feel it all around you,
     crash and fall
à· Angie | 21 | she/her | âïž
à· everything i write is a work of fiction they do NOT portray any idol if you can't differentiate fiction from reality please don't read.
à· please do not hesitate to send me detailed asks of your thoughts/theories or comment i read everything! and i try my best to get back to everyone as soon as possibleà·
-please be +18 to read and follow no age in bio gets you ignored/blocked.
Latest works:
à· Promise of eternity | Lee Minho.
à· (500 followers special): blank canvas | park sunghoon.
à· frequently asked questions :
What do you use to make smaus?
i use memi message for texts and twinote for twitter posts.
How do I join taglists?
just send me an ask asking to join with the name of the series or comment right under it and i will add you <3
Hey lovesđ€ i know itâs been a while and i apologize for keeping you in the dark for so long :( no iâm not abandoning writing nor fallen star (I COULD NEVER) ive been through health stuff that have affected my ability to write for now and made it hard/ near to impossible and iâm not sure how long will it last unfortunately
i understand that i cant ask you to wait forever and i understand that some ppl will probably drop fallen star and thats okay đ€ i just wanted you to know i have not given up on it and iâll get back to everyoneâs sweet and loving messages very soonđ€! i appreciate every single one of you and i hope youâre taking care of yourselves my lovesđ€đ€
A small birthday present for my favorite person @stargirl-gigi <3 i love you so much more than words could ever explain and i'm so thankful for your existence. Happy birthday my love đ€đ€
11:50 P.M
The screen of your phone stares back at you, glaringly bright in the darkness of your own room. Itâs nearly midnight, hours treading towards the end of your birthday and you tell yourself you should be lolling into sleep by now. And yet itâs persisting in its visit. It feels unjust, specifically after spending almost the entirety of your day outside. Your laughter filling the streets with happiness and surrounded by the love infused chatter of your friends. So much love.
Albeit the moment you stumbled into your bed itâs like today was nothing more than an imagination that you had swiped through without much thought. Thereâs bitterness that lingers in your mouth, a longing forcing your heart to weep out in pathetic unanswered callings. You crack open your window, ushering the moonlight in and pretend you donât know what your heart is crying for.
It's all deemed worthless the moment your phone dings â with a ringtone you had set specifically for him â You have told yourself you should change it multiple times. Tried to convince yourself that you shouldn't back yourself in a corner with how specially different you treat him.
Alas here you are.
11:55 P.M
Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your heart picking speed and you curse yourself for the anticipation coursing through your fingers. Urging you to peek at your phone, to feed the gaping hole pulsating in the middle of your chest. An ever so foolish yearning heart. And perhaps the moonlight is only another witness to you kicking your pride under your bed, and perhaps it will cackle at you if it ever spoke, perhaps the way it shines brighter once you sit up and reach for your phone on the bedside table is all in your head.
Jisung: Are you awake?
You donât reply and he doesnât say it, but you know, you always know and so when youâre out of your bed and opening the door to your apartment next. Jisung is standing outside, shrouded in a gray hoodie you have seen him in way too many times. Youâre almost breathless when your eyes meet, and you only pray the moon wonât snitch on you. Spilling all your longing throughout the light that infiltrates his dark hair strands and you pray your eyes donât betray your missing when he smiles with the same bitterness that lingered in you all night.
11:59 P.M
âHappy birthday.â He whispers, softly and tenderly. Itâs cruelled in the way it drowns you in the depths of your emotions yet again. Bringing them back to life with newfound intensity and all the cruses you have memorized all day long dwindle down on your tongue. Melting away with all the anger and resentment you have mastered up all these past months you have not seen him.
A braver version of you, one that isnât stitched together by an aching need for him and an even deeper ache to look at him would slam the door shut in his face. The you right now welcomes him in your space like thereâs no other place for him to belong.
Silence is heavy as it paints the air, you awkwardly move the boxes of gifts you have gotten and Jisung lingers behind just as bunglingly. Pushing down his hood and ruffling his hair. Every sound feels intensified; his breathing has chills running down your spine.
âIs that a ghostface action figure?â His tone is woven with excitement, and you follow his gaze.
âYeah...â You mumble, your tone is heavier than youâd like, and it dims his excitement. You avert your eyes elsewhere, somewhere far from him and yet not far enough it seems because you almost hear your heart screaming for him.
âLooks sick.â He replies, quieter and tinted with suffocation, the same one circling in the air and you let out a breath just as quiet as your eyes find him.
You hold your longing in your throat, in your stomach and the leash of restraint triggers. You closed your eyes, sealed your lips for far too long and right in this moment when he looks back at you, gaze clouded with a different million emotions youâre splitting open. Vomiting heartbreak, sharpened by a feverish urge to have him all to yourself.
âWhy werenât you there?â you ask, and his eyes widen ever so slightly, ever so temporarily as if he wasnât expecting you to ask. And then a nervous chuckle is pushed out his lips â humorless â as he scratches his neck.
âI was busy working at the studio.â Itâs an empty excuse, you know it by now, have known it for the past months he kept uttering it to you over and over again.
âChangbin and Bangchan were there. Everyone else was there but you.â you should let it go. Youâre aware digging at this will only ever result in pain and yet you canât stop not when the clock ticks 12 and you have grown numb from waiting.
âIâm sorryâŠâ He speaks after a few lingering moments of silence and his eyes are drifting, fleeting in their hold onto you. You almost want to scoff. The darkness remains and the moon cackles at you again. His eyes are always running away from you, and youâd rather be buried than yearning.
âI havenât seen you in months,â you say, wishing it came out as a berate but instead itâs weakened by your eyes â filled with twisted desire â one that feels like youâre not allowed to feel âare you avoiding me?â you ask, pressing for answers, something that will end this suffering of yours, something that will help you not feel like a mere notch of time.
âIâm really sorry.â This time you scoff out loud and you wish for answers rather than apologies. Itâs why youâre kneeling into silence that doesnât stretch long enough for you to gather up your emotions and lock them up.
You have kept yourself locked away for so long so why tonight of all times seems to feel like a failing task. An impossible one that you cannot seem to master.
âDo you just not want me in your life anymore?â you whisper, looking down and chewing on your bottom lip as if youâre afraid the louder your voice will get the harsher the truth tumbling out his lips will be. The harsher they will cut.
Youâd rather be buried than yearning.
Because truth is you have been in love with Jisung for as long as you remember. You belonged to him the moment you laid eyes on him and havenât been able to take back your pieces ever since. Not that you wished to anyways. It was a scary feeling, inflating so big inside of you as if it was always there, as if it just needed the sunray to bloom and his smile was all it took. Before you knew it your heart felt deserted without him and love for him exists within you like the lines across your palms. And yet youâre so scared to look at him and witness your worst nightmares come to life. Itâs one that you thought of a lot of times before, one that had you curling up in anxiety and calling for him alone; losing him.
