stepping into the haas f1 garage means more than just being good at what you do—you’ve inherited the headset once worn by your father, now the vital voice guiding their first seat driver, wen junhui, on track. junhui is sharp and distant, but your clear calls cut through the noise in a way that unsettles his perfect composure. between late-night debriefs, testing laps, and the chaos of race weekends, a quiet rhythm starts to build—something that feels dangerously close to something more.
pairing — f1 driver!wen junhui x reader
genre — part of the lights out collab by @camandemstudios, f1 au, motorsports au, haas f1, slowburn romance, romantic tension, secret(?) relationship, drama
cw — intense descriptions of racing crashes, past trauma, panic attack depiction, workplace tension, skinship, kissing, drooling, SMUT like—smut smut (unprotected sex, fingering, breeding kink?), aftercare, swearing
word count — 17k(?) this got out of hand pretty quickly
author’s note — huge thank you to cam [@highvern] and em [@gyuswhore] for inviting me to be part of the lights out! collab <333 this piece has been almost two months in the making (finished while i was down bad with the flu, rip). if you’re a regular on my blog, you know i don’t usually dive into smut—but let me tell you, this might be the smuttiest smut i’ve ever smutted in my whole writing career.
it starts with the smell of oil and burnt rubber—the same scent that clung to your dad’s hands when you were five, sitting cross-legged in the back of your kart garage, watching him scribble notes on telemetry charts.
somehow, you’re back here. not in that exact garage, but in a world that smells the same, hums the same—an ecosystem of adrenaline, high-stakes precision, and the sharp sting of carbon brake dust.
“don’t hover like that, you’ll look nervous,” comes a voice behind you. familiar, sharp, warm. laura müller, chief race engineer for haas f1, the first woman to ever claim that title, and the one who decided to take you under her wing. “stand tall. these boys smell fear.”
“not nervous,” you mutter, adjusting the headset that feels too big even though it’s custom-fit. “just… recalibrating.”
she snorts. “well, looks like my baby chick’s got the vocabulary of a senior strategist. you’ll be fine.”
you try not to look like you’re clinging to those words. because the truth is, you are nervous. new paddock. new team. same old weight on your shoulders. everyone knows whose daughter you are—the haas veteran, with his salt and pepper beard, officially retiring after two decades as the trusted race engineer for their most enigmatic driver.
wen junhui. a young but already seasoned driver—your driver now. ice prince of the paddock. untouchable on track and unreadable off it. karting since he was a kid, in f1 by eighteen, and a consistent name in the points ever since.
you haven’t seen him in person for years—not since you stopped following your dad into the garage. lately, it’s only ever been through a screen: his onboard cams, clipped comms, lap data flashing across your monitor. you’ve studied his pace, dissected his rain drives like some people watch old films.
but the cameras never got it quite right. in person, there’s a weight to him the broadcast can’t capture—shoulders squared, presence steady, the faint trace of boyish charm from years ago now sharpened into something quieter, heavier. older.
and now, you’re supposed to be his voice in the chaos.
when junhui finally walks into the garage, it’s like a shift in air pressure—quiet, sharp, certain. he scans the space, quick and efficient, until his gaze lands on you.
he takes you in for a moment—head to toe, then back to your eyes—and says, voice low but clear,
“baby chick.”
you blink. “excuse me?”
his mouth quirks, not quite a smile. “the old man’s kid. didn’t think i’d see you in here without him.”
he doesn’t linger on your face for long before someone from the crew steps up with his balaclava and helmet, pulling him into the practiced rhythm of pre-season prep. gloves handed off, visor polished, radio checks murmured around him like a well-rehearsed song. he moves through it all without fuss, but with the kind of economy you only see in people who’ve been doing this since before they could drive on the road.
you stand off to the side, watching the way he adjusts the strap under his chin without even looking, shifting his weight as someone tugs at his race suit.
laura leans toward you, her voice low but amused. “don’t just stand there like a spare part. get ready too, baby chick. you’re on comms the moment he’s out.”
“right,” you murmur, forcing your feet toward your station. the headset suddenly feels heavier when you slot it back on, the faint hiss of open channel buzzing in your ears.
by the time junhui slides into the cockpit, the garage is a flurry of last checks—engineers bent over laptops, tires already warming, mechanics crouched near the front wing. the air smells of hot rubber and faint ozone.
you flip through your notes, reminding yourself of the first lap briefing your dad drilled into you years ago: baseline warm-up, brake temps, short-shift on the first straight, steady through sector three. the words are muscle memory, but this is the first time they’ll come out in your voice.
someone gives the all-clear. laura nods to you.
you press the comm button, your voice steady—hopefully. “radio check.”
“loud and clear,” comes the reply, slightly muffled through his helmet mic.
you give him the standard pre-run report, every word clipped and precise. when you finish, there’s a brief crackle over the line, then—
“alright, baby chick,” junhui says, calm but threaded with something almost teasing. “let’s see what you’ve got.”
the engine note spikes, and he rolls out of the garage.
the first lap is meant to be gentle—gentle for an f1 car, anyway. junhui coaxes the haas through the first few corners, the tires still waking up, the steering wheel twitching in his hands as the track surface changes under him. your updates come in like clockwork: brake temps, sector times, delta comparisons. you keep your tone even, reading from the data feed without letting your breath hitch.
but in the second sector, he clips the apex cleanly and you’re there in his ear, your voice threading through the roar of the engine. it’s not loud—you’re not shouting—but it cuts through the noise the way sunlight catches on glass.
“careful on turn nine, rear right’s running a little hot,” you tell him, clear and certain.
he blinks, thrown off for just a fraction—not because of what you said, but because of how sharp it lands in his helmet, clearer than he expected. the split-second distraction is enough for him to be a touch late on the throttle. nothing major—just enough for the telemetry to flag it.
you roll straight into the next call. “good on fuel mix, you can push a bit more in the next straight.”
he’s locked in again by turn eleven, the rest of the lap flowing smooth and clean.
in the garage, you watch his sector times tick green, the live feed showing the car slicing through the track with mechanical precision. laura shoots you a look—not quite impressed, not quite surprised. ‘could be better.’ her face reads.
by the time he pulls into the pit lane, the lap counter’s ticked past a handful of clean runs. you’re still talking him through the cooldown, voice steady, making sure the tires and brakes are treated kindly on the way back in.
the car stops on the marks, jacks lift it in one smooth motion, and the helmet comes off. the cameras never quite get it right—junhui’s face is sharper in person, more grounded than the light, easy charm he shows on tv. there’s a heaviness in the way he carries himself now, like the years between the last time you saw him and this moment are sitting somewhere on his shoulders.
he steps down from the chassis, unclips his gloves, and walks straight to the monitors instead of the drinks cooler.
you swivel slightly in your chair, headset still on, and start the rundown without missing a beat.
“sector two’s solid, but turn nine’s costing you a few tenths. rear right’s cooling now, but we’ll adjust pressures before the next run. brake migration’s okay—you felt any push in turn three?”
he shakes his head, leaning one hand on the back of your chair as he glances at the screen. “felt fine. just a little late on the throttle after nine.”
“mm,” you hum, tapping in a note for laura. “we’ll tweak your entry line there.”
you run through the points the way you would with anyone—lap times, pressure tweaks, the small line change through nine. no fuss, no extra talk, just what needs fixing.
your pen pauses for a fraction of a second as he steps back, unzipping his suit halfway and grabbing a water bottle, tilting it to his lips for a slow sip. from the corner of your eye, over the clipboard in your hands, you catch the dark fabric of his undershirt clinging to his chest and shoulders, a faint sheen at his collarbone catching the lights. you swallow at the same time he does, tugging lightly at your own collar, throat dry.
you glance back down at your notes, but can’t help sneaking another look, water bottle half-empty in his hand, hair falling just past his eyebrows.
junhui catches it, of course. every driver notices, even in the corners of their vision—brow quirking just slightly, like he’s cataloguing the moment without saying a word. when laura finishes the debrief and calls out, “good job, kiddos,” he rolls his eyes at her term of endearment, half-amused. not the youngest in the garage anymore—technically, you’re still about a few years younger than the star, but he’s learned to tolerate the playful jabs from his seniors.
he’s already moving toward the lounge area where drivers grab a quick snack or a drink, maybe rinse off the sweat before the next session. you barely register him leaving until his figure rounds the corner and disappears, and only then do you blink, snapping back to your notes, heart still a little fast without even realizing why.
