
One-shots: Broken Things (Platonic Mia/Miranda), Liminal (Mia/MC)
Original Characters: Asche Character SheetCOV: Echoes In The Skull
HORIZON-
Aloy:
Childhood Friend Series: The Distance Between Us, A Party For Two
Clone Sibling Bonding Time: Splitting Hairs
One Word Prompts: Sleep
Beta:
Misc HCs
Multiple/Misc:
Gaia Gang Running Jokes, General HCs,
Summary: You’re the kind of woman who knows how to break into a building blindfolded. But you still haven’t figured out how to walk into your own home without feeling like a stranger.
A story about what happens after the danger is over. About marriages built on devotion and silence, children who see more than they say, and the long, painful unraveling that happens when love isn’t loud enough to be heard over guilt. This isn’t about who was right. It’s about who stayed.
From 19/07/2025 to 20/07/2025
Word Count: 21,896
Chapters:
Chapter 01 : A Family in Rehearsal
Chapter 02 : Things We Don’t Say
Chapter 03 : The Night She Didn’t Wait
Chapter 04 : Lost
Chapter 05 : What Forgiveness Tastes Like
Chapter 06 : The Language of Holding On [Finale]
Author's Note:
Thank you.
For reading, for feeling, for staying.
The Silence Between Us was never just a story about war, or betrayal, or even healing. It was about the quiet, often unspoken ways love bends but doesn’t break. About the spaces between words, the weight of what we carry alone, and the brave, imperfect choice to come back to each other anyway.
If you saw yourself in the quiet grief, in the burnt garlic bread, in the too-loud family dinners or whispered apologies—this was for you.
To everyone who’s ever had to rebuild love from ashes…
To everyone who’s ever come home to a life they weren’t sure they deserved…
You’re not alone.
This isn’t a perfect ending.
But it’s a beginning that’s soft. And real. And earned.
#O Ancestors! I cry. What is your wisdom for times like these?#Start a garden and have a cuppa. says my great-grandmother who went through the depression#Lie your ass off to the government and have a cuppa. says my great-great grandfather who escaped the potato famine#Keep your humours in balance and have a cuppa. says my ancestor who survived the bubonic plague#Bring tribe together so many make strong and have cuppa. says my neanderthal ancestor#BITE THEM BITE THEM BITE THEM. Says my small arboreal ancestor. ALSO LITTLE TREAT.#Thank you for your wisdom ancestors. I say and turn on the kettle. - gallusrostromegalus
Tags: Celine/Reader, F!Reader, French-Korean Celine, Minor Age Gap, Unrequited Love, Eventually Requited Love, Slowburn, Passage of Time | Time Skips, (Brief) Alcohol Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Yearning, Denial
Sorry not sorry for this.
WC: 16,400 Because I had 0 self control writing this.
“I like you.”
You held out a bouquet of flowers to her. The roses were a deep, dark red, their scent strong and fresh. The smile you gave Celine was infallibly warm, as bright as the sun, as you held out your offering. As if your confession hadn’t come with the suddenness of a lightning strike.
“I would like to take you out on a date, if you would let me,” you continued.
Celine had been stunned into silence by your words, staring back at you. Behind her, she could hear Mi-yeong and Hyeon-seo whispering.
She knew you. Vaguely.
You were one of the trainee idols contracted to the same label as her. Not yet debuted. A soloist, if Celine remembered correctly.
Has she ever actually spoken to you before? Celine was sure that she had, maybe a few words here or there during small parties within the label or when running across each other at the studio. But nothing that had ever been worth remembering. Not enough to be called friends, let alone acquaintances.
And yet…here you were. Offering her flowers. Telling Celine that you liked her. Asking to take her out.
How ridiculous.
You didn’t know Celine, so how could you possibly say with such confidence that you liked her? And if you had truly known Celine, you would never be able to say you liked such a woman like her.
This was most likely an ill-formed plan to ingratiate yourself to one of Korea’s top music groups to try and improve your own standing. You certainly wouldn’t be the first trainee or rookie who thought to befriend the Sunlight Sisters as an attempt to bolster your popularity through your connections.
And if this wasn’t…if this really was some childishly naïve crush you had on your senior. Then it was best to nip it in the bud, now.
“No,” Celine said, her word monotonous and curt. A firm rejection.
Your smile didn’t falter, not even slightly. Nothing in your body tensed, none of the usual signs of irritation or dejection that most carried with them when she said that one word. Rather, your expression only grew softer.
As if you had expected that answer, as if it didn’t bother you at all.
“Okay,” you said, your tone just as sweet, just as warm as when you said you liked her, giving her a deep bow. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time. Please have a wonderful rest of your day.”
You were still smiling when you rose back up, still watching Celine with that same tenderness even as you turned and walked away. Celine watched you go without another word, ignoring the gnawing that began deep inside of her.
It was ridiculous.
Once you were gone, her friends had latched on. They grabbed at her, pulling Celine this way and that as they spoke over one another, demanding answers.
“Who was that?” Hyeon-seo.
“Why’d you say no? She was cute!” Mi-yeong.
“She’s one of the trainees, right? How does she know you?”
“She looked so earnest saying she liked you, too. It was adorable.”
“Did you see how small she is? She’s practically a baby.”
Celine sighed, pulling herself free from the two and smoothed out the wrinkles they’d made on her shirt. “We’ve crossed paths a few times, but I don’t really know her. Yes, I think she’s one of the trainees,” you said, answering them one by one, before fixing Mi-yeong with a stern look, “and you know why I said no.”
Even if you hadn’t been practically a stranger, even if she did like you back, Celine still would have said no to you.
None of them were allowed to date. Plain and simple.
Their mentors had made that clear from the very start. Even if there wasn’t the risk of a scandal if it got out that any one of them had started dating another idol—even if there wasn’t the career-ending risk if it got out one of them was dating another woman—none of them could afford to have a relationship.
They were to be focused on defending and strengthening the Honmoon, on fighting the demons, and nothing more. Which meant they needed to focus on their music, their careers, their fans. Anything else was a distraction that would weaken their efforts.
Romance especially. A partner would demand attention and priority be taken from their sacred duty. It was too much of a risk.
And it wasn't fair to any potential partner.
They would have to cancel plans whenever they sensed a tear or rupture in the Honmoon, leave in the middle of dates when they caught wind of a demon. They could never prioritize their partner over the Honmoon. Who would ever willingly come last in the person they loves life?
Mi-yeong’s smile tightened, “R-right. The Honmoon, above all others,” she mumbled, echoing their mentors lessons under her breath.
“You were better off saying no, anyway,” Hyeon-seo said, slapping Celine on the back, her tone far more resolute than the waver Mi-yeong had. “Even ignoring everything else; dating your hoobae? One who hasn’t even debuted yet?” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Recipe for disaster.”
Celine nodded in agreement.
Nothing good would come for from her accepting your confession, it would just cause too many problems, too many complications. It was better for all of them that she nipped it in the bud then and there.
Now you’d be free to move on and redirect those feelings towards someone your age who could reciprocate.
.
.
.
It had been three months before Celine found herself with another bouquet of roses offered to her, and you smiling gently—lovingly—at her as you uttered those same three words.
“I like you.”
She supposed her saving grace was that neither Mi-yeong or Hyeon-seo were near her this time, having already left the dressing room and heading out for the post-concert signing event.
Celine was wishing she’d gone with them instead of lingering back. At least then she could have avoided this awkward encounter.
“I thought I told you ‘no’ already.”
Your smile didn’t falter, didn’t so much as twitch. “You did,” you chirped back with that same gentle warmth. It was as if whether Celine rejected you or not, you were happy enough just being here.
Happy enough just being near her.
A truly stupid, childish crush.
Celine sighed, dragging a hand down her face as she tried to work out the best way to handle this. She’d never been good in situations like this. It was one thing to turn down the advances of a pushy fan, but it was another dealing with a fellow idol who couldn’t take a hint.
“How old are you?” she asked.
Your smile widened a fraction, “Almost sixteen.”
Almost sixteen. Great. Wonderful. Hyeon-seo was right, you were practically a baby. “See, that’s the problem,” one among many. “You’re far too young for me.”
“You make it sound like you’re an old lady, not that I wouldn't still like you if you were,” you had laughed—it was a soft sound, just as warm as the smile on your face. “I’m only younger by four and a half years. That kind of gap is nothing.”
“It’s ‘nothing’ when both are adults.”
You just kept smiling, and Celine felt her patience grow thinner. “I don’t care that you like me. My answer is still no,” and maybe the words came out sharper than they had last time, that wasn’t enough for your smile to drop or your body to flinch. It felt like she was talking to a wall. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to join the others.”
That got you to move.
Nodding your head, you’d sidestepped away to give her space. But before Celine could walk away, you’d nudged the roses towards her again.
“At least take the flowers?” you’d asked, tilting your head to the side just slightly. “You can think of them as my showing gratitude and respect towards my sunbae for a wonderful concert, nothing more.”
Celine stared down at the freshly cut, vibrant roses. Wrapped with care and precision, and let her gaze drag back up to your own face, your warm expression, an offering expecting nothing in return.
Against her better judgement, she took the flowers.
As her fingers brushed against yours, she hesitated. Standing this close to you, she could smell the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. You smelled rich and deep, of everything warm.
Before she could let those thoughts spread, she stepped away from you, giving you a tense, curt goodbye, as she strode past, holding the roses to herself as she walked.
She was still cradling the bouquet when she reached the others and slipped into her seat between Mi-yeong and Hyeon-seo.
The two looked at her, staring at the flowers and then at her, but said nothing, only giving her teasing grins and a soft laugh. As if they already knew who the flowers were from with just a glance.
But the way their mentors glanced at the flowers, the way their gazes burned. It made Celine want to sink deeper into her seat.
They waited until the girls had gone through their lines, signed posters and CD’s, shook hands and thanked their fans for attending. Once the last fan had gone and it was only the two generations of Hunters left in the room did the flowers get snatched.
Where did these come from, one had demanded.
Celine kept her back straight, her voice even. Show no weakness, show no vulnerability, she was a hunter; perfection in every motion. That is what was expected of them.
“One of our hoobae’s gave them to me after the show.” A simple answer. Not a lie. She’d only accepted it to be polite, nothing more.
Another question. Another answer. Back and forth, interrogator and the interrogated.
They needed to make sure this wasn’t a scandal waiting to happen that could ruin the Sunlight Sister’s image. They needed to be certain this wasn’t a distraction that would pull Celine’s attention away from her obligations to the Honmoon.
Once satisfied, the three were dismissed. Celine watched as their mentors carelessly tossed the bouquet into the trash.
Pretended that it didn’t bother her.
.
.
.
“Je t’adore.”
Celine paused, turning on her heel to find you lingering behind with the usual bouquet of flowers clasped gently in your hands, smiling and watching Celine like she were the most important person in the world.
You held the roses up, tilting them towards her in offering. “Je t’aime a la folie.” Your smile was borderline cheeky.
Celine shoved the feelings that had begun to rise back down, repeating her mentors words in her head. “When did you start learning French?”
“When I saw you talk about growing up in France in that interview a few months ago,” came your shameless answer. As if learning a whole new language because of some stupid, childish crush, wasn’t crazy.
And yet she had grown accustomed to your brand of crazy.
These last six months you had slowly invaded her life. A phantom on the outskirts, never truly a part of it, but tangled in it all the same.
Seeking her out to deliver her flowers had become a common event. If you were not stopping by in person to deliver them to the studio or her dressing room, you were having them delivered by the flower shop.
You even managed to get flowers to her when the Sunlight Sisters were on tour.
Mi-yeong wouldn’t stop talking about how cute she found the whole thing. How she wished someone would sweep her off her feet like you were trying with Celine. No sympathy or help to be found from her.
Hyeon-seo was more understanding about the situation. You were a risk. A walking bomb waiting to go off. The sooner they could get you to leave Celine alone, the better.
But no matter how many times Celine said no, you bounced right back.
She couldn’t even say you were pushy about it.
Not once when she was with you did she feel like you expected her to return your feelings or give you anything in return. You would tell her you liked her, sometimes you might even ask if you could take her on a date.
But you never fought when she told you no, never argued, never tried to give her a list of reasons why she should give you a chance.
You would only ever offer her flowers and tell her you liked her.
If you were demanding, if you were like the hundreds of men who thought she owed them something because they showed her an ounce of attention, then it’d be so much easier to get you out of her life.
But you didn’t. You were insufferably polite and gentle, and warm.
Taking in a deep breath, Celine pushed her emotions back under control. “You need to study better,” she said stiffly. “Your pronunciation is terrible.”
“Well, maybe if I had a good teacher,” you said playfully, the invitation obvious.
For a brief moment, Celine almost wanted to say yes.
Almost.
No relationships. No attachments. Nothing to distract from your duty, Celine reminded herself, as if those words were a shield.
Personal entanglements would only put everything they’ve worked and fought for at risk. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t understand it.
So it fell to Celine to ensure the chasm between you did not close.
“Have your manager find you a tutor or sign you up for classes.”
As usual, you took no offense to her cold rejection, instead laughing as if Celine had said a joke.
“Maybe I’ll do just that,” you said, giving her a tender smile Celine had done nothing to deserve. “Then, when I talk to you next, I’ll be saying words like ‘bone apple teeth’ so perfectly that you’ll wonder how I got so fluent.”
Despite herself, Celine let out a soft laugh. “Don’t you mean ‘bon appétit’?”
Your face scrunched up in confusion when she echoed the words back to you, your smile finally dropping in your show of uncertainty. “Isn’t that what I said?”
Celine just started walking.
And you, as always, chased after her, “No, really, isn’t that what I said? It’s ‘bone apple teeth’, right?”