It's the sole reason you sacrificed your soul. Stamped with foolish lies like being friends with him as if you hadnât looked at him with the devotion of a lover.
In a mere moment Jisung has closed the distance between you two, a look of betrayal on his face as if he canât believe what you said and you wonder why heâs stepping on your heart as if you just didnât offer it to him.
âHow could you say that?â his eyes are widened with a tempest of confusion and when your eyes dart between his, the air feels heavier as it travels through your lungs. The space between you two is not small enough and yet youâre closer to choking than anything âHow could you say that to me I- holy fuck do you even realize â âhis words are tangled and messy like wildflowers. Scattered and lost with meaning, direction and itâs thanks to the way you keep looking up at him so softly. His ribcage tightens around his heart, and he lets out a breath âI wrote you a song.â
âWhat?â your brows furrow and he runs his hand through his hair. Something akin to frustration coming to life in the knot between his.
âI wrote you a song because I couldnât fucking stop thinking about you and now you â â he stops himself and your heart starts beating impossibly fast, a song thatâs only ever breathed to life whenever youâre around him and you feel your longing, yearning explode. Spreading across your face and seeping into your eyes and theyâre begging âNever mind.â He breaths, rushed and draping its disappointment on you âI should go i- I donât know.â
Before you have enough time to gather a singular word that he said heâs already turning away from you. Your feet are glued to the ground with strives to wrap your head around the mess you two seem to constantly find yourselves in. A beat, then a second and for an evanescent split second you wonder if you should let him go. If perhaps all these bent up feelings that have been collecting are nothing but a rope of poison slowly strangling you to death. But rather anything youâre a slave to your heart.
What are you if not over loving, over feeling?
By the time youâre after him, hand curled around his wrist it is already too late, Jisung has a part of you and youâre shaking your head.
âDonât go.â You tell him and his expression breaks into the same longing you watch in the mirror every passing moment heâs not here âStay and tell me. Sing me your song.â You say, ask, wish, pray and itâs all between your teeth. All these wishes you have been keeping score of and it is too late.
Your touch burns his wrist, and his own charade falls apart faster than your blink of an eye. Itâs like the minute you touch him everything is crumbling and heâs no longer pressing down on his neck to keep it together. In his dreams youâre a secret he canât tell anyone about but right now heâs backing you into the nearest wall with his hands cradling your face as if youâre the most precious thing he had the pleasure of touching. The world narrows down to nothing but the ringing of your heartbeat in your ears and his shaky breaths. The space between your lips is almost nonexistent and youâre exchanging breaths like a drowned soul coming up for air.
âYou have no idea what you do to me. Do you?â he whispers and itâs not really a question rather a declaration. Pulled from the depths of his being and you welcome it with warmth.
âJisung..â your hot breath is fanning across his lips and he swallows back nothing, feel your eyes squeeze the last drop of sanity he was holding onto. He rests his forehead against yours âShh. Shhâ His hand slowly travels from your cheek to your palm, holding it tenderly and placing it atop where his heart is
âCan you feel that?â he asks breathlessly, gaze pouring into yours as you feel his wild heartbeat reverberates against your palm. A stranger urge to tattoo every beat into your essence has your eyes softening.
âYes.â You whisper back timidly and then youâre leaning closer, nose brushing against his âMe too.â You tell him, closing your eyes âI feel the same.â
âNo.â He shakes his head, squeezing your palm on his chest âYou donât understand. What I feel for you is- nothing like a human can feel. Itâs something out of this world. I-â A labored breath, and his fingers tremble around your cheek that only could be an evidence of love, such yearning. It drips from his eyes when you look at him âYou make me want to rearrange the stars and place you in between them.â He confesses and the way your eyes fill with tears quickly could only be an unveiling of your own feelings, laced with something so you, something heâs so addicted to.
Jisung has never been good at speaking his feelings but you, you make him want to try and fail only to try again, only to spill your name across every star. Scribble your words into every poem and thereâs no love if not for you.
âAll I think about is you â all I think about is loving you. you have consumed me completely. I donât know ââ heâs drawing you closer, his heartbeat accelerating as his lips almost touch yours âI donât know what itâs like not to love you and Iâm scared Iâm gonna regret this. Iâm scared Iâm gonna scare you away but fuck-â
âYou will never scare me away Jisung.â Your mumbles are comfort spreading its wings across his chest and he shakes his head again with a strangled huff, pushed out with deafened ears and an overwhelming intensity that wraps around his fragile heart.
âI donât think you understand I donât think youâre listening to me â â
âI am Jisung. I am listening.â
âNo, no.â he cradles your face closer to his with a shush. Both of you are breathing heavily as if oxygen have been sucked from the room, fled somewhere unreachable if not between your mouths âI love you. do you know what that means? Do you know what itâs like to stop talking to you for months in hopes of forgetting you? only to end up feeling like a fucking loser because I canât write anything if itâs not about you? do you understand?â thereâs desperation woven in his tone, tinting his gaze when he finally captures yours and then theyâre softening like melted candle wax.
Like a blazing fire, burning for you and you thread your fingers through the spaces between his, right atop his heart. If you listen closely, you swear you could hear whispers â callings of your name.
âI understand.â You smile and it blankets his being with warmth, his stars shine brighter âI feel the same.â You whisper hoarsely against his lips and right before your eyelids fall shut, he sees the moon glistening and he finally surrenders, closing the space between you two and interlocking his lips with yours.
Itâs unhurried â tender as if the time of the world is in the palm of his hands and he can bend it to his will. A sweetness spreads throughout your limbs, like honey despite the salty rivulets of tears across your cheeks.
âSay it.â He murmurs between kisses, whiny and desperate as he presses you further into the wall, wishing he could melt his body onto you, wanting, no, knowing heâs nothing but a part of you âTell me you feel the same.â
âI love you too,â you tell him and for the first time in a long time you feel touched and not harmed. For the first time you donât need to swallow down his name but rather speak it into the world because the sun will not shine, this night shall last for an eternity.
âAgain,â he asks, pulling back enough to rest his forehead against yours. His heart aches not in despair for you but in prayers that this isnât some stupid dream of his and if he did somehow only have you in his dream he hopes to never wake up.
âI love you.â you answer with your thumb swiping across his cheek, and he shudders.
âAgain. Tell me again.â His chest heaves and you understand, how one lifetime isnât close to enough âPlease tell me again.â Your hands are gentle on him, they move like water and when you lean forward pressing kisses into his cheek, trailing a map of affection that leads to his mouth and then youâre kissing him once, twice and the third comes with a whisper, a promise.