near the other end of the garage, jihoon, the team’s second seat driver, is sliding into his own cockpit, calm and collected. you catch a glimpse of him through the monitors as he revs the engine, the contrast between his relaxed style and junhui’s intense precision striking. jihoon gives a small wave toward the engineers, headset already on, before settling into the flow of his own laps. you notice how naturally he fits into the rhythm of the garage, a quiet, confident presence that seems to mirror—but never overshadow—junhui’s intensity.
off-season testing doesn’t have the glamour of a race weekend. the grandstands sit empty, the air stripped of the noise and spectacle that usually surround the grid. there’s no champagne, no blaring national anthems, no podium ceremony, no commentators hyping up the start lights. just the constant whine of engines pushing through lap after lap, the metallic tang of brake dust clinging to the back of your throat, and the low hum of engineers hunched over laptops, arguing over tenths of a second like they’re life or death.
the days blur together in the garage. fluorescent strips hum overhead, casting sharp light on stacks of worn tires and open toolkits. half-finished telemetry notes get scrawled across clipboards and forgotten coffee cups crowd the workstations. every run feels like both a rehearsal and a gamble—will the new setup hold, or will another variable throw the whole lap off course?
at first, junhui seemed folded into the rhythm of the team itself, answering with the bare minimum, his presence pared down to something efficient and cool, moving through the garage like another piece of machinery—efficient in his answers, distant in his demeanor, clinical in the way he treated every lap as data rather than feeling.
but after a few sessions, something shifted. junhui no longer walked straight past the engineers’ desks once he was out of the car; instead, he’d drift toward your monitor, helmet still under one arm, sweat dampening the curls that slipped loose from under his balaclava. he leaned over just enough to catch the scrolling lines of data as you spoke, eyes tracking faster than you expected from someone who usually let the numbers speak for themselves.
once, he reached past you, gloved finger tapping a dip in the graph so precise you almost laughed at how sharp his eye was.
“rear stepped out here. exit speed wasn’t there.”
you tilted your head, a little surprised. “you noticed that?”
he gave a small shrug, though he didn’t move away. “hard not to. felt like the car wanted to spin itself sideways.” he lingered by your chair, watching as your fingers flew across the keyboard, logging the note.
when you pressed enter, the adjustment slotting neatly into the chart, you felt his gaze flicker to you instead of the screen. there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but not the cold mask he usually wore, either.
jihoon, sitting a few monitors down, ran his own second-seat laps, but you caught him glancing over now and then whenever junhui leaned close to check the data on your screen. he didn’t say much—just a faint hum or a muttered, “looks like you two are in sync,” when he passed behind your chair, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal.
you blinked at him, half-smiling, before turning back to your notes. junhui, for his part, let out a low, nonchalant hum as he leaned over the screen, almost as if noticing you had caught the apex perfectly—but he didn’t linger, didn’t make it obvious. it was enough, though. enough for your shoulders to settle a little straighter, your fingers moving with more certainty across the keyboard.
later, as he leaned back to grab a sip of water, jihoon murmured again from across the garage, voice just audible over the hum of engines: “you’re getting good at this, huh?”
“just doing my job,” you replied, fingers already flying over the keyboard.
jihoon shrugged, unconcerned. “sure, sure. but it shows.”
and in the corner of your vision, junhui’s hum returned softly as he adjusted his headset, casual, almost teasing—and somehow it made you feel a little more in your element.
“nicely done today,” he said, tone calm but edged with something softer. “clean calls. made it easier to stay on top of the car.”
the words were simple, almost throwaway, but they landed heavier than you expected. no one had said anything about your comms all week, not beyond laura’s quick corrections or teasing reminders. from him, though—meant or not—it sounded like something close to trust.
he was more present in the garage now, leaning over his monitor just a beat longer, catching lines in your notes you hadn’t even realized you’d written. during debriefs, he spoke up more, offering his input instead of waiting for you to lead the way. sometimes his feedback slipped into half-jokes, aimed at you with that easy, fleeting grin:
“so what’s the verdict, baby chick? do i get a passing grade?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though a corner of your mouth twitched. he rolled his eyes every time, gaze briefly catching yours before he shifted his attention back to the screens. it was subtle, but the kind of thing that made the long hours feel less heavy.
off-grid, baby chick stuck. he said it without thinking when he handed you a coffee in the morning.
over the past few sessions, he’d started letting it slip more often, the nickname weaving its way into even your routine debriefs, softening the edges of your tense exchanges.
one time, you were hunched over the screen, eyebrows bunched as you traced a line of data a little too closely. he leaned over, peering at the same chart.
“you’re squinting too hard, baby chick,” he said casually, voice low enough for just the two of you. “i can’t have you giving yourself a headache before the season even starts.”
you glanced up, and your chest skipped a beat. off-grid, his voice was real—no static, no headset filter—just him, leaning close enough that the warmth threaded down your spine. “…i’m fine. obviously,” you muttered, trying to sound composed, though the sudden proximity in tone made your fingers grip the edge of the clipboard tighter than intended, tensing up in a way you never did during practice laps.
sometimes, you hear the nickname when you caught him scrolling through data on a clipboard and swiped the sheet out of his hands. other times it was quiet, almost reluctant, as if he was testing how much warmth he could afford to show. and of course, you had laura to blame—she kept calling you that during debriefs, a teasing jab that had clearly lodged itself in junhui’s head. now you had three people calling you baby chick: laura, your old man, and wen junhui. stellar lineup. it slowly became a thread, tugging at the edges of the distance that had once stretched between you and the driver.
on-grid, he kept it professional, crisp and precise in his calls. but every once in a while, after a particularly smooth lap or a flawless pit entry, his voice would cut through your headset with a trace of amusement that made your chest lift just a little:
“copy that, baby chick. looks like i did my homework last night.”
you’d roll your eyes, pen scratching across the telemetry sheet like nothing had changed, but beneath it, there was that familiar flutter of satisfaction—the same way you felt watching a car slice through a corner perfectly, only this time, it wasn’t just the car. it was him, finally leaning in, finally letting the tension ease, a little laugh threading through the quiet chaos of the garage.
of course, there were bound to be bad days. in a sport built on fractions of a second, they were unavoidable. the grid thrived on pressure—drivers expected to deliver perfection every lap, while engineers are chasing solutions before the stopwatch could expose their flaws. testing was no different. some days the car sang beneath him, every sector green. other days, like this one, it fought him in every corner.
you could tell from the moment the car left the pit lane that something was off. into the first corner, the front end refused to bite, the tires skimming over the line instead of digging in. he wrestled the steering wheel through the apex, but the chassis didn’t want to follow, dragging him wider than the entry allowed. by the middle of the lap, every correction looked heavier than the last—sharp flicks of the wheel, throttle feathered in frustration. whenever he tried to accelerate out of a corner, the car felt sluggish, bleeding speed before it even had the chance to build.
the radio crackled with static and the clipped edge of his breathing, irritation bleeding through in every word. by the third lap, his tone was tight enough to make the garage fall into a sharper silence than usual. when he finally rolled back in, the hiss of the tires cooling was drowned by the sound of velcro ripping, gloves yanked off with more force than necessary.
the debrief that followed was brittle. he sat forward in his chair, answers curt and sharp, like every question was a test he didn’t have the patience to pass. you pressed for details, careful, but each response landed like a dare—short, biting, as if he was waiting for you to contradict him. before the session notes were even finished, he pushed back from the table. the scrape of his chair against the floor, the thud of the garage door closing behind him—it all seemed louder than the car had sounded on track.
laura only reached over and squeezed your shoulder, her mouth pulling into the faintest half-smile. let him stew, her look said. he’ll come back when he’s ready.
well, whatever stew laura was talking about started feeling like perpetual soup with how junhui basically avoided anyone from the team. he kept to himself all afternoon, drifting between the car and the garage wall, until one by one the engineers packed up and the garage emptied into silence. you retreated to your assigned living space near the paddock, sprawled across the small couch with the clipboard still in your lap, and figured that was that—until your phone lit up well past midnight.
your phone buzzed across the small table, the screen glowing in the dim light of the living space. unknown number. you hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, then pressed it.
“hello?” you said cautiously, sitting up a little straighter.
“you still awake?” the voice was low, rough around the edges with fatigue, but there was that unmistakable warmth threading through it—the kind that made the hair at the back of your neck prickle and sent a quiet rush down your spine.
you froze for half a heartbeat, heart stuttering. “…who’s this?” you asked, voice steadier than you felt, though every instinct screamed that you already knew.