.
.
.
Celine couldn’t help but think how strange it all was.
When you had first approached her with a bouquet and confession, you’d been a child. A trainee.
Now you were a rising star of a rookie soloist.
You had grown and changed some in those two and a half years; you had gotten taller, leaner. You were beautiful, of course, their industry would allow for nothing less. And you were just as confident as ever, as if you were born to stand on stage.
That ever-present warmth never left. You still shone as brightly as the sun, a glimmering light wherever you went. It was clear from simply watching you that you brightened the days of those you spoke to. That you made those around you just a little happier, leaving with them a piece of your warmth, a bit of your light.
Your music was no different, as soothing as a sunset and as hopeful as dawn. You invoked joy, highlighted passion and life.
When you approached her on your birthday, it was with roses in hand and that adoring smile across your face.
“No,” Celine had said, before you could even start.
Not that it stopped you any. You had puffed out your chest in pride, citing how you were eighteen now, “We’re both adults, now.”
She had rolled her eyes at you. “My answer is still no,” she said curtly.
They were still both idols with contracts that prohibited dating. You were also both women; a public relationship between you two would sign the end of your own careers.
And you had smiled at her, warm as embers, warm as morning. “I know.”
You always took her rejection in stride, as if you had no expectations that she might ever say something different. But if that were the case…
Then why?
“Why do you keep asking?” Celine demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, unable to bear the mystery that was you any longer. “If you know I’m going to say no, then why keep coming back?”
You continued to smile, though for a moment it almost looked forlorn. “Because I like you.”
“Then you should stop liking me. Move on and find someone who is a better fit.” Someone who wouldn’t spend the relationship telling lies and sneaking around. Someone who could make you feel like a priority in their life.
Shrugging, you stroked one of the rose petals. “It’s not that easy; you can’t just stop liking someone on a whim,” your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, with the hint of a laugh.
“Feelings, who you like, who you love—” you shook your head. “You can’t control where those affections go. If you could pick and choose, the world would be a simpler place.”
That burning light of yours had grown softer. From a radiant blaze to the burning wick of a candle. Warm, but small, contained.
Celine swallowed, pushing down the thoughts and feelings she couldn’t afford to name. “Even if you think your feelings wont change, asking me over and over is pointless,” she pointed out, her voice measured. “I’m not going to say yes.”
“I know. I don’t expect you to, but I’ll still ask every time.”
She felt her frustration become harder to keep contained and buried. It slipped out, showing in her voice and how she clenched her fist. “If you know, then why keep asking?”
You brought your gaze back up to meet hers, your smile growing softer, warmer, an expression of undeserved love.
“I won’t say it doesn’t hurt when you say no, because it does hurt,” your voice was still feather-soft, free of the blame and accusation others might have thrown. It was simple, blameless acceptance.
Holding her gaze for a second longer, you let out a low exhale, releasing the tension that had been building up in yourself. “But it would hurt more if the one time I didn’t ask was the one time you would have said yes.”
Clinging to a small ember of hope, knowing that it may never turn into a fire. But kindling it all the same because maybe, just maybe, one day it might prove you wrong.
“You’re insane.”
You laughed, the tension in the air shattering. “Maybe I am.”
.
.
.
Mi-yeong died and everything fell apart.
Celine didn’t know what she was supposed to think anymore. Not of the crying baby in her arms, of the faint purple patterns curling around her chest, right over her beating heart. The same markings that she’d been taught to kill on sight.
But how could she kill her? How could anyone expect her to raise her sword to an innocent baby?
That’s what Rumi was. Innocent.
But destined to carry the sins of her parents.
As soon as Hyeon-seo had learned what had happened, what Mi-yeong had done, she had left them.
She had held a single press conference to announce her leaving the Sunlight Sisters, and then she was gone to the wind. All she had left for Celine was a single letter.
Don’t come looking.
I will not protect the demon. I still remember my vows, even if you and Mi-yeong have forgotten.
Celine’s heart had shattered.
As much as she longed for Hyeon-seo’s laughter to fill her life again, she could not—would not—put Rumi in danger for her own selfishness.
Celine didn’t know what happened to Mi-yeong’s lover. If he was still alive, or if he had fled the moment he had learned she was carrying. Had not even known of him at all until Mi-yeong’s deathbed confession.
She had never imagined herself becoming a mother, of raising children. But fate could be incredibly cruel. She was now the closest Rumi would have to one.
Through Mi-yeong’s death and Heyon-seo’s departure, the Sunlight Sisters were gone. But their relevancy was surviving through the human need to gossip.
People whispered, theories sprung up over Mi-yeong’s sudden death and the child she left to the world, over why Hyeon-seo left so abruptly, over Celine’s unofficial retirement to take care of Rumi.
Once people lost interest in those questions, the Sunlight Sisters would fade into obscurity, and their music would no longer be enough to preserve the Honmoon.
Briefly, Celine had wondered if perhaps she would be able to make it work as a soloist. Even if her voice alone was not enough, if it could at all help keep the Honmoon sustained until the next generation of Hunters…
It wouldn’t work.
Being an idol and fighting demons was a time-consuming career, and now Celine had a child to raise and protect on top of it all.
A child who, despite what her mentors had ingrained in Celine, took priority in her heart and mind.
A child who Celine had no idea how to care for.
Rumi cried a lot, it felt as if all she did was cry. Celine couldn’t tell if her crying was because she was hungry, because she needed a change or wasn’t feeling well, or if she was just crying for the sake of it.
Slowly, bit by bit, she felt the threads of her sanity fraying as she struggled to keep Rumi happy and healthy.
She felt like she was drowning, and each passing day pulled her deeper beneath the waters.
Nothing she did seemed to matter.
Celine was already failing Rumi as a guardian, unable to soothe and comfort her the way she needed, unable to understand what the source of her pain was.
Mi-yeong would have known what to do. She was the one who should be hear, soothing Rumi’s tears, bringing comfort and joy to the young girl. Mi-yeong was the one who should be caring for and protecting her.
The same thought continued to come back to her, over and over, as she fought against the raging sea.
Celine was the one who should have died. Not her.
“I don’t know what you want,” Celine whispered as she rocked Rumi, hoping desperately that it would quiet her, to no avail.
She had tried feeding her, her diaper was clean, she refused to go down for a nap. None of her toys interested her. Celine was at her wits end.
The sound of the doorbell almost couldn’t be heard over Rumi.
Placing the girl back in her crib, Celine lingered behind just long enough to adjust her clothes and hair before opening the door.
Standing on the other side was a delivery man and a large package at his feet. “Kang Celine?” the man asked, the dryness of his tone saying how little he wanted to be here.
“Yes?”
He unceremoniously shoved his tablet at her. “Sign here for your package.” Once she had, he wasted no time walking away, leaving her to bring the sizable box back into her small, scream-filled home.
She couldn’t remember ordering anything recently, and any sort of fan mail she might still get would have gone through the label.
Still, Celine knelt next to Rumi’s crib and examined the box. There was nothing on the label that gave away what it could be or who it was from. No company logos or brand names that stuck out to her.
Carefully, she opened it.
What greeted her first was a simple, neatly folded letter atop a layer of plastic air cushions. Her name inked on it in familiar handwriting.
Celine;
I don’t think ‘sorry’ is a strong enough word, but even so I am sorry to hear what happened. Mi-yeong was taken from this world far too soon. She was a wonderful person, a brilliant star from the heavens, and her loss will be greatly mourned.
They say you’ve chosen to retire from the stage to focus on raising her daughter; for what it’s worth I think what you’re doing is incredibly brave. Not everyone would choose to abandon their career for a child whose not even of their blood, but I just know you are going to do amazing.
I hope I’m not coming across as presumptuous for this, but I wanted to offer some help. Something of a ‘New Mom Care Package’. There’s no ‘one size fits all’ when it comes to raising a kid, or so I’ve been told, so I’ve gone and asked all the mothers I know for any advice they might have. I hope that you might find something of use in here.
Sincerely,
Your name was signed at the bottom, and nothing more.
Inside, Celine found several diaper packs and wipes, and a few containers of powdered baby formula. Tucked beside that was a soft baby blanket and a simple teddy bear.
Rumi had taken an immediate liking to that, her crying turning into giggles as she began gnawing on its fuzzy arm.
Most surprising was the binder you had provided. When you sad said you had gathered advice, she expected a few sheets of paper, not a thick, detailed, parenthood guidebook. Hopefully it proved to be as useful as it looked.
As she was about to et up and put everything away, she paused, catching sight of one last missed item in the box.
Her heart, traitorous as it was, stuttered in her chest.
Tucked away was a single red rose.
Even now you were still giving her flowers. She could practically hear you saying “I like you” as you always would. With a smile that expected nothing in return.
“You truly are hopeless,” Celine murmured.
And yet… staring at all the gifts you had sent her; practical things intended only to help her without insinuation, a kindness without expectation for debt; she felt…lighter.
She felt a little less alone in this raging sea.
She felt, briefly, cradled in that sunshine warmth that you always carried with you.
Maybe she was the hopeless one.
.
.
.
Celine had never been a fan of industry parties.
They served a purpose, of course. Networking, mostly, but to also keep up with rumors and trends. But at the same time, it had been perhaps Celine’s least favorite aspect of the industry.
Mi-yeong always loved parties. She could approach any group and it’d be like she was with them for years.
Hyeon-seo was always better with talking. She could take control of a conversation without any noticing.
Celine had always been the outlier. The awkward duck easily carried away by the riptides of socialization, preferring to stand aside and let the others handle things for her.
But she didn't have them to rely on anymore.
As much as she loathed to be here, she had to be. Sunlight Entertainment was still a startup label, she needed to secure connections if she was to ensure it not only survived but thrived by the time Rumi was ready to step onto the stage.
And so here she was, hoping her forced smile wasn’t too obvious, while the man she spoke to held her as his conversational hostage.
For the past ten minutes, all he’s done was talk about his own personal achievements as he draped his arm across her shoulders, ignoring her personal space as he went on about how much money his business made this last fiscal year.
Celine so badly wanted out of the conversation. But she didn’t know enough about him to know what the safest way to get away was.
It may have been a few years since she had been in the entertainment industry, but she still knew how petty those in power could be. She had to be careful, navigating conversations here was like navigating a minefield.
“This conversation has been a pleasure, Mr. Kim,” Celine said, trying to remain polite. “Unfortunately, I do have other business to attend.”
“Everyone’s here for business, doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” the man said, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing waiters tray, offering one to Celine. “Come on, have a drink with me and let yourself cut loose.”
Celine felt her eye twitch, her smile growing harder to maintain when he rudely shoved the champagne towards her. “Thank you, but I—”
“Ah! There you are, Celine!” a familiar, warm voice called out. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling the air.
A gentle hand rested on the back of her shoulder, and suddenly you had appeared, nudging yourself between her and Mr. Kim, forcing him to pull his hand off her and back away. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
It had been years, since she’s seen you last. Your hair was longer, styled differently, and though it was hard to tell with your heels, she was almost certain you had grown.
You looked older, mature, nothing like the teenage trainee from all those years ago.
Mr. Kim coughed. “Um, excuse me. We are in the middle of a conversation.”
She had to stop herself from correcting him; it hadn’t been a conversation; it had been him talking about himself and Celine doing the bare minimum in responses. But she, wisely, stayed quiet.
“I’m sorry, but I do need to steal her away,” you were as polite as ever. There was a warm, friendly tint to your voice, placating in nature. “It’s urgent business, you understand.”
Without letting him throw in any desperate argument, you had turned and began moving. Your hand was still on Celine’s upper back, not pressing, not pushing, but gently leading her away through the crowds and out of that atrocious conversation.
She hadn’t expected to see you here; the party had mainly been targeted towards individuals more in the production side of the industry. But then again, you were hardly the only idol present. A few others mingled about throughout the crowd.
A smaller, far too selfish part of her, whispered that maybe you were here because Celine was.
She silenced that voice with practiced efficiency, muzzling it and burying it back down beneath the layers of shame and control that had become her armor.
You likely had your own business here, expanding on your own network of connections, or perhaps you simply enjoyed parties likes this and it was nothing deeper.
It didn’t matter why you were here, and it certainly was none of Celine’s business.
You led Celine out an open door leading to a wide veranda. Below them was the obscenely large pool and more drunk party goers around it, acting like this was a college frat party.
“What did you need?” Celine asked, straight to business. “If it’s urgent, you should be seeking out your manager, assuming he’s here. Not me.”
Leaning against the railing of the veranda, you laughed. “Always so serious. You haven’t changed a bit.”
It might have been seen as an insult if it weren’t for the fact that you were looking at Celine with that same level of tenderness as before.
“What happened?”
You raised a hand to wave her off. “The ‘urgent business’ was getting you away from the creep.”
At Celine’s stare, you shrugged, shifting your gaze to the people below jumping into the pool.
“I’m not sure if you knew this, but he’s got a bit of a reputation at these parties," you began, letting out a low whistle of an exhale. "If you’d stayed in that conversation any longer, that hand on your shoulder would have started wandering places it had no place being.”
How wonderful to know. Though Celine couldn’t say she was particularly surprised, she had gotten that kind of sleazy impression from him the moment he had approached her.
“Well, thank you, I suppose. I’d have hated to make a scene because I broke his hand.”
You threw your head back and laughed.
Her heart tittered in response to the sound, and Celine found herself starting to smile—only to quickly smother it before you could notice. A quiet, firm “no” echoing in her mind.
Instead, she refocused her attention to the crowds still inside the building, pretending not to notice your heat beside her.