âI love you Jisung.â
He stays and just like you had hoped night feels like it stretches long enough for him to imprint every word of love on every part of your skin. The walls of your bedroom memorize every sound, every whisper and when youâre drifting to sleep with your head buried in the crook of his neck. Heâs humming a song; your song and youâre too drowned in exhaustion to focus really, yet the lyrics echo in your mind over and over again. A lullaby that has your heart singing along and your essence tangling with his.
My heartâs gone out of it,
I wander the streets in search of something I canât find
My friends and I were comparing personalities of Enha to each other. And today everyone voted I was mostly like Jake and it made me so emotional because I think Jake is so pure. So wholesome and loved. He's everything and the fact everyone in Emha loves him is amazing. But the fact he's just everyone's comfort is what gets me
They elaborated why I'm Jake and it was just so...sweet. It made me so happy and I just needed to tell someone.
I love Jake and his wholesomeness.
Xoxo, Sleepy Anon
aww anonie thats so adorable :(( and i totally agree jake is very friendly and wholesome and you can tell he has such a pure heart without even trying to show it (one of the many reasons i love him!)
anyways youâre so cute and im happy i was the person you ended up telling about this it made me smileđ„čđ€đ€
hi! i recently caught up with your âfallen starâ series and i was soo hooked. literally stayed up all night to finish all the published chapters đ i cant get enough of it and i cant wait for the next part đ„č could i be added to the taglist? :D
hii omg staying up all night to read it all?? aaa thats crazy đ„ș in a good way ofc! thank you so much ofc i can add you đ€đ€
Hi Angie!! Big fan of Fallen Star last chapter was so good and the way you write characters is so good
How do you come up with ideas for them? Any tips?? Love you! âŁ
hey anonieđ€ tysm!! i feel like iâm lowkey bad at giving advice mainly bc my mind is a mess sometimes but with coming up w ideas it honestly depends on how the process goes and by that i mean if the idea of your story comes first or the idea of a certain character you wanna write comes first.
for example w fallen star the reason it came to life was bc i wanted to write a male character that is the way jake is so everything ended up building around him. after having a rough idea of the kind of person you want your character to be you can add depth (backstory,weakness, strong points, what needs to happen to add character development)
this also depends on what type of story youâre writing (i mainly write angst tbh so im always thinking of pain rip lmao) idk if this helps w anything lmao but thats how my brain works so i hope it didđđ»đ€
Twenty-four - a little of me,
warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..
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You had woken up feeling awful. It doesnât really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.
You were so wrong.
Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you werenât just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it â given his love to announce everyoneâs news like theyâre his own.
So, it didnât take you long to figure out thereâs definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.
And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you canât seem to cough. Itâs torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.
âJesus. You look awful.â Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.
âYeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?â Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.
âThanks for the vote of confidence guys.â You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.
You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.
âDo you even have makeup on?â Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way itâs directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.
âYeah. I have concealer on.â
âYikes.â Sunghoon coughs.
âMaybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circlesâ Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.
âAre you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?â
âYour makeup. Duh.â Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.
You think youâre aware that you donât look your best. Although to be quite honest youâre not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You donât get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isnât very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.
Youâre really praying to every fucking god that exists youâre not actually falling sick.
Youâll be fine though â or at least thatâs what you think. Thatâs what you keep praying for -
Please god please please please!!
At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon arenât gonna bother you too much.
However, it does get to you when youâre face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You donât think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.
âOh, you look...â he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be ânot every good.â He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. Youâre not very sure of anything anymore.
âFor fuckâs sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!â you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.
âAww yn. Donât mind these silly boys. Theyâre just being dumb.â Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.
âLike always.â She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words.Â
âAre you sick?â She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing.Â
You donât think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that youâve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).
âI think Iâm just a little tired.â you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry.Â
âYou donât look a little tired though.â She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver âthankfully, you donât seem to have a fever.â
âI do have a bit of a headache.â You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.
âMaybe you should head home.â She rubs your shoulder soothingly.
âAnd do what?â
âRest.â Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.
âOh, Iâll be fine donât worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- âSoojin doesnât even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. Itâs warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is.Â
âJay, does yn have anything urgent today?âÂ
âNot really. Jakeâs schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.â The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.
âGreat!â she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and itâs somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun âIâm getting you an uber and youâre going home to rest!â
âSoojin Iâm fine seriously. âOnce again, she doesnât give room for you to argue, your words â or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.
âYou owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?â she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness âwe need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.â
âOkay.â You sigh and she smiles âIf I feel worse then Iâll leave!-â you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.
âJay.â She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat âcall jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.â Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.
As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesnât seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they arenât as aware of.
âIvyâs the boss here. whatever she says, happens.â He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe itâs the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.
But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while youâre still attempting to fight the decisions already made, youâd think youâre somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.
âThat guy is whipped for you.â you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.
âNo, heâs not.â Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head âHeâs that way with everyone.â She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.
âHe doesnât even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.â your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members âand sheâs his actual boss!â you whisper yell.Â
âShut up your uber is almost here.â She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.
âWhy does he call you Ivy anyway?â
âItâs my English name.â
âThatâs cute. You must be special.â You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.
âVery cute. Now go rest and if you need anything donât hesitate to text me.â She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.
Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.
âThank you.â you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows youâre about to cry so in the next moment sheâs slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.
âI canât hear you!â her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and itâs more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.
On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when youâre inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize youâre not sure what to do if youâre not working.
You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but itâs been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when itâs light outside, when your body knows you should be working.
That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.
Niki.
Jake
Niki
Jake
Niki.
You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then youâre taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.
âThick or regular?â Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.
âUh-â you blink at the black screen of your tv âWhat are we talking about exactly?â
âSoy sauce.â He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.
âI didnât even know thereâs such thing as thick soy sauce.â
âApparently thickness is taking over the world. Thatâs why bbls are a thing yn.â you snort.
âMaybe you should consider getting one.â A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.
âOkay Iâm surrounded by soy sauce and youâre talking about how flat my ass is Iâm so overwhelmed right now.â The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter âItâs not like Iâm getting backshots soon.â He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you arenât careful enough.
âI will be the one doing backshots,â you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.
âOkay moving on from you and your shots.â You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified âAre you at the supermarket?â you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.
âYeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.â
âYou seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?â you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.
âWhatâs up with you? you sound like shit.â He asks after a few beats of silence.
âThanks, I only heard that like ten times today.â
âAre you sick?â
âProbably. Iâm really overwhelmed right now too.â
âWhy? Whatâs wrong?â Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.
âIâm honestly still really worried about Niki.â You mumble.
âWhat did that fucker do?â The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.