“it’s junhui,” he said, quieter this time, almost like he was reluctant to admit it. “couldn’t sleep. today keeps running through my head.”
you blinked, chest tightening just a fraction, because of course you knew who it was. the words, the cadence, the weight in his tone—it could only be junhui. and somehow, even through a phone speaker, it felt like he’d stepped right into the room.
“you mean the car that hated you all afternoon?” you asked, voice deliberately casual.
“exactly that one,” he admitted, a breathy little laugh escaping him this time, and there was a pause heavy with exasperation. “i know the data says what went wrong, but… i can’t stop thinking about it. every lap, every corner. i feel like i ruined the whole session.”
you leaned back against the wall, softening your voice. “you didn’t ruin anything. the car was off, yes, but that’s exactly what testing is for. we figure it out, we learn. it’s not a race yet.”
there was a quiet rustle on the other end. “you sound way too calm for someone i’ve been calling ‘baby chick’ all week.”
“someone’s gotta keep your overdramatic self in check,” you shot back, smirking even though he couldn’t see you.
he let out a humorless chuckle, the sound carrying more relief than amusement. “fine, fine. but i mean it—every time i think about turn nine, i keep seeing it wrong in my head. it’s like the car betrayed me.”
you hummed, picking up the edge of your notebook. “then let’s go over it together. tell me what you felt, i’ll tell you what the data says. we’ll fix it before the next session.”
“alright, baby chick,” he said, softer this time, almost reluctant. “let’s do that.”
just like that, the tone in his voice didn’t feel empty anymore. the night might have been late, but somehow, with the faint crackle of his voice and the quiet of the living space around you, it felt like the start of something steadier—something neither of you had expected in the middle of the pre-season chaos.
by the time the season opener in bahrain rolled around, it was clear: all the off-season groundwork had paid off. you and junhui were a well-oiled machine now, the countless hours of testing, late-night debriefs, and small, teasing moments off-grid translating into something seamless on-track. even with the faint haze of jetlag hanging over the garage, there was a quiet understanding between you two that needed no words.
that morning, you shared a silent coffee in the garage, the early fluorescent lights reflecting off polished chassis and monitors. junhui leaned against the wall, hands wrapped around the warm cup, eyes on the screens but somehow aware of you without glancing. “good morning, baby chick,” he murmured, and it was both a greeting and a reminder of the rhythm you’d built together. you smirked, offering a teasing glance. “good morning. ready to ruin some lap times?”
he let out a short laugh, but it was genuine. “let’s not start exaggerating just yet.”
the first practice session—fp1—was a reality check. junhui’s lines were sharp, but the car still had its quirks after shipping, and the unfamiliar track kept him from absolute flow. sector times ticked by as he pushed the limits, and by the end of the session, he landed in 8th place—solid, but not quite the pace he wanted. you ran through the debrief calmly, pointing out small adjustments in brake bias, tire management, and entry lines.
free practice 2 was tougher. the heat was rising, the tires degrading faster than expected, and a slight misjudgment in turn four cost him dearly. he crossed the line in 11th, frustration creeping into his tone over the comms. that night, as had become a habit, his call came.
“baby chick,” he said quietly, voice tight, almost breaking through the static. “i keep replaying free practice 2. turns four and seven… i messed them up. the tire temps, the brake bias—i don’t know, i just—i can’t stop thinking about it. if we don’t fix this, i’ll be fighting the car all weekend.”
you leaned back, keeping your voice steady, soft but firm enough to cut through the tension. “hey, listen. it’s okay. we know exactly what went wrong. every lap, every sector—we’ve got it. i’ll get you running smoothly back out there. you’re not alone in this.”
a long pause stretched between you, just the quiet buzz of the line. eventually, he let out a breathy laugh, tension bleeding out slowly. “you really make it sound easy.”
“it’s not easy,” you said, smile in your voice. “but we’ll handle it—together. that’s the point. i’ve got your back.”
the conversation dragged on, hours bleeding past midnight as he ran through telemetry, notes, and imagined corrections. somewhere past 1 AM, the exhaustion hit you like a wave. your eyes fluttered shut, your head resting against the edge of the desk. soft, unsteady snores slipped into the line.
junhui froze mid-sentence, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “...did you just—?” he muttered, but his voice softened, almost reluctant. he didn’t interrupt, let the rhythm of your breathing and soft snoring fill the call. minutes passed. slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. eventually, a yawn slipped past him too, the quiet of your sleep somehow lulling him into stillness.
when he finally realized you’d dozed off, junhui didn’t interrupt. he stayed quiet for a few more moments, a yawn escaping from his own lips as he listened to the soft rise and fall of your breathing through the line. eventually, the comm fell silent on its own, the call cutting off naturally in the middle of the night. no fanfare, no dramatic sign-off—just the lingering comfort that, in the middle of chaos, you could find stillness together, even through a late-night line and the soft, unintentional rhythm of sleep.
the next morning, the garage hummed with pre-qualifying energy, the scent of rubber and fuel already thick in the air. junhui strode in, race suit half-zipped, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, but there was a lightness to him that hadn’t been there before. laura, leaning against a workbench with a tablet in hand, caught his eye and smirked. “well, look at you. slept well, kiddo? you’re looking a bit chirpier today, aren’t ya?”
“best night in weeks,” he said lightly, stretching like he owned the room. and for a moment, you realized that whatever tension had shadowed him in the past—junhui the ice prince, unreadable and distant—had softened. the late-night debriefs hadn’t left him restless; instead, they seemed to have unburdened him, given him a quiet confidence. the storm of previous sessions felt like it had eased, and now, here he was, full of energy, grin easy and genuine, ready to tackle qualifying like he was already halfway through the weekend.
free practice 3 had gone smoothly—junhui finishing 7th, a solid base to work from, and the car feeling just responsive enough to tease better pace. you watched him stretch by the pit wall afterward, gloves loosened, helmet off, the hint of a grin breaking through the usual concentration.
before you know it, junhui is already preparing for the qualifying, tightening back the straps on his gloves back on, adjusting the wrist fasteners with meticulous care, and sliding his helmet slightly forward to check the visor’s angle. as he flexed his fingers over the wheel, he called over, just loud enough for you to hear, “ready for us, baby chick?” and you smirked, sliding your pen between your fingers.
“ready for us,” you echoed, voice firm but light, and keyed the comms as the session rolled in.
when the qualifying session began, the garage buzzed with electricity, engineers crowding around flickering timing screens, telemetry lines dancing. junhui eased into the cockpit with the smooth precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times—but there was a difference now. his movements were lighter, less rigid, a quiet confidence in every gesture. he adjusted the steering wheel, flicked the brake bias, and settled his helmet, his gaze flicking to you at the pit wall for a fleeting second—a spark, a silent tether that made your pulse skip. you gave a quick nod, lips twitching into a half-smile, and he mirrored it, a subtle quirk of his mouth before he faced the track.
your headset crackled as he rolled out, his voice low and warm through the static. “let’s make it count.” and you grinned, keying the comms with a crisp, “copy, jun. clean air, go for it.”
the chemistry between you sparked like the hum of the engine, seamless and instinctive. your calls—brake points, apexes, throttle tweaks—flowed like a dance, his responses immediate, trusting, as if your voice was part of his instincts. “push into turn three, you’ve got grip,” you said, voice steady, edged with excitement. he hummed, “got it,” and the telemetry spiked as he nailed the corner, the car singing.
through q1 and q2, junhui carved up the field, your voice threading through his helmet, sharp and steady. “beautiful, jun, keep it tight,” you murmured after a clean sector, his soft chuckle crackling back, “flattering me mid-lap, eh?” the way he said it was almost deadpan, yet his banter made your chest warm, but he clipped the next apex perfectly, feeding off your energy.
in q3, the stakes spiked, the timing screens a war of tenths. you leaned into the monitor, heart syncing with the car’s revs. “you’re flying, jun—sector one’s green, hunt that top five,” you said, voice urgent but grounding. he pushed hard, tires screaming, “commit on turn nine,” you added, and he threaded the chicane with surgical precision, exit clean and fast.
the checkered flag waved, and the screens froze: 4th place, a hard-fought slot just behind the leaders, proof of your shared rhythm. the garage erupted, but your eyes were on junhui rolling back to the pit lane, helmet tilting like he knew you were watching. “nice work, baby chick,” he said over the comms, breathless but warm, a teasing edge that tightened your chest with pride and something deeper. “couldn’t have done it without you.”