“I heard you’re starting up your own record label,” you said idly, she could see you smiling at her from her periphery. “Congratulations on that, by the way. Sunlight Entertainment. It’s a good name, a nice homage.”
“Thank you.”
Your smile grew just a bit, spreading that warmth, a radiating light in contrast to the dim night of the party. Your eyes were on her, always, gaze soft and kind. Just like they had been when you had been a trainee, handing her flowers and telling her that you liked her.
For a moment, Celine allowed herself to play with the idea of asking you to switch to her label once your contract was up. But she tossed that aside just as quick.
It was ridiculous to be having thoughts like these, to play around with the idea that your feelings might have somehow gone unchanged over the years. It had been nearly a decade since Celine had last seen or spoken to you.
Celine had moved out of her old apartment when Rumi was around six months old. She'd never given you her new address, nor any way to reach her. She had simply packed up and moved.
A small apartment in a busy, noisy, crowded part of the city where eyes were always on them was no place for a child like Rumi to grow up in. She needed space, she needed quiet, she needed privacy from the flash of cameras.
So, they had moved out of the city, made a home near the seonandang that served as the heart of the Honmoon.
Though she was under no illusion that you would have tried to keep some kind of contact had you known where she went, the end result was that the last she had heard from you was a decade ago.
You must have finally moved on. Perhaps you had a partner of your own now, and your crush on Celine was a thing of the past.
“You’re looking for investors, right?” you asked, your voice soft but still carrying over the pulsating music and cacophony of conversation around them.
Celine did not jump or flinch, but she did feel a tension form in her fingers.
Unbothered, you continued on, “That’s why you’re here, I mean. You avoided these events even when you were an idol. Since Sunlight Entertainment is still in the startup stage, you’ll need to grab investors.”
“You’re awfully perceptive.”
You gave her another unfair laugh. “I try.”
The silence that fell between them after that was…comfortable. More than Celine would have expected it to be.
She had worried that you’d press her for conversation, try to ask about her life, what she had been up to since retiring, or about how she was faring as Rumi’s guardian.
But you asked her nothing. Stayed leaning against the railing, watching those below them have a fun time, your eyes flickering every so often to Celine, your smile growing softer each time.
You didn’t ask needless questions, needle her to talk when she didn’t want to. Like you were before, you seemed happy just being next to her in whatever small way you could.
For the first time since Celine came to this party she felt content. Your presence soothing her nerves.
All the more reason why she needed to leave.
“It was nice to see you, but I really should get back,” Celine said, taking a step away from you, rebuilding that chasm. “Thank you, again, for helping me.”
“Anytime,” you smiled, and she knew you truly meant it. “But…before you go.”
Pushing yourself from the railing, you fell in line beside Celine, pointing towards the crowds still inside with one hand, your other hovering above her back. Not touching, but she could feel the warmth from your hand searing her bare skin.
She tried to ignore how close you were by focusing on where you were pointing. “See the woman over there? Emerald green dress? Librarian glasses?” you asked quietly.
Celine surveyed the crowd and spotted the aforementioned woman. She was a bit older than herself, talking with a small crowd as she gently swirled a glass of champagne. “Yes. Why?”
You stepped back, taking that pleasant warmth with you as you gave her space once more.
“That’s Jun Ye-jin, was the producer of more than a few blockbuster hits. Might be the kind of woman you would want to introduce yourself to,” you explained, your tone was casual, the implication deafening. “She’s very outspoken about being the Sunlight Sister’s self-proclaimed biggest fan.”
Oh.
You were still trying to help her, in our own way. Pointing out a potential investor so that Celine wouldn't have to stumble blindly.
With a warm smile, you nodded your head back to the crowd, a silent 'Well? Go on.'
She’d given you one last glance before she walked off, approaching Jun Ye-jin and trying to work out what she would say to her.
As it were, you had been right. Ye-jin had been more than delighted to meet Celine. It was apparent right from the start that she was still a devoted fan of the Sunlight Sisters, even after a decade.
Once Celine had introduced herself, all Ye-jin’s attention had been on her. They had spent the better part of the next few hours talking; discussing music both old and new, the current trends, and the entertainment industry as a whole.
By the time Celine was walking back to the counter to retrieve her coat and bag, she felt like her entire body was buzzing.
She had an investor.
Sunlight Entertainment had their first real investor.
It almost felt too good to be true—but Ye-jin had been more than eager to invest in Celine’s record label. She had even made it clear, that she wouldn’t accept Celine telling her no, either.
Celine had tried to find you before she left, just to give you a quick thank you for bringing Ye-jin to her attention; she never would have thought to approach her had you not brought her up.
But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find you. It was clear that you’d already left the party. She pretended not to be disappointed by that.
“Here you go, ma’am,” the man said as he passed Celine her things from across the counter. “Oh, and one more thing for you.”
One more? “I only checked in these two,” Celine said carefully.
“A woman swung by an hour or so ago, dropped something off and said it was for you.”
Her confusion only lasted a moment longer. Her questions answered the moment the man brought up a bouquet of red roses for Celine.
She took it with a show of reluctance, snatching her own heart in a chokehold to keep it from beating irrationally, but couldn’t stop herself from gently cradling the flowers in a way to avoid damaging any of the petals.
Roses you must have rushed to get just so that they would be there for Celine when she left.
There was a single note tucked between the stems, it's plain white a stark contrast to the red, and when Celine read it, her heart almost managed to slip free from her iron grasp.
'I like you.'
.
.
.
It might as well have been that those ten years had never happened for how easily you fell back into the old routines.
At least once a week, without fail, Celine was greeted with a delivery of roses brought to her at Sunlight Entertainment’s main office. Vibrant red roses, freshly cut, wrapped and tied with clear care.
Sometimes they had a small card attached to them carrying those three awful words. Usually they came alone, no note needed for her to hear you softly say “I like you” each time she received a bouquet.
She didn’t understand you. How you could still cling so strongly to those feelings for her despite the years and rejection.
Perhaps you didn’t, though. Perhaps you had moved on from affection, and this had become little more than an ongoing joke for you. Though if it were, it was a joke she understood even less.
Celine gave you nothing, and you still persisted. A bouquet a week, a simple ‘I like you’.
She wished you didn’t. She wished you’d stop. She wished you’d save yourself the pain and heartache and direct turn your attention to a woman who could happily and wholly accept those feelings of yours. Because Celine couldn’t.
She had to focus on her label, to build it up, to make it strong so that when Rumi was ready, Sunlight Entertainment would be her safety net, her armor.
She had to focus on Rumi, protect her, raise her, train her. There was no room in her life for another, for you.
Celine had made a vow when she became a hunter. To her fellow Sunlight Sisters. To the hunters before her, to the Honmoon itself. Her priority must always be to protect the world from demons. To defend and strengthen the Honmoon.
Romance. Relationships. Love. Those were things that she could not have. Didn’t know how to have. They were, as her mentors had said, a distraction. The affection you wanted was a hunter’s downfall.
It had been Mi-yeong’s downfall.
Her heart clenched at the thought, at the memory of her friend, so full of life and love. Of everything she lost because she chose love over duty.
No. Celine couldn’t afford to make the same mistake. Not when Rumi was still so young, not when there were no other hunters ready to take the mantle should she fall. She couldn’t let you be her downfall.
Even so… on nights where Celine found herself particularly lonely, her heart aching just too much, she’d find herself looking towards the flowers you sent her and let herself wonder.
From what she could find when she looked you up, you were still doing well as a singer. Not one of the top artists, but your music and fanbase were still going strong, and you even had a few awards to your name.
According to your Wikipedia page, you had even done more than a few collaborations with other groups, and had been a guest star in a few shows and movies—one of them having been produced by Ye-jin. Celine supposed that was how you had learned she was a Sunlight Sisters fan.
Still; Celine felt proud of your success. You had come far from the “almost sixteen-year-old” trainee she had once known.
Sometimes, she would find herself in the crowds when you were doing a local show.
She had some free time, Celine would reason to herself, justify to herself. You had gone to so many of the Sunlight Sisters shows without being asked, it was only fair that she attend at least one of your concerts in return.
She, very intentionally, avoided looking into your personal life.
Celine had no intention of ever accepting your affection, and so it was none of her business if you were single or in a relationship, and who you may or may not have been dating over the years.
It was not, by any means, because she didn’t like the sour taste that filled her mouth at the thought of you dating someone.
And still, every week there was a new bouquet of roses waiting for her.
And every week she shoved her heart deeper and deeper down.
.
.
.
“Special delivery, from your not-so-secret admirer,” Zoey announced as she stepped into Celine’s office, a familiar bouquet of roses in her arms.
Celine held back the sigh at the intrusion and noise, looking up from the paperwork she had been revising. “Hello to you, too, Zoey,” she said, looking past the young girl to give a polite nod to Mira and Rumi.
Laughing, Zoey wasted no time grabbing the empty vase from Celine’s desk—it was only empty by coincidence, it wasn’t as if she had cleaned it out in preparation for your latest bouquet—and went to fill it with water.
“Just like clockwork,” Mira grinned as she sank into the chair. “Zoey pretty much pounced the delivery man this time with how excited she was.”
Celine offered a hum.
The girls had grown rather invested in this…complication…between you and herself, and not in any way she would have liked. Mira and Zoey especially, once they had learned from Rumi the story behind the regular delivery of roses.
They seemed to treat it as if it were a drama where the leading players go through anguish and heartbreak before inevitably coming together as they were destined to.
She supposed that you didn’t help in that regard.
It had been another decade since your path had crossed hers again, and for those ten years there had not been one week where you did not send her a bouquet.
Usually through delivery, but sometimes you would be so bold as to come to the office and hand it to her in person, along with that sunlit smile as you told her, in no uncertain terms, that you liked her.
“I still think it’s sweet,” Zoey said as she returned, vase filled with water and flowers, placing it back in its spot on Celine’s desk. “Roses every week? That’s so romantic.”
Rumi nodded along, smiling up at Celine with the same mischief she always saw on Mi-yeong. “Apparently she’s been giving Celine roses since her days with the Sunlight Sisters.”
Mira threw her hands into the air, letting out a sound somewhere along the lines of a choked yell. “That like fifty years of pining!”
“Twenty-three. We were only in contact for thirteen.”
“That’s still a long ass time,” Mira shot back, ignoring Celine’s clipped “Language,” as she waved furiously at the flowers. “She’s been giving you flowers, telling you she likes you, for thirteen years. That’s world-class dedication.”
It wasn’t dedication. It was foolishness. Borderline obsession.
You were insane, it was the only explanation for why you would continue again and again, despite her adamant refusal.
“It would hurt more if the one time I didn’t ask was the one time you would have said yes.”
Celine held back a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as your warm voice echoed in her mind. You had said that to her so long ago, surely it couldn’t still apply.
With a pout, Zoey joined the others on the couch, “Mira’s right; she’s been trying to woo you for years. It’s clear she’s crazy for you,” she complained, “I don’t get why you won’t give her a chance.”
“You know exactly why I can’t.”
They went quiet immediately. An awkward, tense silence permeating through the room in response.
Rumi shifted awkwardly, fiddling with the loose strands in her braid whereas Mira let out a scowl. Even Zoey looked a little downtrodden. Perhaps Celine had said it a bit too harshly.
She took a breath to gather herself before looking at her protégés again.
“We are hunters. Our priority must always be the protection of the Honmoon and fighting demons. We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted by things like this,” Celine said, her words echoing what her mentors had told her, “If our focus slips, then we will be giving Gwi-Ma more openings to harm the people we’ve vowed to protect.”
The girls were still quiet after she spoke. Contemplative. They might have been young, but they understood the gravity of their roles.
Hopefully, now, they will leave the subject alone.
It was Mira who inevitably spoke up first. Always the bolder of the three, the one more willing to speak her mind in front of Celine than Rumi or Zoey.
“Then what about once we turn the Honmoon gold?”
Celine found herself faltering, and Mira seized the opportunity to continue. “Once the Honmoon is sealed, we won’t have to worry about demons again. All this ‘it’s too much of a risk’ talk shouldn’t matter anymore.”
And just like that, the others had snapped back, keenly focused on that one detail.
“Of course! Once we’ve sealed the Honmoon, you’ll finally be able to go on a date with her!” Zoey exclaimed, looking far more excited over Celine’s prospective love life than Celine was.
Rumi gave Celine a nervous smile, “They have a point.”
All three were staring at Celine expectantly, as if their logic was infallible. The naivete a sign of their youth.
“It’s not that simple—”
“Sure it is,” Zoey interjected. “I mean, I get it. You’ve been alone for so long that the idea of getting out there and dating is probably scary, but come on; she’s clearly into you. She’s the biggest green flag!”
“You don’t even know her, Zoey,” Celine pointed out, her tone growing strained as she fought to keep her exasperation in check. “How can you be so certain?”
“I follow her on social media, duh,” was the easy response as Zoey fished out her phone, ready to show you proof. “She’s actually really funny in her posts, and she’s so good at getting really good aesthetic shots of skylines, and…and…huh?”
What was usually the telltale sign of Zoey about to go into a full ramble about whatever topic she had latched onto had instead fizzled out as the young girl gaped at her phone.
Mira and Rumi leaned in closer on either side to look at the screen, their eyes wide.
“Wait, hold on—this isn’t one of those fake headline pieces, is it?” Mira asked, thumbing at the screen to presumably confirm.
Rumi’s eyes were flickering back and forth as she read, mouthing the words. Occasionally she’d glance up at Celine before quickly looking back to the phone.
The way they were behaving, Celine felt a wave of dread wash over her, her stomach tightening into a lead ball.
“What happened?” her voice was stern, keeping back the trembles that threatened to spill out from her veins. When neither of the girls dared to speak, she rose from her seat to tower over them.