âNothing. Iâm just worried about him. I know he said heâs gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.â You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder âNever. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I canât help but worry about him.â You add.
âYeah I know â hold on-â thereâs shuffling on the other line. Heeseungâs voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear âHey can you stop being a little bitch?â The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of whatâs going on.
âOr go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.â He adds and then thereâs an unsettling silence. It doesnât last long, and itâs interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing âMOM!!â
âKids these days am I right?â Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.
âHeeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?â
âYeah. Anyways back to Niki,â you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then youâre shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives itâs little that surprises you with him.
âYeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.â
âNot really. Heâs been acting the same too.â He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry âIf youâre that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.â He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded âI donât know if heâll be happy about it though.â
You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.
âHold on,â you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch âWhat do you mean shifts? Heâs been working at the restaurant?â
âShit yeah. itâs been a while now. You didn't know?â
âWhat the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body canât handle it.â you berate, frustration woven in your tone.
âI donât fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.â
âDid he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.â You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you arenât sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.
âI really donât know yn.â Heeseung sighs on the other line âBut either way Iâll talk to him when he comes into work later. Donât worry.â
âThat would be good, thank you.â you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.
âOf course.â
âIâll talk to him about everything properly once Iâm over this cold or whatever it is. I donât want him to get sick.â You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.
âYeah, you better rest for now. Iâll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.â
âOkay.â
As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like theyâre taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you canât help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didnât feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadnât noticed?
The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasnât moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath
Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You arenât sure how long you slept. Itâs long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.
The only reason thatâs strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think itâs a part of your dream but youâre picking apples and theyâre crispy red and shiny but thereâs a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?
You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then itâs nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.
Your doorbell rings again and this time itâs repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost donât recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.
You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags heâs carrying.
âJake? What are you doing here?â your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.
âYn.â he exhales as if heâs relieved, heâs not stumbling upon your corpse and instead youâre alive âJay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh â â he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps thatâs why it feels like you donât understand anything heâs saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.
You must be really sick or still dreaming.
âAnyways are you okay?â He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.
He tells himself he shouldnât be this panicked â this nervous. Shouldnât let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuckâs sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and thereâs embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.
And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. Itâs solely why you donât say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.
âYn.â Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again âBunny.â
You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands itâs not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadnât spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, whatâs best for you. he doesnât touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.
âBunny whatâs wrong? Are you dizzy?â his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.
âCan you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?â He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why canât his hand be as gentle âCan you tell me what youâre feeling? Mhm?â he suggests once again.
âMy head hurts so bad.â You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. Itâs the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.
âOkay.â He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and heâs looking around as if heâs trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair âPainkillers. Iâll get you some painkillers.â And then heâs walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.
âFucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?â He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. âDo you have any painkillers?â He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if itâs something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.
He doesnât wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesnât last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and thereâs a glass of water in his hand.
âThis will make you feel better. Come on bunny.â
Heâs standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.
âIâm really nauseous and I donât feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.â You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if youâre about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. Itâs uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if thereâs no way for him not to feel you.
You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine heâs fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.
But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.
âWhat are you doing?â
âShh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.â He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.
Youâre unsure if youâre dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because heâs suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and itâs been so long since he touched you.
âIs there anything else thatâs hurting you?â He asks â whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.
âMy body hurts too.â You reply â whisper back just as delicately - and you canât fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, youâd be cringing at how dramatic youâre acting.
âThankfully you donât seem to be having a fever.â The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly âYouâll be okay.â He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you arenât sure if heâs trying to comfort you or himself.
âI have you.â itâs a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you donât want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.
âDo you promise?â you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you donât know what kind of expression youâre wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.
âI promise.â He replies and you sigh because you donât know if he means that youâll be okay or that heâs got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.
Itâs only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;
âBetter?â He asks.
âMhm.â
âDo you think you could try taking the painkiller now?â
âYeah.â you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.
Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and itâs only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.
âSorry.â
âFor what?â His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.
âFor troubling you. Being a burden. I donât know.â you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.
âYouâre not a burden bunny.â You can sense thereâs more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait âIâm here because I was worried about you.â he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.
âDoes your body still hurt?â He asks when youâre quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didnât feel his face burning up at his confession.
âA bit.â You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat âCan you hand me my laptop, please?â you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.
âFor what?â
âThereâs a couple of stuff I need to get done.â
âLike what? Whatâs so important that you need to do now?â
âBills. Rent is due soon and thereâs Yeonjunâs car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.â You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.
âCar fees?â he questions and you nod as if heâs supposed to understand âyeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.â You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you donât get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.
You wish he wouldnât kneel so easily, as if he wonât swallow your heart up and flee.
âAre they urgent?â He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isnât enough room for your breaths to leave.
âNo but I have to do them right now.â You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.
âShh, you donât need to do anything right now, okay?â he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you arenât sure if itâs because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you arenât sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.
I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.
âYouâre on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.â His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours âYou can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?â you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.
âOkay.â You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.
âGood.â He grins, overtaken by triumphant.
Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you donât think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldnât cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.
You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. Youâre so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.
âHow about I run you a bath?â He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.
âNo.â
âWhy not? It will help you feel better.â
âI donât really wanna move right now.â As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.
And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise â his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when heâs everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.
âWerenât you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?â
âThatâs different.â You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.
âIt will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.â He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe itâs you.
âMy ache is fine actually, thank you.â
âOh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?â he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if theyâre claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, havenât realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.
âThatâs because Iâm cold.â
Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didnât know you could miss someone when theyâre right in front of you and you didnât quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him â where touching him isnât forbidden and looking at him comes easily â without threats for your words to spill.
âWhat about you?â you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.
âI can handle the cold just fine.â He retorts âYou know what would help you warm up though? A bath.â
âIâm gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.â
âIâll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness youâre gonna feel.â He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. Youâre quiet, as if youâre contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere â he misses you.
âWhat if the water is too hot it burns my skin?â you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again â as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isnât sure how to deal with it.
The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.
âIâll make sure nothing like that happens to you.â he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And itâs unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.
âHow about this,â he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and youâre envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features âIâll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you donât want to go in, you donât have to, okay?â
You donât think youâre brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home â within your soul.
âOkay. Iâm sorry.â
He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges â hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because youâre scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys.Â
âIâll be back.â He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.
You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.
Heâs gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.
âChanged your mind?â He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.
âThe thought of a bath didnât seem so bad after all.â You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.
The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.
âThis smells just like you.â
âIt is my bodywash after all.â
âI like it.â He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you donât.
When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and thereâs a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when heâs leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.
âY-You donât have to do this Jake.â You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.
âI know.â He looks up at you âI want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?â He questions throwing your socks to the side. Youâre left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.