you keyed the comms, grinning. “told you we’d make it count, jun. p4’s yours—let’s get ready for tomorrow.” his laugh crackled through, soft and boyish, a private spark in the storm, the chemistry between you burning brighter than the timing screens.
and get ready you did. that night, another late-night call stretched past midnight, junhui’s voice soft but focused as you dissected telemetry, trading notes on tire wear and braking zones over the phone. his occasional teasing—“you’re gonna be thinking about working even in your sleep, baby chick”—kept the mood light, grounding you both in the rhythm you’d built.
come morning, you sat across from him in the team lounge, his trenta iced americano sweating between you, too big to finish so he decided to share, your fingers brushing as you passed the cup. you pored over data sheets, his shoulder close enough to nudge yours when he pointed out a tweak to the turn nine entry, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling like a warm hum in your chest.
race day dawned, the hungaroring pulsing with heat and anticipation. your headset buzzed to life as he rolled out, and the familiar crackle of his voice threaded through the comms. “this one’s for haas,” he said, calm but carrying that easy warmth that had replaced the old distance. and even though he said “haas,” the way he said it—the pause, the curve of his voice, the subtle weight behind it—made it feel like he really meant 'us'.
this made your chest tighten in a way that was both grounding and dizzying, and you keyed in your first updates, your tone precise, clipped, yet somehow softer than during the hectic practice sessions.
each lap was a conversation. you fed him sector times, tire temps, brake pressure nuances; he responded with micro-adjustments, apexing corners with perfect timing, modulating throttle and brake as if he were reading your voice as clearly as the track ahead. free practice 1’s habits had taught you both patience; now, in the pressure cooker of qualifying, every note from the notebook, every whispered joke from your late-night call, fell into place seamlessly.
apex after apex, exit after exit, the car seemed to flow through his hands like water. he hit the braking zones crisply, carried speed through the mid-corner weight shifts, and clipped the final kerbs with minimal correction. each lap shaved tenths of a second off the previous, the rhythm you two had built manifesting in real time.
the garage exploded, engineers shouting, fists pumping, your own voice breaking through the headset with a triumphant yell. “yes, jun! that's podium, you absolute legend!” you cried, grinning so wide it hurt, hands slamming the console in excitement. as the checkered flag waved, the timing screens froze on his best lap: 3rd place, a podium finish—just beyond the fastest two, a triumph earned from months of off-season groundwork and building a connection through data and shared fire for the motorsport between driver and engineer.
and yet, it wasn’t just the numbers. it was the way he leaned back in the cockpit, helmet tilted slightly, a small, almost repressed, but unmistakable grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. it was the way your voice had guided him, threaded through each sector, each apex, each braking point. it was the “for us” that had started over the open channel, echoing silently through headsets, now starting to come alive in every decision he made, every movement behind the wheel.
from across the garage, jihoon’s monitor blinked with his own results—8th place, racking up solid points for the team. he gave a quick fist-pump toward his engineers before letting his attention shift toward you and then to junhui for a fraction of a second. nothing more than a casual glance, but enough to register—jihoon was quietly noting the budding connection, the subtle energy building between you and junhui, even if he didn’t say a word.
parc fermé loomed ahead, officials already moving, ready to check tire temps, tools at the ready. as junhui rolled past, his gloved hand brushed yours, brief but deliberate—a grounding touch, a small acknowledgment that this was yours as much as his.
the gesture was fleeting, swallowed up by the rush of procedure, yet it left an unmistakable warmth in its wake. the rest of the garage buzzed with congratulations, engineers slapping shoulders and checking screens, but in the quiet between the clamor, you caught his eye and smiled. a simple nod, a shared acknowledgment: this—everything—was as much yours as it was his. somehow, that understanding, and your shared rhythm, had carried both of you farther than either numbers or talent could alone.
later, the podium awaited. junhui climbed the steps with that same quiet composure, his demeanor cold, almost steely—a practiced mask of the ice prince who’d long mastered the art of keeping the world at arm’s length. but as the champagne was brought to his lips, the golden liquid catching the sunlight, that exterior softened, melting away under the warmth of the moment. his eyes crinkled, a genuine smile breaking through as the applause washed over him, the crowd’s roar blending with the fizz of the spray.
even from below the podium, you felt it: the subtle warmth of triumph that had started quietly over the open channel, a spark between you that now burned bright in his gaze, as if the victory wasn’t just his, but yours together.
“junhui’s showing that the ice prince has awakened once again,” a reporter’s voice carried over the broadcast, almost blending into the crowd noise. “and what a start for haas in the opening gp of bahrain—a stellar podium finish, along with lee jihoon adding valuable points in 8th, haas has both cars in the top ten. all eyes, of course, are not only on haas’ famous ice prince, but also on the first seat's new race engineer; she comes practically descended from greatness, following in her father’s footsteps, and her dynamic with wen junhui has already become the talk of fans and paddock insiders alike, leaving them eager to see what this rising duo will bring in the races ahead.”
over the months, your voice became as much a part of junhui’s cockpit as the wheel or pedals. the way he called over the radio, calm but threaded with that half-teasing warmth, felt like a quiet acknowledgment that this—both the car and the comms—was now a shared space.
on the grid, the occasional near-slip still happened, though he tried to keep it contained. one morning, headset buzzing, he muttered mid-adjustment:
“did you see that, ba—? barely grazed that apex,” he corrected, almost too fast to register, then continued with perfect composure. you caught the hitch—a faint echo of baby chick, the nickname he’d used freely during off-season and free practice when comms were private and unbroadcasted—but here, on the grid, with the possibility of engineers, team staff, or even social media clipping it for highlights, he would try not to use it too much, maybe even gatekeeping the nickname, subtly shifting it into something innocuous. you couldn’t help a quiet smile.
you learned to read the pauses, the micro-laughs, the gentle quirks in his voice when he trusted your calls, when he let the stress of the lap fade into collaboration rather than tension. the nickname lingered like a charm; even the engineers would glance over, smirking, but junhui never acknowledged it beyond the quiet warmth in his comms.
the results reflected it too. over the course of the season, he'd cinch a handful of top-five finishes, a string of consistent points finishes just outside the podium, and even the rare 11th-place grid that could have frustrated him—he approached it with steady focus, trusting your guidance rather than letting the setback dictate the pace.
and the media noticed. suddenly, you were in the mix too, a quiet curiosity at the edge of interviews, paddock walks, and press conferences. questions aimed at junhui inevitably shifted toward you:
“how’s the dynamic with your new race engineer?”
he’d deflect, clipped and professional at first. but the subtle easing, the small smiles when he mentioned sector improvements or tire management—it didn’t go unnoticed. cameras caught it, reporters jotted notes about the ice prince showing cracks in the most endearing way: a trust that wasn’t performative, a rhythm built quietly over months.
you learned to dodge the persistent flashes and questions, offering short, calm answers, letting your presence speak as much as words. when asked, you’d mention small tweaks, sector insights, the teamwork that made those mid-pack and top-five finishes possible, never revealing more than the data allowed—but everyone could see it. junhui was speaking differently through the radio now, lighter, more human. and somewhere in that exchange, between practice laps, tire pressures, and qualifying grids, a subtle narrative formed: the untouchable driver was softening, and the quiet engineer in the background—the voice who’d guide him—was part of the reason.
before you know it, the season has leapt forward—the summer haze of hungary looming, tarmac baking under the unrelenting sun. free practice 1 had offered a slightly underwhelming result, 10th place, the car responsive but not yet singing. now, fp2 begins, and the heat is relentless, tires screaming under every corner.
junhui pushes harder than ever, chasing the perfect line, tires shrieking against the hot asphalt. the car grips through turn five, apex clipped just right, but as he rolls into turn six, the rear suddenly steps out. a flick of the wheel isn’t enough—then the car spins violently, the rear sliding wide. rubber screams as metal scrapes against the barrier, sparks flying from the undertray. the suspension groans under the impact.
for a breathless moment, everything freezes—the radio silent, the timing screens flashing red, engineers shouting over the comms, and the pit wall erupting in chaos. the car lies twisted against the barriers, tires still spinning weakly, bodywork crumpled. you can almost feel the violence of the hit reverberate through the screens.
your pulse spikes, every beat hammering in your ears. the headset buzzes faintly, but your brain catches only fragments: the red lights on the timing screen, the car crumpled against the barriers. a cold pit opens in your stomach, that familiar sinking weight you know too well—panic curling around your ribs like smoke.