“Talk. Now.”
Silently, Zoey handed over her phone, gaze locked on anything that was not Celine.
Biting back the rush of fear, Celine brought the screen towards her, slowly reading through the headline from the article Zoey had up.
The lead ball in her stomach dropped.
.
.
“You retired.”
You tilted your head as Celine’s accusation cut through the air, your smile unwavering.
“Hello to you, too,” You said lightly, offering her the bouquet you had brought as if it were a peace offering.
Celine didn’t take it, her narrowed gaze locked on you as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Rather than going through a delivery company, you had brought the flowers to her directly this time. And so here you were: in her office, being stared down by Celine,
Looking like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“You retired,” Celine said again, her voice quiet, but demanding. “Quite suddenly by the sounds of it.”
There had been no buildup to your sudden departure, no easing into it. You had arranged for a sudden press conference and simply announced to the world that you were retired. Effective immediately.
Just like Hyeon-seo had.
She was gone so abruptly, a single conference, a single letter, and then she disappeared entirely, as if she had never existed.
Celine found herself worrying. Were you about to do the same? To disappear from the world with the same suddenness that you arrived? Was this your goodbye letter before permanently leaving her life?
No, Celine didn’t have any right to worry or fear your absence.
You were not her friend, you were barely an acquaintance; she had made sure of that, had meticulously built that wall between you and herself with her own hands.
You entered her life like a storm, it was only fitting you left it as one, too.
“Why are you retiring?” Celine tried instead, her voice lacking the usual sharp edge she would use. Unable to latch onto it as she spoke.
The way that you were looking at her—it was as if there were a thousand things you wanted to say. Your eyes almost pleading in how soft they had gone. You opened your mouth before closing it, pulling back whatever it was you had been about to say.
“Celine, do you know how old I am?” you asked her after a long stretch of silence, your tone light, still smiling, only the warmth and light had diminished. “I’m thirty-eight.”
She nodded, swallowing back the questions and rippling anxiety that threatened to spill out. “Thirty-eight is still young. I hope you’re not retiring because you think you’re too old to perform.”
Laughter filled the air, and you shook your head, “It’s not that, no,” you assured her. “I turned thirty-eight a few weeks ago, and I found...” again, your words faltered, pulling them back at the last second. You swallowed thickly, “I guess I realized something terrible.”
You brought the flowers back to yourself, letting the roses hide the lower half of your face from sight. But they did nothing to hide the somber look in your eyes.
“I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life on stage. I spent seven years before that in constant training to be on that stage,” you said easily, your eyes never leaving hers. “Of my thirty-eight years, I’ve only ever been free to live as I pleased for twelve. Well, as free as a kid can live.”
“You make it sound like being an idol was terrible.”
That pulled another warm laugh from you.
“Don’t get me wrong, Celine. I had the time of my life being on stage,” you said. “I will never regret those decades, the things I’ve done or the people I met. But it’s time for me to step down and let someone else shine.”
Celine felt the tension still coiled tight between her shoulders mix with an uncertainty for an unknown.
The way you were describing it, it sounded like you were simply burnt out after so many years in the spotlight.
She could understand that, of course, you may not have been at the same level as the Sunlight Sisters had been, but you were popular. It was a busy, demanding career that could suck the passion out of a person.
But even so, something didn’t sit right, it felt like there was something else to it.
“You didn’t need to make such an abrupt exit, then,” Celine said carefully. “You know that’ll only breed rumors. People are going to talk. This is the kind of story the media hounds are going to be salivating over.”
“Let them, there’s nothing they can say that’ll bother me.”
Your eyes grew softer, a quiet sigh escaping you as your gaze shifted to the roses. “Life is short, and there are still things I that want to do with my life,” your voice had been so faint, barely more than a whisper, “things I didn’t want to keep waiting for.”
A pause filtered through the room, poignant, the linger note in a quiet song.
Then your eyes were on her again, and you held the roses out once more. “First among them? That I want to take you on a date, if you would let me.”
And with a snap, the tension had broken.
Celine pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a heavy sigh.
“No,” came the swift, but firm, answer. “I’m not going to change my answer because you retired.”
And always, your smile didn’t falter. It remained gentle, warm, and accepting. “I know it won’t. But I’d have never forgiven myself if I didn’t ask.”
She knew that.
You were still clinging so tightly to that burning ember of hope, clinging to the possible future where Celine might one day say yes instead, no matter how impossible it was.
“I wish you’d move on,” she sighed.
“You know I can’t.”
You had said something years ago about how a person can’t control where their heart went, who they liked. It was why your affections were stubbornly locked onto her. Celine wondered if you found that as frustrating as she did.
Her gaze drifted to the liquor cabinet she kept in her office.
Usually, she wasn’t the type to drink during the day, preferring to wait until after hours to have half a glass. Preferring to wait until she was in the privacy of her home, on those darker days where everything was too much and her self-loathing too loud to ignore.
But right now, she could really go for a drink.
“I suppose I should offer you congratulations and wish you a happy retirement,” she said, pulling the cabinet door open. “Would you like a drink? Consider it a gift for you.”
It was unfair how bright your expression grew at that simple offer.
Celine might as well have offered to give you the entire world with how delighted you were.
“I’d love that.”
.
.
.
A part of Celine had hoped that your time in retirement would have been spent exploring new hobbies. Perhaps travel. That your schedule would still be just as busy.
In reality, your retirement seemed to only serve in giving you more time to pursue Celine.
No longer relying on delivery services, you came to the Sunlight Entertainment offices yourself every week to give Celine a new bouquet.
So frequent were your visits that she was sure that the secretaries at the front desk didn’t even stop and question you anymore, they just waved you on up to Celine’s office the moment you walked in through the front doors.
She had seen them whispering whenever she passed them after your visits, they were almost as bad as her girls in their gossiping.
Once, she had asked why you wasted your newfound free time coming to her than on something you might enjoy more. You had laughed as you tucked the new bouquet into the vase on her desk.
“Why would I? I don’t think there’s anything I could enjoy more than the time I spend here.”
The tragedy of that declaration lied in how true it was.
Deep down she knew that if she told you to leave her alone, to stop coming to her with flowers and confessions, that you would do so without a fight. You would smile at her, thank her for indulging you for as long as she had, and leave.
Even so, she never did.
She let you keep coming, keep giving her a bouquet of flowers and tell her in that ridiculously happy tone that you liked her, and though she told you no every time, she didn’t stop you from trying.
Unable to let the walls down and let you come closer, but unwilling to let you slip away.
Maybe she was just as bad as you were.
“Je t’aime bien,” you had said one particular morning, having caught Celine as she entered the building, but before she’d made it to her own personal office. A fresh bouquet was cradled gently in your hands.
The French had surprised her more than she would have liked, head snapping to your direction, meeting your soft smile and the unhidden yearning in your eyes. “Je t’adore de toute mon âme.”
The words were said smoothly and confidently.
And Celine’s chest constricted at the words, her heart—a traitorous little thing—tightened, beating faster despite herself.
“Your French has improved,” Celine said as response, careful to keep her tone level, neutral. “I’m surprised that you kept at it.”
She’d thought for sure it would have been a phase for you. Learn a few words and then move on.
But, she should have known better. She knew that you were frustratingly persistent when you set your mind to something. A language would not have been an exception.
You bloomed under her simple praise, your pale cheeks dusting pink. “Of course!” came your pleased chirp. “I told you I’d become so fluent you would be asking ‘how’!”
And you had. Your pronunciation was borderline perfect. A marked difference to how you’d spoken when you first began learning the language, stumbling blindly over the words.
“I’ll be saying words like ‘Bone Apple Teeth’ so perfectly, you’ll be wondering how I got so fluent!”
The memory came to her suddenly, and Celine couldn’t react fast enough to stop the small smile twitching at her mouth. You’d been so earnest in both your confusion and confidence.
“You’ve got the loveliest smile, I don’t think I’ve ever told you that,” you said quietly. Reverently.
Quickly Celine schooled her expression back into that unreadable mask, ripping the smile away, shoving the feelings you’d invoked back down, deep below. “If you’re hoping changing your flattery tactics is going to make any difference, you’ll be disappointed.”
“I could never be disappointed when it comes to you.”
You would, though, Celine thought with the hint of bitterness at that easygoing confidence you carried.
You only knew some idealized version of her that you’d placed on a pedestal. You didn’t truly know Celine because she always kept you at a distance. If she stopped and let you know her, it’d be impossible for you to not be disappointed.
Instead of saying any of that, Celine turned and began walking. As always, you followed at her heels.
“There’s a ballet show this weekend,” you said casually as you trailed behind her. “They’re doing a rendition of Swan Lake. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come see it with me?”
Celine didn’t know you liked ballet.
Nevertheless, her answer was still the same. “No.”
“No problem. Just figured I’d offer,” you said, as you followed Celine up the stairs, never bothered, as usual, by the rejection. “Huntrix is coming back from tour soon, right? I hear they’ll be taking a brief break to rest up for this year’s Idol Awards.”
“Their last concert of the tour is next week.”
At the rate they were going, Celine was confident that their show at the Idol Awards would be the one to seal the Honmoon. She planned to take them out on a trip after as a celebration, a vacation where they could relax and enjoy themselves. They had certainly earned it.
“Once we’ve sealed the Honmoon, you’ll finally be able to go on a date,” Zoey’s excited proclamation echoed in her mind.
Celine was grateful she was ahead of you by a few steps as you walked, that way you could not see the sudden rush of heat flooding her face at the memory.
Get a grip, Celine. Even after the Honmoon turned gold, her stance wasn’t going to change. You’d still come to her, proclaim that you liked her—and Celine would continue to tell you no, continue to maintain this carefully crafted distance.
There was no room in her life for a relationship, no matter how much the world seemed to think otherwise. The Honmoon would be sealed, but she would still have too much work to do.
And even if she didn’t, Celine wouldn’t know the first thing about dating, about how to be partner. So why bother when she knew she would only prove to make a fool of herself?
It was just better for everyone if she continued to tell you no.
So focused on her own thoughts, Celine hadn't realized you had fallen further and further behind her until she had reached her floor and turned to see you had only just started on that last flight of stairs.
Celine raised a brow at you, “I didn’t realize you’ve gotten quite so out of shape.” It was only five flights of stairs.
You grinned up at her as you made it to the top, chest heaving , your legs were even trembling. One hand was still held tight on the guardrail against the wall, the other cradling the bouquet to your chest like it were precious cargo.
“Laugh all you want,” you wheezed, pausing to cough into your arm between mouthfuls of air, “but let me remind you I’m retired. I don’t have the same stamina I had when I was a young.”
Rolling her eyes, Celine let out a scoff. “You’re not that old.”
“I’m in my forties; I’m practically a dinosaur.”
“Then what does that make me, then? I am older than you; or have you forgotten that?”
Your response was another wheezing laugh.
.
.
.
Celine used to think the worst day of her life had been when Mi-yeong had died. Now she knew better.
Now she knew that no day could ever hold a candle to the horror of seeing her ward—her daughter—on her knees, begging through tears for Celine to end her. Of her daughter accusing Celine of never loving her. Knowing just how deeply she had failed the child she cared so much for.
She was the reason the Honmoon had broke, the reason Gwi-Ma had almost won. She was the reason Huntr/x fell apart.
Celine had ingrained in her daughters a bone-deep shame, had taught Rumi to hate herself, to hide herself, that only part of her deserved to be love.
In her bid to keep them safe, to keep the world safe, Celine had hurt them, her words cutting them deeper than any knife.
She had failed them in every way that had mattered.
Mi-yeong wouldn’t have caused them all this pain, Celine had found herself thinking as she nursed a glass of whiskey.
The lights of her office had been turned off, a few cracks of sunlight slipping in through the blinds as she stared at the photo of Huntr/x she had framed on her wall. Right beside it was one of the Sunlight Sisters.
She could feel the judgement in their gazes even now.
It had been a week since she had heard from any of them, not since Rumi had left her a text telling her how they needed space. Space from her.
However long they needed, she would give.
She would give them as much time as they needed. It they decided to cut the rot that was her from their lives completely, she would accept that choice.
Mi-yeong would have been able to show them the patience, love, and care they had needed, that they had deserved. She wouldn’t have taught them to feel ashamed of themselves, to hate themselves the way Celine had.
She brought a hand to her face, feeling tears burning her vision, “I wish you were the one who was here,” she whispered into the empty room. She wished she’d been the one who had died.
Would have taken Mi-yeong’s place in a heartbeat if she could.
She drank a little more. Drank down the whole glass of whiskey as if it might chase away her own heartache.
It didn’t. It never did. It numbed her senses, blurred her vision, but did nothing to ease the pain.
The girls hate her. Have every right to hate her for what she’s done.
Mi-yeong is looking at her from the afterlife in disgust, knowing what a mistake it had been to trust Celine.
She had trusted her to care for and love Rumi, and Celine failed. She failed to be the pillar of support Zoey and Mira needed. Failed to give them what they needed.
She poured herself another glass and downed it in one fell swoop.
Your faults and fears must never be seen. It’s so painfully clear to her now how damaging the Hunter's Mantra was. Damaging to her. Damaging to Rumi, Mira, and Zoey.
She should step down as CEO of the label. Transfer full ownership, all her assets and stocks, everything for Sunlight Entertainment to Rumi and let her take over.
Fully disappear from the spotlight. From everyone’s lives.
If she were dead and buried, maybe this pain would finally end. If she were dead, she wouldn’t be able to keep hurting the people she loved. She’d like to be buried beneath seonandang, like the other hunters.