âNo.â you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.
âCan I?â He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.
Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.
And it stays even when youâre finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.
âJust call for me if you need anything, alright?â
Suddenly youâre inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.
âAlright, bunny?â He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then youâre shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.
âWhat if I need something but I canât call for you?â stupid, stupid yearning.
Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before â not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, heâd rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.
âIâll just stay then.â He tells you, tender and youâre shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.
You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace thatâs always there.
It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And itâs him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace â his â remains around your neck even when youâre bare. Itâs like youâre wearing him, and he likes to think heâs woven into the fabric of your soul.
He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.
âWhat?â you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God â youâre breathtaking.
âI just had a stupid thought.â He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.
âTell me.â you say, and he thinks youâre too tangled in his soul.
âIt just feels like itâs been a while since we looked at each other.â He says softly âBut we see each other every day so itâs stupid.â He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.
âItâs not stupid.â you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul âI have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.â
âTheyâre extraordinary, I wouldnât call them stupid.â
âThatâs just a nicer way of saying Iâm stupid.â You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.
âShut up youâre not stupid.â He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.
You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and itâs vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything youâve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe itâs been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesnât feel like that. Itâs akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.
âYouâre the last person I expected it to see today if Iâm being honest.â You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.
âWhat would have you done if I wasnât here?â He doesnât ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.
âProbably become one with my couch until I felt better.â You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself youâre growing too hot and thatâs it.
âI wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.â He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you arenât sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.
âI donât think I know how to do that.â Thereâs no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.
Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?
But Jake hasnât been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, itâs evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like thereâs room for him. He touched you like he wasnât made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but theyâre all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.
âIâm here now.â He says, Iâm here to take care of you, you hear.
The enormity of his desire disgusts him, itâs a craving beyond his flesh and itâs unjust. Iâll shape myself into something thatâs worth taking care of you, he means.
âYou have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.â He adds when youâre quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, theyâre pink and the sky is gray.
Heâs unworthy but itâs a great honor to think heâs the reason why.
âTell that to my boss.â You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.
âI actually heard your boss is super nice,â
âDid you now?â
âUh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.â He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.
âWhoâs feeding you these lies? Jay?â
âSo, you donât agree that Iâm handsome?â
âBeauty is subjective.â
âIs that a no?â a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you canât help it.
A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.
âIn all seriousness,â he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isnât provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, theyâre soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.
âYouâre doing a good job, bunny.â Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment â the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;
You have managed to stumble on a lost star â he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.
âYouâre doing a good job too, Jake.â He smiles and your mind careens.
âTell that to my assistant.â
This time itâs you who splashes him with water and this time itâs him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you donât tell him that you didnât let the water get to him on purpose, and you donât show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.
âShall I help you wash your hair?â He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.
âYou donât have to.â
At your answer heâs already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When heâs behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. Itâs foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you donât remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And thereâs unavoidable loneliness at the thought, thereâs melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.
No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through â none of them are yours.
âBunny I canât wash your hair if youâre leaning that far off.â Jake comments with a chuckle.
You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you arenât sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.
Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks youâre stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks youâre teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and itâs a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You donât see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.
His hands arenât soft against your skin, theyâre rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you havenât been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness â unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.
Itâs another stupid thought â but maybe thereâs room for something to belong to you.
When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.
You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.
âYou okay?â He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.
âJust a little tired.â You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering â perhaps for days â how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.
In his dreams, his heart isnât as filthy and merging into you isnât as fearful.
In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.
âHave you eaten yet?â
âMhm.â You lean your head back onto his chest when heâs standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.
âNot yet.â He inhales you.
âWeâll need to get some food in your system, yeah?â He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair âWeâll also need to do something about your hair â canât have you getting sicker.â
âI donât feel like doing anything.â You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.
âIâll do it for you.â He replies with an amused grin at the way youâre acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.
You arenât sure what he means by that â however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. Heâs extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you donât even provide for your own hair. And thereâs a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.
âI never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.â You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.
âMy mum taught me.â he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair âI used to braid her hair for her all the time.â
âThatâs really sweet.â You reply with a lowered tone â a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.
âI vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.â His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. Itâs an image that still glides throughout his reality.
âShe always joked that itâs better this way. That itâs easier for me to braid.â He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant â longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.
Iâm sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but youâre well aware thatâs not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It wonât ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness â anger. Youâre well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when heâs dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.
What is he like when his anger isnât restrained â what is he like when heâs not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You donât give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know itâs not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.
âShe sounds like a lively woman.â
âShe is.â He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair âShe was.â He corrects in a fleeting second âShe was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.â
Jakeâs lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. Thereâs softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. Itâs a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesnât know why he tells you all this and doesnât know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours thereâs not a single cell of regret in his body.
You donât look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like itâs just â him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But youâre there, in the midst of it all and youâre not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isnât made of prickling thorns.
âIâm sure sheâs still watching over you, proudly.â You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldnât shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he canât say anything back to you. You donât look at him as shame or grief and he canât let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.        Â
Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies â his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesnât find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that itâs not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.
âAll done.â
âWow! itâs really well done actually.â You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and itâs peculiar to feel like youâre holding a piece of him so delicately.
âitâs just one of my many talents.â He quips and you giggle slightly.
You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than heâd like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.
âMy mom,â you speak suddenly and then youâre looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face âmy mom never really taught me anything.â You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, theyâre raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.
Itâs bitter and doesnât belong in you.
âYou still turned out wonderful.â He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be â he wonders if thereâs room for him to linger around.
âYou donât have to be nice to me just because Iâm sick.â You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.
âHave I ever lied to you?â He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.
âNo.â you answer, and you think you canât slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.
You realize it then â how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything thatâs coming your way.
And he realizes it then â that thereâs so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadnât given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.
You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. Itâs an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.
Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.
âSorry,â you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.
âIs everything okay?â he asks at your lingering worry.
âYeah um,â your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him âNiki is here?â you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.
âDid you know he was coming?â
âNo,â you lock your phone and stand up âI told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.â You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.
The sound of your door unlocking has Jakeâs eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?
âAnyways it probably wonât be long so just stay here.â You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .
âAre you seriously wearing that?â he asks eyes trailing over your figure.
âYeah, why?â
âYou have been complaining about being cold all day and now youâre wearing shorts? Do you want to die?â you blink at him slowly âChange. Wear something warm.â He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, itâs slightly amusing  and it has your lips twitching upwards.
âYes boss.â You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, itâs adorned with affection.