“junhui? junhui, talk to me!” your voice cracks, sharp, almost breathless.
still nothing. the world narrows. the cheering from the grandstands, the flags, the chatter of engineers—all fades into a ringing hum. your fingers hover over the comms as if touching them could will him back. your throat tightens. chest rising and falling too fast.
for a heartbeat—or a thousand, you’re unsure—you’re frozen, caught between wanting to move and the panic that roots you to the spot. your mind flashes briefly to a distant crash, the echo of your own buried memory: the sudden helplessness, the sirens, the screeching metal, the way time stretches and contracts all at once. you blink, trying to shove it down, trying to tell yourself it’s different this time—but the weight presses harder. reality locks in: junhui out there alone, and your hands shake over the console, fingers hovering, useless.
and then, a voice, clipped but alive, cuts through the fog: “…need recovery, car’s off.”
the words are small, even a little strained, but alive. you sag against the console, every muscle loosening in relief and residual tension, hands slamming down as if to reset your own heartbeat.
“recovery team en route.” your voice comes out raspy, weakened from the earlier tension, ‘he’s okay. he’s okay.’ you whisper it to yourself over and over, letting the pit chaos swirl around you while your chest slowly eases, mind grasping for normalcy amid the aftershock.
after the crash, junhui is quickly escorted by the recovery and medical teams. the pit fades behind you as you pace, heart still hammering, every flicker on the timing screens a reminder of what could have gone wrong. the minutes stretch long, stretched taut with worry, until finally word comes: he’s been cleared. no serious injuries.
you move toward the usual debrief room, where the team—laura, jihoon and his own engineer—usually gathers to review data after sessions. the door swings open, and there he is. even from a few steps away, your chest clenches: his hair is tousled, cheeks flushed from the exertion and adrenaline, racing heart mirrored in the flush of his skin. the meticulous composure that defines him at the track is soft around the edges, human in a way that makes your relief nearly physical.
right as the door closes, without thinking, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. the familiar scent of him, the warmth of his body, the rapid beat of his pulse against your own—it all hits at once. “oh god… junhui. you’re here,” you murmur, voice trembling.
he steadies you gently, hand brushing your back as he exhales, a shaky laugh escaping him. “i’m alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “thanks to you.”
you can’t quite register why he’d be thanking you—you weren’t even in the car, in the pit, or touching the wheel—but there’s no time to dwell. the tight knot of panic in your chest loosens just a fraction, and all that matters is that he’s here, right in front of you, flushed from adrenaline, breathing, and alive.
that night at the hotel—whole floor dedicated to haas, engineers tucked into their suites, jihoon and junhui a floor above—you’re lying in bed when your phone buzzes. you don’t even check the ID; you answer, heart already skipping.
“can you open the door for me, baby chick?” his voice is quiet, almost vulnerable, stripped of the usual crispness over the radio.
you freeze for a heartbeat, chest tightening. it’s not a quick check-in—it’s him, seeking you out. the faint echo of adrenaline still lingers in his tone, mingled with the warmth you’ve come to recognize.
slowly, you swing your legs out of bed, pressing your feet against the floor. every step toward the door feels weighted, your fingers brushing the handle as your chest hammers. you twist the knob, push, and there he is: the tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and soft pajamas make him look like he belongs here
you let him in, closing the door softly behind him. he steps closer, just a breath away, and then—almost instinctively—he pulls you against his chest. his arms wrap around you firmly, grounding, and you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “thank you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your hair. it’s different this time—softer, almost reverent. you remember him thanking you earlier at the track, and the repetition catches your attention. “junhui… why are you thanking me again?” you ask quietly, tilting your head to meet his eyes.
he exhales, a deep sigh escaping him. “when i heard you call my name over the radio back there…? it snapped me back,” he admits, voice low but steady. “it brought me back to my senses. you—you kept me together.”
he pulls away slightly, brushing hair from your face to look at you properly. “i can’t help it… i’m sorry. i couldn’t just call you tonight,” he says, voice low, almost hesitant, like he’s admitting something he can’t let anybody else know.
junhui cups your cheek gently, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. his eyes search yours, lingering, and when his lips meet yours, it’s sudden but tender—a bubble of tension from the day finally popping. the warmth of his lips, the subtle tremor in his hands, the faint scent of the hotel room mingled with him—it all presses in, grounding you on the spot.
he presses closer, hands sliding around your waist as if to anchor both of you, and you lean into him instinctively. the soft fabric of his pajamas brushes your arms, the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the dim light spilling across the room—it all fades, leaving only the quiet warmth between you. your heartbeat seems to echo in your ears, the lingering adrenaline of the day melting into something quieter.
slowly, he guides you to the couch, still holding you close, lips brushing yours as he steadies you. his tousled hair falls slightly over his forehead, cheeks flushed from emotion rather than exertion, eyes soft and searching. the contrast of the chaos of the weekend and this intimate moment hits you—the track, the crash, the tension—they’re all gone here. only him, only you.
“you kept me together today,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours, voice low, shaky but steady.
your hands tighten around him. “i felt it too,” you whisper. “we’ve… been holding each other up, haven’t we?”
he nods, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before returning to your lips. every brush of his lips, every press of his hands, carries the weight of shared fear, trust, and relief. the tension of the GP weekend, the near-crash, the long hours—it all slips away in that quiet moment. you’re in each other’s arms, letting the rhythm you’ve built over months sink in fully.
junhui pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, thumb still brushing your cheek. his voice is low, careful, almost hesitant. “what about you? how did you feel back there?”
you tense slightly, caught off guard. the question isn’t accusatory—it’s tender and patient. junhui knows it wasn’t your first time seeing something like that on the track, but he also knows the weight that a crash carries, especially to you.
you swallow, eyes flicking away, trying to avoid his gaze. he doesn’t rush you. his hand lingers, warm against your skin, grounding you. “i… i don’t know,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “i just… everything came back. it felt… almost familiar.”
he nods, the faintest squeeze in his palm, a silent acknowledgment of the memory stirring. surely enough, your mind drifts—suddenly, unbidden, to that day on the karting track.
you were fourteen, adrenaline and fear coiling tight, the crash violent and jarring, leaving your chest hollow with panic. junhui had been there too, older by a few years, eyes wide as he watched the metal frame bite into the tarmac, your kart crumpled, silence stretching too long. radio silence followed for years, the memory tucked away like a fragile shard you didn’t dare touch.
and now—years later—junhui at eighteen, stepping into the F1 paddock, eyes scanning the garage, telemetry screens, helmets, and suddenly landing on you. the same instinctive recognition, that echo of the past, catching in his chest. your father’s familiar call drifts through his memory: “baby chick, come on, take a look,” and the nickname makes a quiet, ghostly loop in his mind.
he had glimpsed you again in the middle of chaos, alive, steady, but that flicker—the same presence he’d feared losing years ago—tugs at something deep in him.
your father had brought you into the garage a few more times after that, letting you watch from the sidelines as junhui practiced off-season, as if trying to reassure both of you that the world hadn’t ended in that instant. but eventually, as the season started, you disappeared again—off to school, to life, leaving only echoes of that day behind.
and now, here you are, standing in front of him again, as vital and grounding as ever, his new race engineer, and the rhythm you two share ready to carry you through the weekend.
that night, you fall asleep tangled in junhui’s arms, the quiet warmth of him pressing you into the softness of the hotel sheets. the chaos of the GP weekend, the crash, the tension—it all dissolves into the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.
when you wake, the room is empty. for a moment your chest tightens, then your phone buzzes on the nightstand. a short message, crisp but familiar:
“early start today. didn’t want to wake you. coffee waiting in the garage.”
you press your thumb against the screen, a small smile tugging at your lips. the thought of him there, patient and steady, waiting for you with a warm cup and that quiet presence, carries you through the morning, grounding you before the day even begins.
you push open the garage doors just past noon, the heat of the day already pressing against the metal walls. the coffee junhui had mentioned is already steaming on your usual seat, the mug perfectly in place. the man himself is there, race suit half-zipped and bunched at his waist, gloves laid out beside him, helmet tucked under one arm. he looks up, catching your eyes, and a small, easy smile breaks across his face.