No, Celine thought. She didn’t deserve that honor. Didn’t deserve to be buried at the heart of the Honmoon. She’d only blight the land and tree with her shame.
Throw her to the sea, let there be nothing of her to be found.
A knock dragged Celine from her spiraling. Her eyes burned at the light that filled the space as the office door slowly swung open and the sun walked in.
“Hey, Celine,” you greeted softly, bouquet of roses in hand.
You were too bright, standing there and smiling at her. Why would the sun come to such a terrible, miserable place?
She glared at you, “Why are you here?”
With a soft laugh, you jostled the roses you had brought. “I haven’t missed a delivery yet; I’m not going to now.”
Of course. Your roses, your confessions. Persistently chasing after her no matter how many times she tells you no. Your blind optimism, the way you continued to cling to hope no matter what.
Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach with it. With you. Fury crashing inside of her like a raging storm desperate to drown her.
“Go away,” the words came out sharpy, far sharper than any she’d given you before. Her grip on her glass tightened, threatening to shatter in her hand. “I can’t stand the sight of you.”
Your smile faltered, you might have even flinched.
Then your gaze flickered to the near empty bottle on her desk, and the glass she cradled. “How much have you had to drink?”
There was warmth in your voice still, softer, gentler—pitying, a voice whispered harshly in her head. Even you pitied her. Saw her for the broken, miserable creature she had always been.
“I said go away.”
But you didn’t. You didn't leave. You always refused to leave.
You took a step towards her, slow and cautious as if she were a frightened animal. Bringing that burning light closer with each step. “You’re drunk.”
It wasn’t an accusation, cutting sharp and ripping through her skin. You said it so gently, so patiently, with nothing short of tenderness.
Even as you carefully pried the glass from her hand, pulling both it and the bottle away from her reach, you had done so with tenderness and care, careful to not hurt her. As if she were something fragile that might shatter at the slightest touch.
She hated it.
Hated that you were still being so sweet to her.
Stop it!
She’s been cruel to you for all these years, letting you think you might have a chance, tethering you to herself. She didn’t deserve your kindness. She didn’t deserve your patience.
“Why do you keep coming here?” Celine asked, her voice low, pleading. Borderline hysterical. Why wouldn’t you just let her suffer in peace? Why couldn’t you let her wither away like she deserved?
Her question seemed to have taken you aback by how you stopped. “Celine—”
“There’s nothing here for you,” Celine continued, she couldn’t tell if she was yelling, her throat felt raw enough for it. “What could you possibly want to keep coming back to someone like me?”
Celine’s face felt wet, she could taste salt on her lips, and her entire body was shaking. Vibrating with rage and pain, and a flood of feelings she was too cowardly to name.
You stared at her with that soft gaze she loved despised.
“I keep coming back because I do, truly, like you,” you picked up the bouquet and tilted it towards her in offering once more. “All I want is to take you on a date, if you would let me.”
You had said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Have always said it as if it were. As if you never even needed to think twice about the words that tumbled out. For you, perhaps that kind of honesty truly did come so easily.
Easy for you to stand before her, confessing to her with that damnable bright smile.
You are the sun, Celine found herself thinking.
Impossibly bright, radiating warmth wherever you went, a guiding light for those who were lost. People gravitated around you, thrived under your warm touches, gentle comforts, and brilliant smiles. You chased away the darkness just by existing.
But Celine is the darkness.
She is the cold, dark, lonely night. Danger and ruin, destroyed by her own faults and flaws until all that was left was a hollow shell of whom she’d once been. A poison that spread to anything that dared get too close.
If she let you near, that light of yours would be snuffed out. She would only ruin and hurt you, just like she’s done to all the others she’s cared about.
Like she’s done to Rumi, to Mira, to Zoey; telling them to shove their fears and their insecurities down until it became a rotting, festering wound that ate away at them from within.
She couldn’t do that to you. Not you.
“No.”
Like the countless times she’s told you ‘no’ before, you had only softened your smile, given her that look of understanding. As if you could possibly understand her.
“Right,” you had murmured, resting the flowers back on her desk. “Then at least let me stick around until all this alcohol gets through your system? You shouldn’t have to be alone while like this.”
No, you couldn’t. She needed you as far from her as possible, before you got hurt, before she hurt and ruined you, too. “Leave, please.”
“Celine, I don’t—”
“I said leave,” Celine slammed her hands on her desk, shooting to her feet.
Your smile dropped, that soft look in your eyes had flickered into something more fearful—Celine felt a wave of disgust wash over her. That look should never have crossed your face. It felt wrong.
But if this is what it took to get you to leave her before she could ruin you, then that was the price to pay. What was more guilt for her to shoulder?
“Come on, Celine,” your voice had a tremble to it. Uncertainty. Fear. It stabbed at her heart. “You don’t really mean that. That’s just the alcohol talking.”
Celine took in a shuddering breath, her hands grasping her desk for support, and the words come flooding out.
She choked on them, struggles to breathe between, not even knowing what she was saying anymore as she tore you down.
This was necessary, Celine told herself. It had to be done. It would hurt, like ripping off a band-aid, but in the end you will be happier without the storm cloud that was Celine hanging over you. Better off without her plaguing your life.
You just needed to leave.
You took hold of your own arm, shrinking in on yourself as your gaze flickered from her and to the floor. “You don’t… you don’t mean it,” you said again, but it was void of your usual confidence. “I…okay.”
With a low, shaky inhale, you bowed, bending so low your brow brushed against the edge of her desk.
“I’m sorry for…everything, I suppose. I never meant to be such a thorn,” you said with a sardonic laugh that tore at Celine’s heart. “Thank you for putting up with me all this time.”
As you rose, that burning, radiating light that clung to you had set. You avoided Celine’s gaze as you took a step away. And then another. Slowly backing away until you had reached her office’s door.
“I’ll… see if someone can come check on you in a bit, but…” you smiled, and it was painfully forced. “I get it; you won’t see me again.” For a moment, that smile warmed, grew softer, as your eyes fell on her one last time. “Thanks…thanks for everything, Celine. I really did love the time I got to spend with you.”
The door clicked shut behind you.
Celine stared at it for seconds…minutes longer before collapsing back into her seat. Her heart a war drum in her chest, her body shaking so terrible she didn’t trust herself to be able to stand again.
On instinct, she reached across the desk to grab her bottle of whiskey—only for her fingers to brush against something far softer.
Lifting her head, she stared at the bouquet you had left behind.
She fought to keep the sob from tearing through her as she dragged the flowers towards her, holding them tight to her chest.
.
.
.
Months
That was how long it had taken.
Two months before Rumi, Mira, and Zoey were talking to her again—not like they used to, however. Some days there was hesitation, other days there was raw aggression. She took the brunt of it all the same.
Too much hurt had been done for them to return to how things had been.
But they… they were trying. Her and them both. Trying to be more open. More honest. More understanding. Celine was doing her best to let them take lead. She wouldn’t impose her beliefs or the teachings she was raised with on them, not anymore.
The tension was still there. Wariness on all sides. They didn’t trust her anymore, and as much as it hurt, Celine could not blame them.
It had been two months since she had last received a bouquet of roses.
Celine knew she had no right to feel the ache in her chest, but as one week passed into another with no sign of you, the pain in her chest took root.
She was the one who chased you away. She couldn’t complain when you did as she demanded.
It was better this way; Celine had told herself. She never would have been good for you; you always deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t have been afraid to love you.
That last bouquet of roses you had given her, the flowers from that terrible night, had long since dried up and wilted in her vase. And yet she did not remove it. Could not bear to touch it. It stayed, an ever-present reminder for Celine.
The girls had noticed, though.
Of course they had.
They had grown so used to you bringing roses every week for years, it was no surprise that they would notice when those deliveries stopped.
No one said a thing about it, though. Not at first. Everything was still too tense. Too awkward. Was it a question, another wound, they wanted to address when the other lashes were still healing?
It was nearing the end of the third month that Zoey broke the quiet.
“What happened with the roses?”
Celine swallowed, looking at the papers on her desk to avoid looking at Zoey. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do,” Zoey challenged back. “Shealways sends you roses, always gives you a new batch before they can wilt and look like that,” she waved a hand at the dead flowers on your desk. “But you haven’t gotten any new bouquets in ages. What happened? Why did she stop?”
Behind her, Mira and Rumi were watching attentively from where they sat on the couch.
For a moment, Celine was tempted to lie. It would be so much easier, so much less painful, to just tell them that you had grown tired of her rejections and had finally given up.
But she had agreed to no more lies, and you deserved better than that.
“We got into a fight a few months ago,” perhaps an exaggeration to call it a fight, it had been her attacking you. “I told her to stop; I told her to…” Celine felt her mouth go dry.
The girls noticed the rise of tension.
Rumi rose from her seat and took a careful step towards Celine, reaching out with her hand. “Celine?” she started, slow and careful. “What did you tell her?”
The shame burned low in her chest.
“I told her to leave,” Celine said confessed, “I yelled at her. I was drunk, lashed out. Said every terrible thing I could think of for her to leave.”
“Why the Hell would you do that?” Mira demanded, almost yelled as she stared Celine down.
Because she was a coward.
Because all she did was hurt those around her with her words and actions.
Because Celine didn’t deserve your affections.
Because she was terrified of what would happen if she said yes.
There were a million reasons why she had done what she did. The why didn’t matter, what mattered was that she’d said those things at all. That she succeeded in pushing you out of her life.
Celine ducked her head low. Avoided meeting any of their gazes as she stared at the documents on her desk.
“It was better for both of us this way. She would have been miserable with me; now she has the opportunity to find someone better.”
It was sound logic to her—but she should have known her girls would not have agreed.
“You don’t get to decide that,” Mira finally rose from her seat, joining the others in surrounding Celine, trapping her at her desk. “It’s not your decision to make on if she would have ‘been miserable’ with you.”
“Mira—”
“No, don’t ‘Mira’ me,” the younger woman cut in. “You’re always like this Celine. Thinking you know best, pushing everyone else away. So let’s make this simple, yeah?” She didn’t give Celine an option to refuse before she had pointed a single finger at her former mentor. “Do you like her?”
Celine said nothing.
The climbing frustration was clear on Mira’s face as she tensed her jaw. “Okay. Fine. Do you miss her?”
Dragging her gaze from Mira to her lap, and then slowly to the wilted flowers, Celine felt her chest constrict painfully. “…Yes,” she missed the way you lit up the room just by existing. The way your presence chased away the cold. The way that you made her mood feel just that little bit lighter.
Mira nodded, clicking her tongue approvingly. “And do you regret chasing her away?”
“I’d hope you regret it,” Zoey mumbled under her breath, only to earn a hard nudge from Rumi and a sharp look from Mira.
The burning shame grew sharper, knives in her gut, threatening to tear her open from within. “I…” regretted the look of pain and heartbreak that had been on your face. How she had smothered that radiant light of yours. The words she had said.
“Do you?” Mira pressed again, snapping her fingers in front of Celine’s face. “Do you regret pushing her away?”
“I do,” Celine said softly.
She felt like a sinner confessing her final sins to them, awaiting final judgement from them.
For a moment, Celine couldn’t help but wonder how pathetic she must have looked to them. She must have been such a pitiable sight.
Rumi took a step closer, looking at Celine with uncertain softness. “Would you undo it if you could?”
Her silence, the guilt on her face, was enough of an answer.
“Then go talk to her,” Zoey ordered, as if it undoing the damage she did was just that simple.
Celine shrunk further under their gazes. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or you won’t?” Mira challenged back. “If you feel bad about what you did and miss her, then you need to talk to her! At the very least you owe her an apology.”
She did. She owed you that and more. But that wasn’t the problem.
Sighing, Celine dragged a hand down her face, “I mean I can’t,” she said. “I don’t have any way to contact her. We never exchanged numbers; I don’t have her email. I have nothing.”
They had only ever met up because you had always sought Celine out. You were the one who reached out, every time. It had never crossed her mind to ask for a way to do the same for you.
Now she wished that she had.
Zoey hummed, looking Celine over as she mulled over the situation. “If you were to get a hold of her again. Would you actually talk to her?”
Her instinct was to say no. To run, to hide, to avoid this problem and hope that the wounds she inflicted on you and herself will fade. But she couldn’t keep doing that anymore.
“I would—” she faltered, curling her fingers in to fists. “I would try. I can’t promise more.”
The silence that filled the office after she said those words was deafening. She waited, tense, anxious, for what response Zoey or the others might have. Judgement, perhaps. Pity, most likely. Pity for their old, broken mentor.
Instead, Zoey clapped her hands together, grinning wide, looking far too excited over whatever decision she had arrived at.
“Then leave it to us!”
Celine raised her head. “Pardon?”
Puffing out her chest, Zoey grinned, eyes glittering with determination. “We’ll find a way to get a hold of her,” she declared, jabbing a thumb at herself. “I get it, Celine. You’re not a people person; you wouldn’t even know the first place to start looking. But me? I’ve got connections.”
The way she had said it, so exaggeratedly goofy, it was hard to tell if her aforementioned ‘connections’ were of the professional kind, or of a far more suspect sort.
Celine supposed it was better to not worry of that detail at the moment.
“I’d like to help, too,” Rumi added, matching Zoey’s determination. “I mean, this is important. If nothing else, she deserves an apology.”
Swallowing the lump of emotions in her throat, Celine looked at the two, “Are you sure?” she asked. She didn’t want them to feel forced or obligated to because of their relationship with her. “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to—”
She was cut off by Mira, a hand raised in the universal sign to stop.
“We want to do this, Celine,” she said sharply, a tone that beckoned no arguments. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not doing this for you. I’m helping so that woman can get some proper closure after putting up with you for so many years.”