After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.
oh yes definitely lol i think there's evident tension whenever they're around each other that reveals it all đ€ also im excited for you guys to see how Jake acts when he's in love either way hehe
Let me appreciate you and your beautiful writingđ«¶đŒâșïž anyways, cannot WAIT for the next chapter omg...this is getting so so goodđ Just going to reread and cry about the last chapter until then brb
xoxo Sleepy Anon
now you're not supposed to make me blush stop it đ€š i can barely contain my excitement too aaa fallen star is just starting everything before this feels like a prequel lmao đ
p.s i can hold your hand while you reread if that will help with the crying
That last chapter...wow...that was my favorite chapter yet. So beautiful in the way these two characters are unfolding now, the way YN has always said her thoughts on impulse and feelings, and the way Jake has always held back, bottled things inside and never confronted anything. The way he slowly started opening up on HIS time and YN is learning to hold back those word vomits, those questions and is learning to not push, even if it comes from a good place. Her holding back so much this chapter while Jake was bearing himself to her. Ugh frikin perfect, chef's kiss.
I'm not going to lie, the way you wrote about their yearning, their inner turmoil within themselves and the descriptions of their pain with Jake's grief and YNs loneliness, both of them bearing their trauma to one another little by little ugh...I had to stop for a while to gather my own thoughts and also cry lol made me cry :') but it's okay. It means you did a great job pulling out all the feels. Again, one of the BEST writers on here and I mean that. This should be a book on it's own, it's SO good. I look forward to everything, it's just so so good! <3
xoxo, Sleepy Anon
PS: Oh man, Niki...Niki lmao bahahaha out of all the characters, HE'S the one that has me MOST curious about. His story, his character....oh man, I can feel us finally unlocking that door and ready to open!
anonieđđ€đ„č i have been reading this over and over again trying to find the right words to say back and yet i still feel a little speechless (with a wide smile however) this chapter is very special to me and it is my favorite as well so to know its your favorite too makes me happy!
i think this chapter shows that yn and jake could definitely find a middle ground to make it work and it displays their undeniable bond. believe it or not for the first time my intentions were not to make you cry with this chapter lmao but to know i was still able to evoke such emotions is so qosnaksqn eeek đ„čđ„č
ALSO! niki is one of my favorite characters of the series so im glad to see youâre interested in him too hehe and i cant wait for you to see different sides of himđđ» thank you for being so sweet đ„č the fact that you think iâm a good writer is honestly such an honor and this made me so so happy đ€đ€đ€
Hey Angie! How many chapters of fallen star do you expect to have in total?
Love your works, take care!
Hi! tbh i don't have a set number of chapters in mind im leaving it to fate lmao it all depends how much it takes for everything to unfold đ§ take care anonie đ€đ€
Twenty-four - a little of me,
warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..
Masterlist â¶ prev â¶ next
You had woken up feeling awful. It doesnât really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.
You were so wrong.
Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you werenât just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it â given his love to announce everyoneâs news like theyâre his own.
So, it didnât take you long to figure out thereâs definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.
And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you canât seem to cough. Itâs torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.
âJesus. You look awful.â Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.
âYeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?â Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.
âThanks for the vote of confidence guys.â You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.
You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.
âDo you even have makeup on?â Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way itâs directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.
âYeah. I have concealer on.â
âYikes.â Sunghoon coughs.
âMaybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circlesâ Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.
âAre you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?â
âYour makeup. Duh.â Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.
You think youâre aware that you donât look your best. Although to be quite honest youâre not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You donât get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isnât very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.
Youâre really praying to every fucking god that exists youâre not actually falling sick.
Youâll be fine though â or at least thatâs what you think. Thatâs what you keep praying for -
Please god please please please!!
At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon arenât gonna bother you too much.
However, it does get to you when youâre face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You donât think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.
âOh, you look...â he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be ânot every good.â He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. Youâre not very sure of anything anymore.
âFor fuckâs sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!â you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.
âAww yn. Donât mind these silly boys. Theyâre just being dumb.â Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.
âLike always.â She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words.Â
âAre you sick?â She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing.Â
You donât think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that youâve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).
âI think Iâm just a little tired.â you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry.Â
âYou donât look a little tired though.â She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver âthankfully, you donât seem to have a fever.â
âI do have a bit of a headache.â You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.
âMaybe you should head home.â She rubs your shoulder soothingly.
âAnd do what?â
âRest.â Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.
âOh, Iâll be fine donât worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- âSoojin doesnât even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. Itâs warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is.Â
âJay, does yn have anything urgent today?âÂ
âNot really. Jakeâs schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.â The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.
âGreat!â she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and itâs somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun âIâm getting you an uber and youâre going home to rest!â
âSoojin Iâm fine seriously. âOnce again, she doesnât give room for you to argue, your words â or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.
âYou owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?â she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness âwe need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.â
âOkay.â You sigh and she smiles âIf I feel worse then Iâll leave!-â you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.
âJay.â She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat âcall jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.â Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.
As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesnât seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they arenât as aware of.
âIvyâs the boss here. whatever she says, happens.â He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe itâs the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.
But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while youâre still attempting to fight the decisions already made, youâd think youâre somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.
âThat guy is whipped for you.â you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.
âNo, heâs not.â Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head âHeâs that way with everyone.â She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.
âHe doesnât even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.â your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members âand sheâs his actual boss!â you whisper yell.Â
âShut up your uber is almost here.â She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.
âWhy does he call you Ivy anyway?â
âItâs my English name.â
âThatâs cute. You must be special.â You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.
âVery cute. Now go rest and if you need anything donât hesitate to text me.â She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.
Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.
âThank you.â you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows youâre about to cry so in the next moment sheâs slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.
âI canât hear you!â her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and itâs more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.
On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when youâre inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize youâre not sure what to do if youâre not working.
You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but itâs been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when itâs light outside, when your body knows you should be working.
That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.
Niki.
Jake
Niki
Jake
Niki.
You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then youâre taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.
âThick or regular?â Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.
âUh-â you blink at the black screen of your tv âWhat are we talking about exactly?â
âSoy sauce.â He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.
âI didnât even know thereâs such thing as thick soy sauce.â
âApparently thickness is taking over the world. Thatâs why bbls are a thing yn.â you snort.
âMaybe you should consider getting one.â A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.
âOkay Iâm surrounded by soy sauce and youâre talking about how flat my ass is Iâm so overwhelmed right now.â The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter âItâs not like Iâm getting backshots soon.â He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you arenât careful enough.
âI will be the one doing backshots,â you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.
âOkay moving on from you and your shots.â You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified âAre you at the supermarket?â you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.
âYeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.â
âYou seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?â you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.
âWhatâs up with you? you sound like shit.â He asks after a few beats of silence.
âThanks, I only heard that like ten times today.â
âAre you sick?â
âProbably. Iâm really overwhelmed right now too.â
âWhy? Whatâs wrong?â Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.