“hey, baby chick, just woke up?” he says, voice teasing but warm, gesturing toward the seat. you grin, sliding into your usual spot. the brief exchange feels grounding, a quiet counterpoint to the chaos of the weekend.
you both lean over the data from the morning sessions. fp1 had been steady, lines mostly clean, balance improving. fp2 was messy, the crash still fresh in your mind, the adjustments necessary to stabilize the car now more urgent. you run through brake bias and suspension tweaks, discussing tire strategies—all the micro-adjustments that could turn the weekend around. junhui listens, asks questions, and offers insights of his own.
once the final discussions are settled, the car is prepped, the adjustments confirmed. the tension in the garage shifts slightly, anticipation threading the air—free practice 3 is coming up in the afternoon, and both of you are ready.
the paddock hums to life in the afternoon heat, engines warming, tires squealing as junhui slips into the cockpit. his suit is zipped tight now, gloves on, helmet settled, and he gives you a quick acknowledgement over the comms.
lap after lap, he finds rhythm, weaving through traffic, but the remnants of the earlier weekend chaos still linger. your voice threads through the headset, crisp and steady, every word guiding him—reminding him of braking points, apexes, and throttle modulation. a slight oversteer here, a minor understeer there, and he corrects instinctively, each adjustment echoing the trust you’ve built. by the end of the session, he crosses the line, timing screens confirming 9th place—not dazzling, but solid, a foundation for the push toward qualifying.
qualifying comes almost instantly, the afternoon sun hanging heavy over the paddock. junhui slices through the lap, every corner and braking zone perfectly threaded by your calls over the headset. by the end, timing screens settle: 6th place, a solid climb from free practice.
he rolls back into the garage, helmet off, hair tousled, cheeks flushed. you’re already there, rising from your usual seat, and before he can even reach the console, you pull him into your arms. he melts into the embrace, hands resting lightly on your back, forehead pressed against yours, a quiet exhale escaping both of you. for a heartbeat, the weekend chaos—the crashes, the traffic, the sweat—is forgotten.
“well excuse me,” a familiar, slightly bitter voice cuts through, and you pull back just enough to see jihoon standing there, giving you a look that says ‘move aside’ as he motions to the door behind you, leading to the lounge room, eyes narrowed. the grid steward’s decision has landed him with a penalty, moving him way back to 17th on the grid, and he’s not thrilled.
junhui’s hand lingers on your waist, grounding himself as he offers a small shrug toward jihoon, while you take a step back, letting the tension of the moment settle around the three of you.
laura clears her throat from behind you, voice clipped but not unkind. “love the… uh, camaraderie you two have built here,” she says, brow lifting slightly as she motions toward junhui’s hand still resting on your waist, “but we need to get to work—debrief, discuss improvements, all that.”
you glance at junhui, who clears his throat, gaze avoiding laura’s as he loosened his hold on you just enough to nod, and you step aside. the moment lingers only briefly before your focus shifts back to the screens of data and telemetry being displayed.
the next day rolls in quieter than you expected, lunch spread between you and junhui at one of the folding tables in the garage. you’re halfway through a sub, notebook open at your elbow, while he goes on about turn 1 like it’s a personal vendetta.
“i don’t know what it is about that turn,” he says, shaking his head, “i keep losing time on exit.”
you chew, jot a quick note, then point at the map with the tip of your pen. “you’re braking a fraction too early here. the line’s clean, but it’s killing your momentum out.”
junhui leans over, scanning your scribble, eyes narrowing in thought. “so later brake, hold the gear a little longer?”
“exactly,” you say around another bite, the taste of bread and mustard mixing with the sharp tang of strategy. “you’ll carry more speed into the straight.”
he rolls his eyes playfully, tilting his head at your half-finished sub. “do you ever stop thinking like a driver?”
you smirk without looking up, “i bet i could execute turn 1 better than ya.”
he snorts when you bring up turn 1, rolling his eyes like he’s heard that line a thousand times. “everyone and their grandma knows turn 1’s a lottery ticket,” he mutters, brushing it off.
so instead you nudge the conversation toward another section of the track—turns 10 through 13. “that whole left-right-left-right sequence,” you say, and he immediately perks up. he doesn’t need the reminder, not when every driver’s felt how easy it is to get greedy there, one wrong input sending the car unsettled. medium-high speed, constant direction changes, the kind of rhythm that only feels right when you’re threading the needle.
junhui hums, thoughtful. “when i hook that section up, it feels like flying. but if i miss the line even a little, it all unravels before i can catch it.” his tone’s casual, but you can hear the respect in it—a driver’s kind of reverence for corners that punish impatience and reward precision.
after lunch, there’s three of you now, laura strolling in after her own meal. you’re all holed up in the engineering room, telemetry glowing on the big screens while the hum of the garage leaks through the walls. laura’s got a tablet balanced in one hand, running through final checks with the calm precision you’ve come to recognize as her version of pre-race nerves. junhui’s already in his base layer, zipper tugged halfway up as he adjusts the fit across his chest, restless energy rolling off him in waves.
this is the last race before summer break—the last push before two weeks of silence, where engines go cold and everyone finally exhales. you can feel it in the air: sharper edges, heavier focus, like the whole paddock wants to wring one final result out of the season’s first half.
junhui drums his fingers against the arm of the chair, glancing between you and laura. “long run pace looked decent yesterday,” he says, voice low but steady, “but i need clean air early. stuck in traffic here, you just cook the tires.”
“then don’t get stuck,” laura quips without looking up, and the corner of his mouth quirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
she finally shuts her tablet with a soft snap, standing. “i need to check in on jihoon and his engineer too. i’ll see you out there, baby chick. jun.” she nods once at both of you before slipping out the door, leaving the room just a little too quiet in her absence.
you don’t realize how close junhui’s gaze has been lingering until it pins you there, steady, like he’s waiting for you to move first. his fingers still on the armrest, then curl, and in the next moment you’re in his lap, his mouth on yours—warm, insistent, the kind of kiss that steals every last ounce of air you thought you had. his hand slides up your side, the rough drag of his thumb against your shirt sending a shiver down your spine.
“we shouldn’t,” you manage between kisses, though it doesn’t sound convincing, not with how your hands are already fisted in his race suit, tugging him closer.
junhui pulls back just enough to catch his breath, lips brushing yours when he murmurs, almost teasing, “come on. no good luck kiss?” his smile is crooked, boyish in a way that doesn’t match the sharp focus he’ll wear on track in a few hours.
your laugh slips out before you can stop it, shaky from how wrecked your composure already feels. “that’s not what this is,” you tell him, though your grip on his suit betrays you, knuckles still pressed into his chest.
“sure it isn’t,” he says, voice dipping playful, sing-song almost, but there’s heat in his eyes that doesn’t let you take it lightly. his thumb grazes under the hem of your shirt again, deliberate, and you swear he’s doing it just to watch you squirm.
“jun—” you start, meaning to warn him, to remind him that anyone could walk back through that door, but then he tilts his head and kisses you again, quick and smug this time, like he’s stolen something and knows you’ll let him.
“i’ll drive better with it,” he adds, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “science.”
junhui is everything but a scientist—he’s a sharp driver in formula 1 with killer instinct, sure, but the way he’s got you pressed against the workbench, mouth hot and unrelenting on yours, has you wondering if maybe he’s figured out some other kind of formula after all.
his hand is steady on your waist, tugging you closer, as if trying to prove his little theory by experimenting—your knees weak, your breath stuttering, your voice lost somewhere between half-hearted protests.
“see?” he mumbles against your lips, breath warm, cocky and boyish at once. “proof.”
and damn it, maybe your little makeout session with jun in the engineering room really is rewriting your entire understanding of science.
after that whole “science experiment,” as jun insists on calling it with that smug glint in his eye, you’re back in the garage like nothing happened. the fluorescent lights are harsher here, bouncing off carbon fiber and steel, the familiar hum of drills and chatter filling the space. but your lips still tingle, and your head’s still a little light.
junhui’s already halfway into his race suit, tugging the zipper up with that easy swagger, like he didn’t just corner you in the engineering room and kiss you breathless. he sits down, leans forward so the mechanic can check over the straps, hair mussed in a way that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.
you hover a step too close, pretending to double-check his earpiece, pretending the faint pink on your cheeks is just from the heat of the garage.
once everything’s checked and cleared, junhui leans just quick enough to pinch your cheek lightly before stepping back toward his car. the engineers give final nods, tools tucked away, monitors showing green across the board.
he slides into the cockpit like he was born to it, hands finding the wheel, body settling perfectly against the seat, helmet resting on his head as he tucks himself in under the halo. every adjustment precise, practiced, but there’s a quiet confidence now, the kind that comes from knowing both the car—and you—are steady and ready.
you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you step back, watching him slot in, a perfect picture of calm before the storm.