Celine nodded, her body shrinking in her seat once more. “Right… thank you. I...” she hesitated, her voice going quieter, unsure what else she could say. “Thank you.”
As the three left her office, they left it in far higher spirits than when they had arrived. She supposed that, if anything, at least there was that. They’d latched onto the idea of seeking you out, of bringing either reconciliation or closure for you both.
She had no illusions that there could be any reconciliation. Celine wanted nothing more than to just apologize to you. To apologize for how she had treated you that horrible night, for all the years she had dismissed and rebuked you. For all the pain she has caused you in the decades you had known her.
But… deep in her chest there was a small ember burning away. A dying flame clinging on to the last strands of life, a quiet, futile hope that maybe…
Maybe she could finally let herself tell you yes.
When Zoey Rumi came to her office, it was without the expected excitement of Zoey loudly announcing that she’s gotten a hold of you, that she’s found where you were, or Rumi’s proud smile of having conquered a new and difficult challenge.
Instead they had slipped into Celine’s office with quiet footsteps, locking the door behind in a wordless bid for privacy.
The look on their faces was of someone who had regretted their victory.
“I…don’t really know how to say this,” Rumi began, avoiding Celine’s gaze. “We found her, but…”
Zoey gave Celine an apologetic look as she slid a sheet of paper across the desk to her.
They waited, quiet and tense, as Celine plucked the paper from the desk, watched as she read over the brief contents. Celine felt her throat close up, her heart freeze in her chest.
“Are you sure” she found herself asking, already knowing the answer.
Zoey fidgeted where she stood, looking up to Rumi before turning to Celine. “Are you still going to reach out to her?”
As terrifying as it was, she would.
.
.
.
The smell of disinfectants was strong as she stepped off the elevator, the melody of beeping echoing from a dozen different rooms loud, Celine could feel the beginnings of a headache.
Pushing the discomfort down, she adjusted the bouquet tucked into one arm, and began a brisk walk through the sterilized hall, quietly sidestepping busy men and women as she followed the signs hanging from above.
Everything about this felt wrong. Her mind kept telling her that the paper Rumi and Zoey brought her had been incorrect. That she wasn’t going to see you here because you weren’t here.
But she came anyway, despite the fear and anxiety, despite how much she didn’t want to believe them.
And there you were.
You were seated on one of the many chairs in the small room, a book on your lap as you slowly flipped through the pages. An IV drip at your side, hooked into your arm.
Celine felt like the floor had opened up beneath her.
You looked… you looked terrible. Your skin pale, heavy bags beneath your eyes, your cheeks sunken—how long had you looked like this, how long had she not noticed because you had hidden it all beneath layers of concealer and vibrant smiles?
She wanted to turn and run. To flee before you could see her. To tell her girls that she had gone but had not seen you. She wasn’t brave enough for this. Not strong enough for this.
But she had to be.
Gathering what remained of her fleeting courage, Celine willed her legs to move.
It wasn’t until she was standing right in front of you that you seemed to notice her presence. You paused in your book and slowly lifted your head, your eyes widening when you saw her.
“Celine?” you asked, blinking as you looked at her, and then to the flowers she had brought.
A moment passed, and your mouth curled up into a smile, a warm laugh slipping past your thin lips. “I think you got it mixed up. It’s my job to give you flowers, not the other way around.”
It had been only a few months, but Celine hadn’t realized just how much she had missed that warmth and light you exuded.
It was still dimmed—because of her—but it was still there. A quiet, soothing sun outlining you. Comforting and radiant in a way only you could be.
“What are you here for?” you asked, closing your book and placing it on the table beside you. Your smile didn’t falter, even if it wasn’t as wide as your smiles used to be for her.
There were a dozen things she needed to say. A hundred things she wanted to say. But Celine found herself struggling on all of them, except one.
“How long?” she asked, recoiling on her own words as she realized how hard they had come out. “I mean… how long have you been sick?”
Your smile grew softer as you looked at your lap, “…I found out a little before my thirty-eighth birthday,” you confessed.
Celine’s eyes widened in realization. “Your retirement—”
“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ sound. “I was started getting tired and dizzy out of nowhere. Then the pain and nausea. I thought I was just coming down with a flu, but…” your voice trailed off before shaking your head. “Figured I’d retire so I could focus on treatment.”
She felt like she was falling. Freefalling into an abyss. “How much…” Celine couldn’t even finish.
“Who knows. Doctors say it’s still hard to tell. There’s a chance I might come out victorious, chance I won’t,” you dismissed with a shrug. “For what it’s worth, I feel great most days—granted, I am on the good painkillers. But I’m sure I can keep this body ticking for a little while longer.”
She had hoped that you would give her better news. When Zoey and Rumi told her that all they could find was that you were here at the hospital once a week for treatment, she had feared the worst. But your words were nothing short of confirmation for those fears.
You were looking at her again, your head tilted, “Why are you here? You… you kind of made it clear you didn’t want to see me again.”
She had, and she hated that she had.
Celine tightened her grip on the roses, tried to find her words. She had practiced; she had rehearsed what she had wanted to say in her head a dozen times.
But now that she was here before you, she was at a loss.
“I….” Celine began, her voice trembling for a moment before she copied what you had done and bowed low, bending as far as she still could. “I needed to apologize.”
You stared at her; she could feel your gaze even if she couldn’t see it. “Apologize?”
Celine nodded. “I treated you unfairly. I said things to you that were cruel and untrue. I… I hurt you,” she explained, her voice growing softer with each word, with each admittance. “I apologize for it all. I was drunk, I was in pain, and I took it out on you.”
A long quiet filled the air as Celine waited for you to answer, still bowed despite the ache starting to build up.
Then, finally, you spoke.
Your voice was lit with confusion, a genuine uncertainty. “But… you weren’t wrong?” you asked quietly. “I was being a pest. I wouldn’t go away no matter how often you made it clear you wanted me to.”
Celine looked away, the monster that was her guilt thrashing within. “I didn’t mean it,” she said, and closed her eyes to take in another deep breath. “Despite how I treated you, I… you gave me something to look forward to in my life. Your flowers, your visits, they made my days brighter.”
Slowly, Celine sank to her knees beside you, her head still held low, unable to bring herself to look at you directly.
“When you first started, it was easy to push you away. I was twenty, you were fifteen. Then you were eighteen and it became that we were both idols, both women. Then I retired, claiming I had no time for a relationship when my focus was on Rumi,” Celine fought to keep the tremble out of her voice, could do nothing for the shaking of her shoulders. “I came up with excuse after excuse. But at the heart of it all: I was just afraid.”
You said nothing, silently watching as Celine spoke, pouring out her confession to you, a sinner on an altar. Her fears, her faults, all laid bare.
“I was raised to believe I could never have a relationship because of my career,” Idols, demon hunting, there was no time in either life for a romance. That was what she had been taught her whole life. What she had held tight to her heart.
“But… I was afraid. I don’t know how to be a good partner, how to be open and vulnerable. I pushed you away because I was afraid that if I said yes, I would only set you and I up for a greater pain. That you would realize you had wasted all these years, all these affections, on someone who never deserved it.”
You smiled at her, just like you always had for so many years. “I never would have thought it a waste.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And neither do you.”
The silence that was strung up between you was tense, stiff, and borderline uncomfortable for Celine. There were still a million things she wanted to say. Things that she should have said to you a long time ago.
You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling. “You realize, whatever happens here, I’m still on borrowed time, right?”
Celine nodded. She understood. Hated how deeply she understood. She didn’t care if it was a few months or a few years; she missed having you in her life. Missed the light and warmth you brought with you.
Another low, careful breath, your hand reached out to run through a few loose strands of Celine’s hair, pushing them back behind her ear. “What do you want, Celine? You didn’t just come here to apologize, so what is it you’re here for?”
Celine swallowed thickly at the question.
She still didn’t know what she wanted, not fully. She had spent so much of her life pushing her own feelings down until her own heart felt like a stranger.
How could she tell you what she wanted, when she didn’t even know how to put those feelings to words?
Mind drifting back, she thought of all the times you had spoken to her, the way you so confidently told her your own feelings, your own desires. How envious Celine had been with the ease it came to you.
Maybe, though, that was exactly what she needed. To follow in your own steps.
“Someone important to me once said that life is short,” Celine began, finally bringing her gaze to yours. She slowly forced the words out, pushed past every wall of restraint she had built over the years. “Life is short and there’s still a lot that I want to do with mine.”
She tilted the flowers towards you, a nervous, subtle offering. “First among them…I’d like to take you for a date. If you’d let me.”
There wasn’t a chance for her to dwell on her confession, for her anxieties to rise and throttle her.
With warm laughter, you chased away her fears before they could even raise their heads, the hand toying with her hair moving to rest on her cheek.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you smiled.
Who knew how much time they may have left together. Celine had already wasted away years of it; she didn't want to waste any more.
⊹ ࣪˖ Synopsis - You’ve spent weeks chasing the untouchable Daniela Avanzini at your school, only to be flat-out rejected when you finally ask her out—but then an unexpected incident leaves you hurt and forces her to step in.
As the days pass, she notices her heart racing when you laugh, missing you during the day, and feeling jealous in ways she can’t ignore
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Themes - inspired by the trending Regina George x Rodrick Heffley, daniela is straight (at the start), highschool au , made for this req
The first time you saw Daniela, you knew you were doomed. She wasn’t just popular—she was untouchable. Every step she took through Dream Academy’s halls made it obvious: everyone noticed, everyone followed, and everyone wanted to be her.
Hair perfectly in place, blazer sharp, posture so immaculate it practically demanded attention.
And you? Band bag slung over your shoulder, eyeliner smudged from last night’s practice, hoodie slightly too big, standing against the wall like a storm that no one expected.
It started innocently enough. You noticed her moving through the cafeteria, a wave of whispers trailing in her wake, and somehow your chaotic heart decided she was worth the risk.
You started small: brushing past her locker, dropping a sheet of music “by accident,” standing just slightly too close in the hall. Every glance you stole, every forced coincidence, felt like a tiny victory.
“Hey, wait up!” you called one afternoon, jogging to catch her as she strode past a cluster of freshmen. She turned, eyebrow raised, and smirk tugged at her lips—half amusement, half warning.
“You’re following me,” she said, her voice calm but sharp. Not a question. Just…fact.
“I’m…uh, observing,” you said, blinking innocently. “For research. Totally normal. Band research.”
She rolled her eyes, a soft scoff escaping. “Cute. Most people give up after a day.”
“I like challenges,” you said, grinning, because what else could you do?
Weeks passed. Lunchtime became your battlefield. You claimed the table exactly two away from hers, casually throwing in a joke just loud enough for her to hear.
Sometimes, she’d glance over, roll her eyes, maybe even smirk. You pretended you didn’t notice, but your heart did.
Then there was dance practice. She was in the studio, body moving like liquid silk, every step sharp, every motion controlled. Music thumping, mirrors reflecting her dominance over the floor.
You, of course, waited outside. Leaning against the wall, phone in hand, pretending to scroll, all the while stealing glances at the door. Every once in a while, you’d hum along to the song, just soft enough to be noticed.
Finally, she emerges. Hair tousled slightly from practice, face still smug, like she hadn’t noticed you standing there for the entire forty-five minutes. You catch her eye, smile, and she glances away—pretending she wasn’t waiting for you at all.
“You dance like you’re trying to hypnotize everyone,” you say, voice teasing, trying not to sound too obvious about how long you’ve been waiting.
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
Yet, somehow, she lingers. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s something she doesn’t understand herself. You notice it—the pause before she walks, the faint smirk that tugs at her lips despite her words.
Days turn into weeks. You keep finding ways to cross her path: walking past the studio “by accident,” asking for small favors like borrowing a pencil, or teasing her about how seriously she takes her stretching routine.
Every time she snaps back, it’s sharp, biting, sometimes cruel—but she doesn’t push you away.
Somehow, you’re allowed to linger, and every time she notices you noticing her, you can’t help but grin inside.
One afternoon, she’s practicing spins and jumps in the studio again, and you’re stationed outside like some loyal, chaotic shadow.
You lean on the wall, tapping your foot, pretending to be absorbed in your phone. Then, just when you think she’s finally noticed, the music stops.
She steps out, dripping in confidence, hair sticking slightly to her forehead from sweat, eyes narrowing playfully at you.
“Waiting for me?” she asks, voice teasing but with a hint of something else.
“Maybe,” you say, shrugging. “Maybe I just like watching someone be ridiculously good at what they do.”
She huffs, like she wants to be annoyed, but the corners of her lips twitch up. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yet entertaining?” you suggest, voice low enough that you’re not sure she catches it—but she does, because her smirk widens.
You follow her for a little while, pretending to carry her forgotten water bottle, teasing her about overexerting herself, joking about how dramatic she makes everything look.
She shoots back insults, her words sharp and clipped, but every now and then, she hesitates. Maybe it’s a glance, a pause, or that tiny crack in her untouchable facade. You notice. Of course, you notice.
And somehow, she lets you. She doesn’t understand why. Maybe it’s your persistence, maybe it’s your chaotic energy, maybe it’s something else she hasn’t named yet. Either way, she lets you hang around. And that’s enough for now.
That morning, you’ve been buzzing with nerves since the first bell. You checked your hair three times, made sure your eyeliner wasn’t smudged, even rehearsed the words in the mirror—this is it. Today, you’re asking Daniela. No backing out. No excuses.
By third period, your palms are sweaty, your stomach doing drum solos. You pace outside the dance studio, watching her through the glass as she stretches, her focus absolute, her grace untouchable.
You’re trying to act casual, scrolling through your phone, but your eyes never leave her.