âIâm honestly still really worried about Niki.â You mumble.
âWhat did that fucker do?â The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.
âNothing. Iâm just worried about him. I know he said heâs gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.â You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder âNever. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I canât help but worry about him.â You add.
âYeah I know â hold on-â thereâs shuffling on the other line. Heeseungâs voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear âHey can you stop being a little bitch?â The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of whatâs going on.
âOr go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.â He adds and then thereâs an unsettling silence. It doesnât last long, and itâs interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing âMOM!!â
âKids these days am I right?â Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.
âHeeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?â
âYeah. Anyways back to Niki,â you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then youâre shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives itâs little that surprises you with him.
âYeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.â
âNot really. Heâs been acting the same too.â He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry âIf youâre that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.â He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded âI donât know if heâll be happy about it though.â
You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.
âHold on,â you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch âWhat do you mean shifts? Heâs been working at the restaurant?â
âShit yeah. itâs been a while now. You didn't know?â
âWhat the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body canât handle it.â you berate, frustration woven in your tone.
âI donât fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.â
âDid he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.â You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you arenât sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.
âI really donât know yn.â Heeseung sighs on the other line âBut either way Iâll talk to him when he comes into work later. Donât worry.â
âThat would be good, thank you.â you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.
âOf course.â
âIâll talk to him about everything properly once Iâm over this cold or whatever it is. I donât want him to get sick.â You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.
âYeah, you better rest for now. Iâll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.â
âOkay.â
As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like theyâre taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you canât help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didnât feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadnât noticed?
The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasnât moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath
Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You arenât sure how long you slept. Itâs long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.
The only reason thatâs strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think itâs a part of your dream but youâre picking apples and theyâre crispy red and shiny but thereâs a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?
You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then itâs nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.
Your doorbell rings again and this time itâs repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost donât recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.
You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags heâs carrying.
âJake? What are you doing here?â your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.
âYn.â he exhales as if heâs relieved, heâs not stumbling upon your corpse and instead youâre alive âJay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh â â he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps thatâs why it feels like you donât understand anything heâs saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.
You must be really sick or still dreaming.
âAnyways are you okay?â He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.
He tells himself he shouldnât be this panicked â this nervous. Shouldnât let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuckâs sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and thereâs embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.
And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. Itâs solely why you donât say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.
âYn.â Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again âBunny.â
You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands itâs not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadnât spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, whatâs best for you. he doesnât touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.
âBunny whatâs wrong? Are you dizzy?â his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.
âCan you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?â He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why canât his hand be as gentle âCan you tell me what youâre feeling? Mhm?â he suggests once again.
âMy head hurts so bad.â You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. Itâs the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.
âOkay.â He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and heâs looking around as if heâs trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair âPainkillers. Iâll get you some painkillers.â And then heâs walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.
âFucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?â He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. âDo you have any painkillers?â He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if itâs something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.
He doesnât wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesnât last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and thereâs a glass of water in his hand.
âThis will make you feel better. Come on bunny.â
Heâs standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.
âIâm really nauseous and I donât feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.â You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if youâre about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. Itâs uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if thereâs no way for him not to feel you.
You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine heâs fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.
But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.
âWhat are you doing?â
âShh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.â He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.
Youâre unsure if youâre dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because heâs suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and itâs been so long since he touched you.
âIs there anything else thatâs hurting you?â He asks â whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.
âMy body hurts too.â You reply â whisper back just as delicately - and you canât fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, youâd be cringing at how dramatic youâre acting.
âThankfully you donât seem to be having a fever.â The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly âYouâll be okay.â He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you arenât sure if heâs trying to comfort you or himself.
âI have you.â itâs a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you donât want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.
âDo you promise?â you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you donât know what kind of expression youâre wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.
âI promise.â He replies and you sigh because you donât know if he means that youâll be okay or that heâs got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.
Itâs only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;
âBetter?â He asks.
âMhm.â
âDo you think you could try taking the painkiller now?â
âYeah.â you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.
Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and itâs only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.
âSorry.â
âFor what?â His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.
âFor troubling you. Being a burden. I donât know.â you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.
âYouâre not a burden bunny.â You can sense thereâs more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait âIâm here because I was worried about you.â he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.
âDoes your body still hurt?â He asks when youâre quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didnât feel his face burning up at his confession.
âA bit.â You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat âCan you hand me my laptop, please?â you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.
âFor what?â
âThereâs a couple of stuff I need to get done.â
âLike what? Whatâs so important that you need to do now?â
âBills. Rent is due soon and thereâs Yeonjunâs car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.â You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.
âCar fees?â he questions and you nod as if heâs supposed to understand âyeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.â You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you donât get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.
You wish he wouldnât kneel so easily, as if he wonât swallow your heart up and flee.
âAre they urgent?â He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isnât enough room for your breaths to leave.
âNo but I have to do them right now.â You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.
âShh, you donât need to do anything right now, okay?â he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you arenât sure if itâs because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you arenât sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.
I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.
âYouâre on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.â His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours âYou can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?â you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.
âOkay.â You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.
âGood.â He grins, overtaken by triumphant.
Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you donât think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldnât cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.
You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. Youâre so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.
âHow about I run you a bath?â He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.
âNo.â
âWhy not? It will help you feel better.â
âI donât really wanna move right now.â As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.
And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise â his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when heâs everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.
âWerenât you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?â
âThatâs different.â You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.
âIt will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.â He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe itâs you.
âMy ache is fine actually, thank you.â
âOh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?â he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if theyâre claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, havenât realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.
âThatâs because Iâm cold.â
Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didnât know you could miss someone when theyâre right in front of you and you didnât quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him â where touching him isnât forbidden and looking at him comes easily â without threats for your words to spill.
âWhat about you?â you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.
âI can handle the cold just fine.â He retorts âYou know what would help you warm up though? A bath.â
âIâm gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.â
âIâll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness youâre gonna feel.â He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. Youâre quiet, as if youâre contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere â he misses you.
âWhat if the water is too hot it burns my skin?â you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again â as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isnât sure how to deal with it.
The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.
âIâll make sure nothing like that happens to you.â he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And itâs unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.
âHow about this,â he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and youâre envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features âIâll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you donât want to go in, you donât have to, okay?â
You donât think youâre brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home â within your soul.
âOkay. Iâm sorry.â
He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges â hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because youâre scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys.Â
âIâll be back.â He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.
You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.
Heâs gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.
âChanged your mind?â He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.
âThe thought of a bath didnât seem so bad after all.â You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.
The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.
âThis smells just like you.â
âIt is my bodywash after all.â
âI like it.â He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you donât.