the lights above the grid flare red, one by one, then snuff out. “lights out, let’s push, jun!” you call over the comms, voice sharp, steady, carrying just enough urgency to thread through the roar of engines.
junhui’s hands clamp the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward. the car surges, tires biting asphalt, the grid a blur of color and movement. he eases into the first few corners, your words guiding him: “hold your line turn one, clean exit, watch sector two.”
each call is a pulse between you, threading into him as naturally as his heartbeat. apexes hit with precision, throttle modulated perfectly, brakes kissed at the right moments. the hungaroring stretches ahead, tight and punishing, but your voice keeps him centered.
over sixty laps in and cars whiz past, engines screaming, but junhui threads through the chaos with deliberate precision. “hold the line on the outside of turn six,” you call, voice steady, almost a tether for him. he tilts the car just right, tires complaining, and emerges ahead, clean.
through the following corners, he times the braking zones, clips the apexes, and swings wide only when it sets up a better exit. “inside turn nine, you’ve got room—commit,” you add. he bites the curb, carries speed, and the rival beside him drifts back, boxed out by skill and instinct.
every shift, every modulation of throttle and brake, is a conversation. you confirm his maneuvers, a small praise after each successful pass. “perfect line, jun,” you whisper through the comms. his slight hum of acknowledgment makes the tension in the cockpit a little lighter, the overtakes a little more precise.
by the time the straight opens up, he’s carved through enough positions to put himself in striking distance of the leaders, every call you make threading seamlessly with the car, the driver, and the rhythm of the race.
your voice threads through the comms, calm but urgent. “jun, car ahead, outside turn three—hold it… yes, perfect, stay with him.” tires protest, brakes squeal, but he shifts just right, and the rival drifts wide. clean. sharp. he’s alongside, taking second.
“beautiful, jun! that’s it, keep it tight!” you breathe. the podium is close. he knows he can push further.
corners rush past, each one precise, car slicing through the track. “patience… we can take this, jun, we can take this!” your words tether him, steady him when lines feel impossible, when the car threatens to chatter. for a moment it’s just you and him—every shift, every nudge of throttle, a private rhythm.
the final straight stretches ahead. sun glinting off asphalt. “jun, line’s yours—right foot steady… hold it… now, push!” your voice cracks with urgency. he leans into it, wheels gripping, heart synced to yours across the radio.
the lead car wobbles slightly. “now! go now!” you shout. he slides past, clean, nose ahead. the crowd fades. the world shrinks. just him. just the machine. just you.
“yes, jun! that’s it, you did it—hold it, hold it!” your heartbeat matches the engine, pulse hammering, hands tight on the console. every second, every word, every quiet trust—it’s yours too.
he crosses the line, victorious. the checkered flag waves. you’re still alive in his headset, jolting up from your seat and letting out a victorious roar along with the rest of the garage. “unreal, jun… unbelievable. first place to follow us into summer break... you owned that.”
then, soft, a grin in his voice. “i knew that good-luck charm would come in handy.” and you laugh, breathless, and it’s just a little moment shared between the two of you—before the podium, before the crowd, before everything.
everything’s a blur. the roar of the crowd, flashes of cameras, faces cheering—but you barely catch a proper glimpse of jun until he’s already on the podium, the sunlight catching the gold on his trophy.
during the post-podium photo op with the rest of the haas team, he moves almost instinctively, one arm around the trophy, the other sliding around your waist, steady. the cameras click and the lenses glare, but you notice the way he glances at you before anyone else, a quiet acknowledgment in the middle of the chaos.
the trophy is heavy in his hand, but he values you more. you—the voice that threaded through every lap, the calm in the storm, the reason he kept his head when the car spun, the reason he found the rhythm again. in this moment, gold doesn’t compare. you’re the victory he’s proudest of.
back at the haas motorhome, he pulls you aside into an empty lounge room and presses a quick kiss to your temple, a small, private gesture before the team gets back together to celebrate some more. the world snaps around him, but in that glance, that touch, it’s clear—you were the reason for all this.
fast forward to that night—you finally retreat into your hotel room and nearly collapse into bed, exhaustion clawing at every muscle. but before you even hit the sheets, something catches your eye. a coat bag sits there, neatly placed, a small card resting gently atop it.
you pick it up, fingers brushing the edges. the handwriting is unmistakable. “picked this out just for you—thought it might come in handy tonight.”
inside, a dress. crimson, elegant, refined—the kind of luxury piece you’d only imagine seeing in a glossy magazine. every curve, every seam, deliberate. every fold made to fit you. you can almost hear junhui’s voice in your head, the quiet pride in sending you off like this.
the celebration—the yacht party marking the start of summer break—flashes through your mind. you’d almost forgotten, buried in the aftermath of the hungarian gp. tonight, the hungaroring’s chaos gives way to something lighter, a chance to breathe, to celebrate, and to step into the summer glow—dressed not just in crimson, but in a piece picked by him, for you.
you flip the card over. in smaller, almost scribbled letters, junhui’s handwriting trails across the back:
“careful. you might outshine the trophy, baby chick. wear it like you mean it.”
you can’t help the small laugh that escapes, the warmth curling in your chest. even from a distance, even in this little gesture, he’s somehow making you feel like the most important part of all of it.
you spread out the dress on the bed, fingers brushing over the smooth crimson fabric. the evening light from the window catches the subtle sheen, and your pulse quickens. makeup comes next—soft but defining, a careful sweep of shadow, a hint of liner, lips kissed with a shade that echoes the dress.
finally, you slip into it. the fabric hugs your form in all the right places, the color striking, the cut elegant and refined. you spin once, testing the sway, and it’s perfect—every detail, every fold, every shimmer in the light.
the yacht hums with life—soft golden lights strung overhead, music weaving through laughter and chatter, the scent of sea salt mingling with fine hors d’oeuvres. in the center, the three podium trophies gleam, catching reflections from every angle, a silent reminder of the day’s triumph.
and then your eyes find junhui, standing near the trophies, sharp in a burgundy suit, darker than your crimson dress but just enough to echo it. he catches your gaze almost instantly, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stepped into a moment meant only for the two of you amidst the bustle of the celebration.
he’s talking with norris, gesturing subtly toward you, his hand resting at the small of your back as he introduces you. “couldn’t have done it without her,” he says softly, pride threading through the words.
norris smiles, leaning slightly as he nods in acknowledgment. “absolutely, a solid race engineer keeps the driver’s mind clear out there. i can see why he trusts you so much.” he pauses, then chuckles lightly. his gaze wanders over to some of the people from his team waving him over, “well, i’ll leave you two to it—sounds like you’re the real secret weapon behind this podium.”
junhui leans closer, guiding you gently away from the cluster of people. “you came at the perfect time,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. “earlier… couldn’t even turn around without half the paddock in my space. i’m glad you’re here, baby chick.”
his lips brush the side of your face in a soft, fleeting kiss, a seemingly casual greeting, along with the friendly handshakes and hellos you both exchange with the rest of the crowd. to everyone else, you’re just part of the celebration—but between the two of you, it's subtle affection, maybe even intimacy.
you and junhui weave through the yacht together, a quiet pair amid the shimmer of lights and music. glasses are raised and clinked here and there—champagne catching the glow of the evening, a toast to haas’ triumph over the weekend, jihoon even cinching a solid 10th place from seventeenth on the grid, to jun’s own podium finish on top, and to the relentless work of every engineer and driver.
“to haas,” junhui announces, his fingers brushing yours as you lift your glasses together, voice low but steady.
“to surviving hungary in one piece,” you reply with a grin, and he chuckles, eyes sparkling under the warm lighting.
each toast, each shared sip, is a small celebration not just of the results on track but of the rhythm you’ve built together—the quiet trust threading through every lap. between the laughter, the music, and the murmurs of congratulations from the paddock elite, there’s a private, steady pulse running between the two of you.
you finish your drinks, catching his gaze. he nudges you gently, playful but intimate, and you let him guide you across the yacht, a silent partner in celebration, a tether to the calm amid the yacht’s glittering chaos.
you slip away from the main throng, following junhui to a quieter corner of the yacht. the lights here are softer, muted, the clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation fading into the background. in your hands, a flute of champagne—maybe your sixth, maybe your eighth, you can’t quite remember; the weekend’s triumphs and chaos have blended into a blissful haze.
jun’s hand snakes around your waist, anchoring you gently. you let out a quiet giggle, raising your glass to hide your flushed cheeks, the warmth from his proximity settling into you.
he tips his glass against yours, the soft clink ringing a little louder in the quiet corner you’ve both stolen away to. the bass of the party hums faintly in the background, muffled by the walls and water beyond, but here it’s just the two of you, champagne fizzing and cheeks warm. his arm settles heavier at your waist, fingers pressing gently, not letting you float too far away.