When she finally steps out, you inhale, your chest tight. Heart hammering, you step forward.
“Daniela,” you say, voice shaking just enough that you know she’ll notice, trying to sound calm, confident—cool, like you’re not about to have your entire world rejected. “Would you…maybe want to grab lunch sometime? Just us?”
Her smirk hits instantly—sharp, smug, final. There’s a flicker of amusement, but mostly…disgust?
“No.”
“No?” You blink, chest tightening, hoping maybe she’s teasing.
“I said I’m straight,” she says, tossing her hair, turning her nose slightly up. “And, honestly… I don’t date people like you.” There’s a scoff under her breath, like your existence is mildly offensive.
You force a tight smile, shoving down the hurt, muttering, “Okay… no biggie. Got it.”
You walk away, heart bruised, cheeks hot, pride barely intact. Alright. Dream Academy’s untouchable queen beats me. Hope lost. Move on.
After Daniela’s words, you start keeping your distance. Not dramatically, not in a way that screams “I’m hurt,” but enough that it’s noticeable if someone’s paying attention.
You sit a table further away at lunch, laugh a little less loudly when she’s around, and skip your usual antics near the dance studio.
You tell yourself it’s about pride, that you’re just letting the sting fade, but every time you catch her gaze lingering on you—even for a second—you feel it: that tug of wanting to be seen, wanted, understood.
And Daniela notices. Not right away, not in a big, obvious way, but in the way she pauses mid-step while walking past the cafeteria, or how she tilts her head slightly when she spots you avoiding eye contact.
Something about your absence of chaos feels… off. Uncomfortable, almost, like there’s a quiet space that shouldn’t exist in her perfectly ordered world. She doesn’t understand why it bothers her, but it does.
You’ve been living in the band room lately. Not sleeping there exactly, but it’s close enough — lunch breaks, free periods, after class.
You bury yourself in riffs and half-written songs, the sound of Beomgyu’s guitar and Yunjin’s voice filling the space where your thoughts should be.
Beomgyu’s slouched against the amp, strumming lazily. “You’ve been acting extra emo lately,” he says, smirking. “Like, even for you.”
“Must be the eyeliner fumes,” you mutter, not looking up from your sheet music.
Yunjin raises a brow, sitting cross-legged on the desk. “Or maybe it’s her.”
You freeze for half a second. “Who?”
“Daniela.” Yunjin’s grin is all teeth, sharp but soft around the edges. “You haven’t followed her around in, what, a week? It’s almost weirdly peaceful.”
You shrug, keeping your eyes on the scribbles in front of you. “Didn’t know I was her personal bodyguard. She said she’s straight anyway.” You try to make it sound light, but it comes out heavier than intended.
Taehyun, who’s been quietly tuning his bass, glances up. “If you keep moping like that,” he says dryly, “you’re gonna turn into Chappell Roan by next week.”
Beomgyu snorts. “Lowkey? I’d pay to see that.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re all annoying.” But they’re right — you have been off. You tell yourself you’re fine, that Daniela’s rejection didn’t mess with your head, that you’re just tired. It’s easier than admitting that some part of you still looks for her in every hallway.
Practice ends, and the three of you wander out into the courtyard, instruments slung over shoulders.
You’re laughing at something Beomgyu says when it happens — a cluster of jocks near the fountain, loud and bored, spot your little crew instantly.
“Hey, emo band!” one of them calls out, fake enthusiasm dripping from his voice. “Play us a sad song about rejection!”
Beomgyu mutters something under his breath, Yunjin glares, and you roll your eyes, picking up your pace. But they’re not done.
Another one sticks out a foot as you walk past. It happens fast — your boot catches, your balance slips, and your entire weight goes forward. Your instrument case hits the ground with a crack, and you hit the pavement right after. Pain shoots up your wrist.
For a second, everything goes quiet.
Then the laughter starts.
“Watch where you’re going, Hot Topic,” someone snickers.
You bite down hard, trying not to show it hurts, both physically and otherwise. Yunjin kneels to help you up, Beomgyu’s already snapping, and you’re trying to laugh it off when the sound cuts through the courtyard like a blade:
“What’s your problem?”
Daniela’s voice.
You glance up. She’s standing a few meters away, gym bag slung over her shoulder, hair pulled back, expression sharp enough to slice through the group of jocks instantly.
“Don’t you idiots have anything better to do?” she adds, stepping closer. Her tone isn’t loud, but it’s enough to make them hesitate, shuffle backward, mumble excuses before scattering.
For a second, it’s just you and her.
She kneels down slightly, eyes flicking to your wrist. “You okay?” she asks quietly, not meeting your eyes.
You blink, caught off guard. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just… tripped.”
She scoffs softly, but there’s no venom in it. “You should be more careful.”
“Didn’t realize you cared,” you shoot back before you can stop yourself.
Her gaze meets yours — steady, unreadable — and something flickers there. Something that makes her throat tighten before she stands abruptly. “Whatever,” she mutters. “Just—get it checked.”
And she walks off, but you see it: the way her hand lingers by her side, the tension in her shoulders, the quick glance back before she disappears around the corner.
You don’t know it yet, but for the first time, she does. That weird, fluttery feeling sitting just under her ribs — the one she can’t name — it’s starting to unravel everything she thought she knew about herself.
-
Daniela's not in love. Right?
She’s untouchable, she’s flawless, and she definitely doesn’t get flustered over the chaos that follows the emo band girl who keeps showing up in her life. That’s ridiculous. Completely absurd.
And yet… she can’t stop thinking about the way your wrist hit the ground, the way your brow furrowed even as you tried to brush off the pain.
The way your lips pressed together, pretending it didn’t sting. She shakes her head. She’s not in love. She couldn’t possibly be.
Then she sees you. Across the courtyard, laughing. And not just laughing — the kind of full-throated, reckless laugh that makes her stomach twist.
Only this time, you’re laughing with someone else. A girl she hasn’t noticed before — Manon Bannerman. Piercings, dyed hair that’s somehow messy in a perfect way, and she’s funny. Really funny in your eyes, she guessed.
Manon makes some ridiculous comment, and you nearly spit out your drink laughing, hair falling in front of your eyes, eyes sparkling like… like she’s the only person in the world who gets it.
Daniela’s chest tightens before she can stop it. She didn’t know it could feel like that — watching someone else make you laugh and realizing your absence of ownership over that laugh makes her feel… territorial?
No. Stop. She’s not jealous. She’s not.
But then, Manon makes a joke at your expense — playful, not mean — and you roll your eyes, laughing anyway, nudging her lightly.
Daniela’s heart lurches, and she realizes she’s imagining… imagining being the one nudging you, making you laugh like that.
No. Definitely not in love.
Except, when you catch her glance, something shifts. That flutter she felt when steadying you earlier? It’s back. Louder. Hotter.
And maybe… maybe it’s not just concern. Maybe it’s something more. Something that scares her a little.
Daniela takes a deep breath, pretending to adjust her bag, trying to appear unaffected. She’s not in love. Not yet.
But she can’t stop looking.
One day turns into two, and suddenly Daniela’s eyes start tracking you before her brain even realizes she’s doing it.
She sees you in the hallway between classes, sitting at the back of the cafeteria with Beomgyu and Yunjin, legs crossed, laughing like the world hasn’t crushed you yet.
She tells herself it’s just curiosity. She just wants to make sure you’re okay after the fall, that’s all.
Except she keeps catching herself staring a little too long.
She’ll be mid-conversation with her friends — Sophia, Lara, whoever — and her attention will drift. Like static, like her focus is being tugged toward you.
The worst part? You’ve stopped looking at her. The girl who used to follow her around, cracking jokes and tossing smirks, doesn’t even glance her way anymore. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t.
But it does.
And it doesn't help that you’ve been hanging out with Manon a lot lately — the alt girl with that bold eyeliner and the “I don’t care” attitude that somehow makes everyone care.
Daniela sees you two sitting on the steps outside the art room, sharing fries, earphones split between you. It’s ridiculous how much that sight bothers her.
She tells herself she doesn’t care. That it’s fine. That maybe she just doesn’t like Manon’s energy — she’s too loud, too… close. But every time she sees you smile at Manon the way you used to smile at her, Daniela feels her chest twist into something she can’t name.
Once, she overhears Beomgyu teasing you — something about how “Manon’s totally into you.” You laugh, shaking your head, brushing it off. But your smile lingers. Daniela feels her pulse jump, her throat tighten.
That night, during dance practice, she can’t focus. Every step feels offbeat, every turn mistimed. Her instructor snaps, “Daniela, you’re distracted today.” She just nods, wipes her sweat, and lies through her teeth.
“I’m fine.”
But she’s not. Because every time she blinks, she sees you — that messy hair, those smudged black nails tapping along to a song she doesn’t know, the way your grin starts small and takes over your whole face when something’s actually funny.
She doesn’t understand it. You’re not even her type. You never were. You’re loud, messy, unpredictable — the opposite of the clean, perfect image she’s always curated. You drive her insane.
And yet, when she catches you yawning during homeroom, hoodie pulled tight around you, sleepy grin half-hidden, Daniela finds herself smiling. Softly. Without meaning to .She looks away fast, cheeks warm.
No. No, she’s not in love.
She’s Daniela. She doesn’t fall for girls — especially not you.
But lately, every time she hears your laugh, her heart doesn’t ask for her permission.
You tell yourself you’re over it.
Daniela’s not your problem anymore. She made that clear — the rejection, the distance, the silence that followed like a bruise that wouldn’t fade.
So yeah, you moved on. Or at least, you tried to.
Which is why you’re out here with Manon — sitting on the low brick wall near the fountain, talking nonsense, laughing at her stupid impressions of your music teacher. Manon’s easy to be around. Loud. Funny. She doesn’t make your heart clench every five seconds.
And for a while, it actually feels normal again.
Until it doesn’t.
Because suddenly, Daniela’s there.
You see her before she speaks — all perfect posture and clipped steps, like she’s on her way to war. Her hair’s still damp from dance practice, her expression unreadable, but her eyes— her eyes are locked straight on you.
“Having fun?”
You freeze.
You’d know that tone anywhere — soft but sharp, like she’s trying not to sound mad but totally is.
You look up and— yeah. There she is. Still in her dance uniform, hair tied up, eyes locked straight on you like you just committed a crime.
“Uh,” you start, “yeah? We’re just hanging out.”
Manon leans back on her hands, all fake casual. “Didn’t know we needed her majesty’s approval to sit here.”
You sigh. “Manon—”
Daniela’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “No one said that.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Manon mutters under her breath.
Daniela’s gaze flicks between you two, like she’s trying to figure out if this is a joke.
Then she looks right at you. “Didn’t think you’d hang out with… this crowd.”
You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she says too fast, crossing her arms. “Just surprised, that’s all.”
“Right,” you say flatly. “Because heaven forbid I sit with someone who isn’t on your level.”
Her jaw tightens — just slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”
You can feel the heat creeping up your neck.
“Then what did you mean?”
For a second, she doesn’t answer. She just looks at you — that same look she gets when she’s about to say something real, and then kills it before it can escape.
Finally, she exhales, her voice coming out low and steady.
“Whatever,” she says, shaking her head. “Do what you want.”
And just like that, she turns and walks off — all poise, all denial, like she didn’t just nearly start a war over a lunch break.
You’re still watching her go when Manon snorts beside you.
“I told you it would work.”
You blink. “What?”
Manon grins, biting into her straw. “She got jealous. Like, full-on jealous. I saw it in her eyes, bro. Y’all about to be one of them Wattpad fanfics.”
You stare at her. “You— what did you do?”
“Nothing!” she says innocently, though her grin says otherwise. “Just made a little bet with Beomgyu. He said she’s as straight as her eyeliner. I said no way — she’s fruity for you.”
You groan. “Manon—”
“What?” she says, laughing. “I’m gonna win that bet, I swear. Did you see her face? She looked like she was two seconds from throwing hands and confessing at the same time.”
You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
“Yeah, right. She’s not jealous.”
Manon shrugs. “Sure. And I’m pregnant.”
You try to brush it off, go back to your drink, but your eyes drift — back to where Daniela walked away.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. That Manon’s just messing around.
But deep down, you know what you saw.
That flash in Daniela’s eyes — confusion, anger… and something else she’s not ready to name.
Daniela’s been pretending everything’s normal for a week now.
Normal as in ignoring you in the hallways, rolling her eyes whenever someone mentions your name, and totally not stalking your band’s Instagram page at midnight.
Totally fine.
She’s halfway through convincing herself when someone taps her shoulder.
“Girl, you’re being obvious.”
Daniela jumps a little. Yunjin’s sliding into the seat across from her, tray clattering down, grin already forming.
“I’m not doing anything,” Daniela mutters.
“Yeah, except burning a hole through Manon’s skull with your eyes,” Yunjin says, popping a fry into her mouth. “You’re so jealous it’s practically radiating off you.”
Daniela scoffs. “Jealous? Of Manon?”
“Mhmm.” Yunjin leans in, lowering her voice. “Listen, Dani, I love you, but you’ve got it bad. You act all high and mighty, but every time they laugh at someone else’s joke, you look ready to dropkick the person."
Daniela opens her mouth, then shuts it, looking away. “You’re annoying.”
And you’re in denial,” Yunjin says cheerfully. “Look, if you’re gonna keep pretending you don’t care, fine. But maybe shoot your shot before someone else does.”
Daniela scoffs, “There’s nothing to shoot.”
Yunjin says, taking a munch of her Sandwich. “You gonna keep pretending you don’t care about her?”
Daniela crosses her arms. “There’s nothing to care about.”