When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and thereâs a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when heâs leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.
âY-You donât have to do this Jake.â You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.
âI know.â He looks up at you âI want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?â He questions throwing your socks to the side. Youâre left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.
âNo.â you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.
âCan I?â He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.
Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.
And it stays even when youâre finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.
âJust call for me if you need anything, alright?â
Suddenly youâre inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.
âAlright, bunny?â He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then youâre shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.
âWhat if I need something but I canât call for you?â stupid, stupid yearning.
Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before â not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, heâd rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.
âIâll just stay then.â He tells you, tender and youâre shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.
You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace thatâs always there.
It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And itâs him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace â his â remains around your neck even when youâre bare. Itâs like youâre wearing him, and he likes to think heâs woven into the fabric of your soul.
He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.
âWhat?â you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God â youâre breathtaking.
âI just had a stupid thought.â He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.
âTell me.â you say, and he thinks youâre too tangled in his soul.
âIt just feels like itâs been a while since we looked at each other.â He says softly âBut we see each other every day so itâs stupid.â He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.
âItâs not stupid.â you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul âI have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.â
âTheyâre extraordinary, I wouldnât call them stupid.â
âThatâs just a nicer way of saying Iâm stupid.â You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.
âShut up youâre not stupid.â He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.
You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and itâs vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything youâve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe itâs been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesnât feel like that. Itâs akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.
âYouâre the last person I expected it to see today if Iâm being honest.â You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.
âWhat would have you done if I wasnât here?â He doesnât ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.
âProbably become one with my couch until I felt better.â You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself youâre growing too hot and thatâs it.
âI wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.â He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you arenât sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.
âI donât think I know how to do that.â Thereâs no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.
Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?
But Jake hasnât been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, itâs evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like thereâs room for him. He touched you like he wasnât made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but theyâre all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.
âIâm here now.â He says, Iâm here to take care of you, you hear.
The enormity of his desire disgusts him, itâs a craving beyond his flesh and itâs unjust. Iâll shape myself into something thatâs worth taking care of you, he means.
âYou have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.â He adds when youâre quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, theyâre pink and the sky is gray.
Heâs unworthy but itâs a great honor to think heâs the reason why.
âTell that to my boss.â You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.
âI actually heard your boss is super nice,â
âDid you now?â
âUh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.â He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.
âWhoâs feeding you these lies? Jay?â
âSo, you donât agree that Iâm handsome?â
âBeauty is subjective.â
âIs that a no?â a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you canât help it.
A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.
âIn all seriousness,â he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isnât provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, theyâre soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.
âYouâre doing a good job, bunny.â Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment â the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;
You have managed to stumble on a lost star â he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.
âYouâre doing a good job too, Jake.â He smiles and your mind careens.
âTell that to my assistant.â
This time itâs you who splashes him with water and this time itâs him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you donât tell him that you didnât let the water get to him on purpose, and you donât show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.
âShall I help you wash your hair?â He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.
âYou donât have to.â
At your answer heâs already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When heâs behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. Itâs foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you donât remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And thereâs unavoidable loneliness at the thought, thereâs melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.
No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through â none of them are yours.
âBunny I canât wash your hair if youâre leaning that far off.â Jake comments with a chuckle.
You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you arenât sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.
Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks youâre stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks youâre teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and itâs a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You donât see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.
His hands arenât soft against your skin, theyâre rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you havenât been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness â unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.
Itâs another stupid thought â but maybe thereâs room for something to belong to you.
When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.
You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.
âYou okay?â He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.
âJust a little tired.â You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering â perhaps for days â how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.
In his dreams, his heart isnât as filthy and merging into you isnât as fearful.
In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.
âHave you eaten yet?â
âMhm.â You lean your head back onto his chest when heâs standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.
âNot yet.â He inhales you.
âWeâll need to get some food in your system, yeah?â He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair âWeâll also need to do something about your hair â canât have you getting sicker.â
âI donât feel like doing anything.â You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.
âIâll do it for you.â He replies with an amused grin at the way youâre acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.
You arenât sure what he means by that â however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. Heâs extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you donât even provide for your own hair. And thereâs a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.
âI never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.â You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.
âMy mum taught me.â he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair âI used to braid her hair for her all the time.â
âThatâs really sweet.â You reply with a lowered tone â a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.
âI vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.â His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. Itâs an image that still glides throughout his reality.
âShe always joked that itâs better this way. That itâs easier for me to braid.â He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant â longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.
Iâm sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but youâre well aware thatâs not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It wonât ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness â anger. Youâre well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when heâs dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.
What is he like when his anger isnât restrained â what is he like when heâs not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You donât give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know itâs not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.
âShe sounds like a lively woman.â
âShe is.â He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair âShe was.â He corrects in a fleeting second âShe was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.â
Jakeâs lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. Thereâs softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. Itâs a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesnât know why he tells you all this and doesnât know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours thereâs not a single cell of regret in his body.
You donât look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like itâs just â him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But youâre there, in the midst of it all and youâre not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isnât made of prickling thorns.
âIâm sure sheâs still watching over you, proudly.â You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldnât shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he canât say anything back to you. You donât look at him as shame or grief and he canât let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.        Â
Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies â his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesnât find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that itâs not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.
âAll done.â
âWow! itâs really well done actually.â You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and itâs peculiar to feel like youâre holding a piece of him so delicately.
âitâs just one of my many talents.â He quips and you giggle slightly.
You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than heâd like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.
âMy mom,â you speak suddenly and then youâre looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face âmy mom never really taught me anything.â You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, theyâre raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.
Itâs bitter and doesnât belong in you.
âYou still turned out wonderful.â He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be â he wonders if thereâs room for him to linger around.
âYou donât have to be nice to me just because Iâm sick.â You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.
âHave I ever lied to you?â He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.
âNo.â you answer, and you think you canât slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.
You realize it then â how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything thatâs coming your way.
And he realizes it then â that thereâs so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadnât given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.
You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. Itâs an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.
Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.
âSorry,â you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.
âIs everything okay?â he asks at your lingering worry.
âYeah um,â your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him âNiki is here?â you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.
âDid you know he was coming?â
âNo,â you lock your phone and stand up âI told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.â You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.
The sound of your door unlocking has Jakeâs eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?
âAnyways it probably wonât be long so just stay here.â You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .
âAre you seriously wearing that?â he asks eyes trailing over your figure.
âYeah, why?â
âYou have been complaining about being cold all day and now youâre wearing shorts? Do you want to die?â you blink at him slowly âChange. Wear something warm.â He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, itâs slightly amusing  and it has your lips twitching upwards.
âYes boss.â You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, itâs adorned with affection.
After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.