“Uh-huh.” Yunjin’s grin widens. “Cool, then you won’t mind that she’s performing tonight. With the rest of our band. Small gig, off-campus. But you probably don’t want to come. Wouldn’t want people thinking you actually like her or something.”
Daniela’s pulse trips.
“You’re performing… where?”
“Tiny pub near the station,” Yunjin says casually. “Doors at eight. If you’re ready to stop lying to yourself, you’ll show up.”
Daniela tells herself she’s only going because she’s bored.
She repeats it over and over on the way there—just bored, not curious, not nervous.
Inside, it’s warm and crowded, neon lights casting everyone in soft pink and blue.
And then she sees you.
Behind the drum kit.
Head down, hair sticking to your forehead, eyes half-closed as you move with the beat.
It’s not the usual school-hall energy — it’s raw, loud, magnetic. You look alive in a way Daniela’s never seen before.
Something in her chest stutters, then starts to ache.
You toss your head back mid-song, grinning at Beomgyu across the stage, and she swears the whole room blurs around you.
Every denial, every excuse, every “I’m straight” she’s ever said feels suddenly ridiculous — crumbling under the weight of whatever this is pounding through her.
By the time the set ends, she’s still standing there, frozen in the crowd, hands shaking slightly.
Yunjin spots her from the stage, smirks, and mouths, Told you so.
Daniela exhales, almost laughing, almost crying.
When you hop offstage, flushed and smiling, talking to Taehyun, she finally gets it.
The pub’s still humming after your last set — half the crowd still cheering, the other half yelling drink orders over the music. You’re halfway through packing your sticks when Yunjin nudges you, smirking like she just won the lottery.
“She’s here,” she says, tilting her chin toward the back of the room.
You pause. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Yunjin teases. “Daniela. The queen bee herself. Been standing there since the second song, trying not to smile whenever you looked her way.”
You follow her gaze — and there she is. Daniela Avanzini, leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through her phone while absolutely failing to look casual.
Your heart does this stupid flip. “You invited her?”
“Yup,” Yunjin grins. “You might wanna go talk to her before I start announcing your love story onstage.”
You roll your eyes, but your face is hot, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re weaving through the crowd toward her.
When she looks up, her eyes widen just a bit — caught.
“So,” you say, trying to sound cool, “you came.”
Daniela crosses her arms, shrugging like her heart isn’t about to beat out of her chest. “Yunjin practically threatened me. Said I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
You smile, teasing. “And do you?”
There’s a pause — one heartbeat, two. “Not yet,” she says softly.
Something shifts in her tone, something raw that makes your chest tighten. You open your mouth to respond, but she’s already saying, “Come with me.”
Before you can ask where, she takes your wrist — not rough, just certain — and leads you out the side door into the cool night air.
The noise fades, replaced by the quiet thrum of traffic and your own pulse in your ears. You lean against the wall beside her, arms folded.
“So what’s this about?” you ask, watching her struggle to find words — which, for Daniela, is rare.
She sighs, glancing up at the flickering streetlight. “I don’t… do this. Talking about feelings. Or admitting when I’m wrong.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. So this is serious.”
Daniela huffs out a nervous laugh. “I said some things before. About you. About what I felt — or didn’t.” She hesitates, biting her lip. “But seeing you tonight, up there… I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.”
Your chest feels too tight. “Dani—”
“I like you,” she blurts out, voice low but sure. “Like, really like you. And I don’t care if it makes me look stupid or soft or whatever. I was wrong. About being straight. About… everything.”
She finally meets your eyes — the queen bee of Dream Academy, looking terrified for once.
You don’t answer right away. You just step closer, close enough that she can hear your heartbeat over the faint music inside.
“Finally,” you whisper, smiling. “Took you long enough.”
Daniela lets out a breath that sounds half-laugh, half-relief, and before she can stop herself, she leans in — forehead brushing yours, just barely.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Guess I’m a little slow sometimes.”
“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do.”
⋆🐾° you’re apart of a very popular band that megan skiendiel is an absolute fan of, she thinks she has no chance until an interview leads you to opening up about your small crush.
⋆🐾° a/n || this was requested <33 had a lot of fun writing it too. i think i’m going to focus on something more dark and maybe angsty for the next one, i have a lot of drafts so i can’t decide tbh. anyway hope you enjoy! kisses, brooklynn
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
your band mates were arguing. again. you sat on the couch and watch as the argument unfolds — grinning as you strum your electric guitar.
“i didn’t double book! tara said that we had space and so i invited him.”
“you can’t just invite your fucking situationship with a free v.i.p pass kayley! now someone who paid in full for it won’t get one because we don’t have enough!”
you strum once more — louder this time.
“y/n! can you please lower the volume.”
“seriously? you two are arguing over nothing.” you place your guitar over your lap. “tara resolved this hours ago. if you two looked at your phones, maybe you’d know.”
they groan as they check — tara had indeed figured it out and fixed it.
“well. so much for that..”
you grab the microphone and test it a few times, “thank god you two didn’t lose your voices.” you tease, earning a small ‘shut up’ from them both.
⋆🐾°
your band was beyond popular. it took years to establish this kind of popularity but you all did it regardless. your fans didn’t get to see you talk so much, you kept a low profile for your own privacy. you didn’t want others digging up your personal friendships and other relationships. your fans liked the perplexing image you held; it added to the allure that towered over you.
you set the microphone onto the stand. you were a group of five, three girls and two guys. you were the main vocalist and insanely talented with your electric guitar. people went crazy over you, and you barely had to move a muscle.
the music faded in and the beats in your headpiece began to tick, you began to sing the words.
“boys call you sexy, and you don't care what they say, see every time you turn around, they screaming your name.”
you could barely hear yourself over the crowd, they were all shouting with you.
“when i grow up, i wanna see the world, drive nice cars, i wanna have groupies”
you smile as the crowd sings with you, this was a dream. sharing your music and being able to get this many people to love it was everything you could want.
you take the microphone off your stand, “…number one chick, when i step out on the scene..”
“be careful what you wish for..”
“'cause what?” you shout, pointing your microphone to the crowd.
“‘cause you just might get it!” they sing back, and you laugh at their enthusiasm.
⋆🐾°
you toss the towel over your shoulder, “ugh that was epic.”
gavin laughs as he lightly plays a beat on the drums, “tell me about it. i haven’t heard anything louder.”
you shake your head in amusement, “tara said we have an interview coming up.”
he nods, “yea heard that.. shouldn’t be too bad?”
“hopefully.”
⋆🐾°
the cameras were set up, and seats were assigned. questions were being asked rapidly and finally it had come to you.
“listening to any new artists recently?”
you think to yourself, “i listen to new artists all the time honestly. i find myself discovering new music daily but i’ve recently gotten into katseye. their music is super addicting and they all look gorgeous.”
the interviewer nods in agreement.
“and i also may have the tiniest crush on the one with pink streaks — megan. yea, she’s so pretty.” you smile and hear your band mates holler at your words, teasing you before going on to continue with the interview.
you knew your band was popular, but the fact that the interview was racking up views was still insane to you. especially since a certain part of that interview had been going viral— and of course it was of you.
you weren’t stressed over it, you weren’t even shocked others had clipped that portion, you had a feeling it would happen as soon as those words left your lips.
⋆🐾°
megan had rewatched the interview a couple of times, she hadn’t ever expected to be on your radar. to her, you were above her in fame, and to be even recognized by you was incredible.
megan wouldn’t stop bragging about how you had said her name in the interview, making the other girls groan at her giddiness.
⋆🐾°
a compilation of past interviews of yours was currently trending now, people going absolutely crazy.
“with your new song out, you’ve got girls begging to be one of your groupies, can you tell us your type?”
you smirk and nod, “for sure. i’d say a girl who isn’t afraid to have some fun, hair colour doesn’t matter to me but a little pop of colour is hot — imagine a teal streak? stunning. i think also someone who knows how to move. physically i’m not too picky, but personality wise.. i’d love someone more upbeat and passionate. i think that’s cute.”
the video cuts to the next clip, now you and your band mates were doing a pre show interview.
“so y/n, we talked about kayley‘s relationship. are you currently in any?
you shake your head, “i’m not, but i’m not against getting into one. preferably with someone who understands the kind of work i do. i just feel like balancing personal relationships and my career would be difficult with someone who doesn’t understand the demand and all.”
a caption displayed on the screen by the editor,
not her literally describing megan this whole video 😭
the screen cuts to yet another clip, it was valentine’s day and you and your band mates had gone onto a livestream.
“if i get one more comment about this..” you look at kayley, before glancing back at the screen. “no i’m not dating anyone, i don’t know why everyone keeps asking.” you tilt your head, reading the comments, “my type? hmm someone who’s funny is really attractive to me. and someone playful too. and definitely someone hardworking.”
the video ends and cuts to an outro, comments going crazy at how you were bascially describing megan in all these past interviews.
others began shipping you two like crazy, even under your band’s main instagram page.
everyone couldn’t get over the viral video of your past interview clips before you knew megan existed. and how perfectly she fit your type, like you were meant for each other.
and though you held it in, you were genuinely whipped for this girl, megan was gorgeous and you definitely had more than a tiny crush.
⋆🐾°
weeks pass and the videos are still gaining traction, you don’t think much about it now that it’s died down slightly.
but a small buzz from your phone brings you out of your thoughts.
[y/n l/n] megan skiendiel (2 mins ago)
hey, saw the interview. thought you were cute. we should meet up sometime.
and after that message you two only got closer, making everyone go crazy.
THE KATS FIGHTING FOR READER LIKE THEY WERE FIGHTING FOR THAT DAMN PROMOTION IN THE GABRIELLA MVVVV PLEASESSSS
( warnings ) n/a
( #! ) oo the plot was too good i had to write a lot
there wasn't a clear indicator on when this all started, on when their madness began. but to you, this was truly never-ending.
from your earliest memory, it all started on new years eve. music blasted from the speakers, a random song only popular in the 2010s filling the house. the inside was crowded—a sea of tipsy, carefree individuals no longer caring if they stand in anyone's way. the smell of sweat, somehow, and weed hit you immediately; overwhelming your already alert senses. it was a nightmare in there, but you kept pushing.
pushing your way into the kitchen, a hand grasped at your wrist. it was gentle, but firm enough to make you pause. “you're here!”
the cheery voice of manon filled your ears—a stark contrast to the chaos around you. “come with me, i wanna show you something.”
as soon as she started to pull you away another hand pulled you in the opposite direction. sophia appeared by your side, a hand resting on your shoulder. “actually, i was thinking she should come with me. i've been dying to get to talk to her more.”
manon's smile cracks. it's small, but doesn't go unnoticed by sophia. “well i had her first.” she tugged at your wrist, earning a scowl from the raven haired girl. “this isn't some ‘finders keepers’ bullshit.” sophia spat back, her hand leaving you to instead shove the other girl.
manon glared at sophia intensely, her grip on you loosening before she finally let go. “the fuck is your problem?” the tension was thick, a few bystanders watching their interaction. shit, this wasn't something you wanted to get involved in.
while the girls were distracted, you slipped away from them, weaving your way through the packed crowd.
it was good for a while. you managed to lose the fighting girls—finally enjoying the party rather than worrying. you'd managed to settle down on a somehow not packed couch in the living room; downing a drink of whatever concoction you were given. before you could fully enjoy your peace, megan came around to break it.
"hey, you enjoying the party?" she sat down next to you without asking. she was close, too close for it to be friendly—her thigh touching yours, knees knocking together. "it's alright." you took another sip of your drink, hoping the liquor will ease your nerves of what was to come.
megan was silent, too silent that it teetered on being unnerving. the usually bubbly, loud girl was now watching you like a hawk. her gaze moved from your lips to your throat, watching as you swallowed the liquid. she let out a quiet hum, moving closer to you. "you know what would make this party even better?" she began, voice husky.
"mind if i join you?"
your eyes snapped up as soon as you heard a new voice. lara. of course.
without another word she sat down on the other side of you, sitting just as close to you as megan. now, you were sandwiched between two girls vying for your attention—their gazes sharp as they glared at each other from either side.
"it's almost midnight, you got a kiss?" lara suddenly asked you. though, her eyes remained on megan whose narrowed once she heard the question. "actually, lara," megan made sure to accentuate her name, "i was hoping she'd be my new years kiss."
lara's jaw noticeably clenched at her reply, cocking her head to the side to look at you once more. "well, why don't we ask her instead?"
suddenly, all eyes were on you. their desperate, yet irritated, eyes fell upon yours. it was uncomfortable. if you chose lara, megan would get upset. if you chose megan, lara would get upset. if you left, both of them would get upset. it was a lose-lose situation—and you didn't know what to do.
"i.. um.." you hesitated, glancing between the two girls who watched expectantly.
"what about me?"
fuck, another one.
daniela's voice broke the silence, eyes moving towards her standing figure. she watched with folded arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lip. "you two are just freaking her out. she should just be my kiss. i'd be better, anyways."
"what the fuck, daniela?" megan's voice rose in pitch, astounded by the accusation she placed upon them. lara was equally shocked, scoffing at the insinuation. "i'm not a bad kisser."
"mhm, sure." daniela nodded, voice dripping in sarcasm. the brunette let out a sigh, extending a hand towards you. "c'mon, there's only a few more minutes until midnight."
lara stood, trying to swat daniela's hand away. "no way! you're not winning this time, dani."
megan mirrored lara, placing her hands on her hips as she came eye to eye with daniela. "yeah, no way." she looked back towards you. "just let me be your midnight kiss."
objections came from the other girls immediately, bickering ensuing between the three women. the clocked ticked down, nearing closer and closer to the expected hour. closer to the moment you'd have to choose.