“you know,” junhui starts, voice lower now, touched with that kind of honesty he doesn’t really hand out in the garage, “i never thought you’d end up here.“ his smile crooks, almost self-deprecating, eyes flicking down at your flushed face.“back then, you were just… hiding behind your dad and laura like a little chick. wouldn’t even look me in the eye.“
you huff, trying to bury your grin behind the rim of your glass. “i wasn’t that shy.“
“you were“’ he insists, laughing softly. “always trailing two steps behind, clutching the data sheets like they’d save your life. i used to wonder how long you’d last in the paddock.“ his thumb traces a slow line at your side, steady even as your pulse skitters. “but look at you now. radioing me through practice, keeping the whole team sharp, drinking me under the table tonight…“ he glances down at your glass, at the way your hand shakes just slightly, “—maybe not that last part.“
you swat at him, nearly spilling champagne, and he catches your wrist with an easy reflex, fingers warm against your skin. for a moment the teasing fades, his eyes catching yours in the soft glow of the yacht’s side lights. “i didn’t think,“ he says quieter this time, “that the girl who couldn’t even meet my eyes would be the one i can’t seem to stop looking at now.“
your laugh slips out, light and embarrassed, and you try to hide your flushed cheeks by taking a sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against your lips. his hand has already found its place at your waist though, steady and grounding, keeping you close no matter how much you try to shrink from the weight of his words.
“back then…” jun trails, his gaze drifting, softer now. “i thought i’d never see you again. when you stopped karting, after…” he takes a breath, the words catching on memory.
your smile falters, the hazy blur of champagne clearing just enough for the sting to settle in your chest. “right… you were also there,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but jun hears it. his hand moves, thumb brushing against your side, a subtle anchor. “i was,” he confirms quietly. “i know how it must feel for you. seeing me out there, seeing a bad crash like that again. it must bring everything back.” his gaze lingers on yours, steady, gentle. “all the more reason for me to do better. to push myself not to make mistakes.” a pause, so intimate it makes your breath catch. “for you.”
the lights and sequins and music of the party feel far away now. it’s just him, the champagne going warm in your hand, and the weight of his promise sitting between you both.
he leans in just enough that you feel the brush of his hair near your temple, voice pitched low so it feels like he’s letting you in on something just between the two of you. a tiny, crooked grin at the corner of his mouth as he murmurs—
“what do you say we get out of here, baby chick, hm?”
your forehead stays pressed against his, the steady weight of his gaze holding you there until your chest feels too tight, too warm, like your whole body’s gone loose and jelly-soft under it. the hum of the party fades somewhere behind you, laughter and clinking glasses muffled like they belong to another world.
your lips part before you even think about it, a quiet, almost broken, “yeah…” slipping out.
and that’s all he needs. jun’s grin deepens, satisfied but not smug, and in the next breath his coat is already around your shoulders, his hand resting firm at your back as he guides you toward the exit of the yacht, already mapping it out in a split second—like the decision was always his to make, and you’ve just given him the final key.
the city’s neon pulse flickers through the suite’s tall windows, a faint hum fading into the background. inside, it’s just you and junhui, the air thick with victory’s afterglow and something heavier, unspoken. he stands close, his presence filling the room like the low growl of an engine before lights out. his fingers move to his shirt, unbuttoning it with slow, deliberate flicks, the fabric parting to reveal the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone from the hungarian heat. his eyes lock on you, sharp and steady, like he’s mapping a circuit, every glance tracing your edges with the precision he brings to a braking zone.
you reach for your own clothes, fingers brushing the luxury fabric of the crimson dress—his dress, the one he chose, left waiting with that scribbled note. but before you can tug it free, his hand lands on your shoulder, firm yet gentle, steadying you. “let me,” he murmurs, voice low, rough from the day but warm, a command wrapped in care. his fingers slide to the lacing at your back, undoing it with the same focus he uses to hit an apex, the dress loosening under his touch, a silent promise that he’s the one guiding this moment, just as he guides the car through a dangerous turn.
his hand finds your waist, fingers firm, guiding you with the ease of a driver hitting an apex just right. the crimson dress slides from your shoulders, pooling at your hips. it’s no accident he picked it, every seam and curve a quiet claim, a way of saying you’re mine without saying a word. his fingers brush the fabric as it falls, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment he dressed you in his colors, the crimson a mirror to the fire he carries on the grid.
“easy,” he murmurs, voice rough from the day but warm, cutting through the quiet like a clean gear shift. his lips find your neck, then lower, tracing the curve of your chest. his tongue flicks out, a teasing swirl around your nipple, and you gasp, a soft sound that makes his grip tighten, pulling you closer. it’s the same focus he brings to the track—every reaction noted, every shiver cataloged, like he’s learning a circuit corner by corner. he’s not just touching you; he’s mapping you, memorizing every line with the care he takes to nail a chicane.
you feel him through his dress pants, hard against your thigh, a quiet insistence that matches the coiled energy he holds before a bold overtake. your hand slides to his chest, fingers brushing the open shirt, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin, syncing with yours like a perfectly timed lap. he pulls back, eyes searching, a silent check-in like he’s waiting for your signal to commit to the next turn.
“you good?” he asks, voice barely a whisper, but it lands heavy, grounding you in the moment.
“yeah,” you breathe, fingers curling into the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss—slow, hungry, the faint champagne taste fading into something rawer, deeper. his tongue brushes yours, deliberate, savoring each moment. his hand slides lower, easing the crimson dress off completely, fingers tracing the curve of your hip where the fabric had clung, his claim now bare against your skin.
you shift, thigh pressing against the firm line of him, and he lets out a low groan, muffled against your neck. his teeth graze your pulse, a soft nip that pulls a shaky breath from you, and you tug his hair, earning a hum that vibrates through your skin. it’s the control he wields in the cockpit—quiet, precise, ready to snap when the moment calls for it.
“jun…” your voice is half plea, half question, and his lips curve against your skin, like he’s already read your next move. his hand slides to your lower back, anchoring you, and you feel the heat of him, the promise held back by the thinnest thread of restraint.
“tell me what you want, baby chick,” he says, voice low, teasing but heavy with intent, the nickname lands soft, stripped of the garage’s playful edge, now a private tether between you.
his laugh is a breath, warm and rough, and he guides you back against the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. his hands move with purpose—sliding along your sides, brushing your skin, mapping every curve like he’s chasing pole position. the dress is gone, his shirt discarded, and his chest presses warm against yours. his eyes rake over you, dark and intent, like he’s studying a circuit he’s determined to dominate.
“beautiful,” he says, quiet and raw, like he’s seeing you anew despite the months of shared laps and late-night calls. his lips find yours again, deeper, more urgent, and the distance between you dissolves. his hand slides down, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, and you shiver, pressing closer, feeling the heat through the thin fabric still between you. his mouth trails back to your chest, tongue circling with that relentless focus.
his fingers glide up your thigh, teasing, light as a whisper, but there’s purpose in every brush, like he’s savoring the way your skin prickles under his touch. the room feels heavy, the city’s hum a faint pulse beyond the windows, drowned by the heat sparking between you. your breath catches as his hand drifts lower, hovering just above where you’re already aching, pulse hammering. junhui’s eyes lock on yours, dark, searching, a flicker of hunger that makes your stomach twist.
“still good?” he murmurs, voice low, softened by the way he’s watching you, thumb grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. it’s a question—but it’s loaded, daring you to give in.
“y-yeah,” you breathe, voice shaky, barely holding together as his fingers slip lower, parting you with a gentle, teasing touch that’s almost too much. he’s watching every move—your lips parting, your eyes fluttering shut, the way your fingers claw into the sheets like they’re your lifeline.
he finds you, slick and warm, and a low hum rumbles from his throat, almost a growl. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he says, voice thick, and the words hit like a spark, making you shiver. his fingers trace circles, light at first, then firmer, each motion pulling a soft whimper from you as your hips shift, chasing him.
he presses a finger inside, curling deep, and your body tenses, a sharp gasp escaping as he hits that spot that sends fire through you. “found it,” he says, voice low, a hint of smugness laced within, and he does it again, stroking just right until you’re arching into him, desperate for more. “jun…” you moan, voice cracking, and your hand flies to his wrist, gripping tight, not to stop him but to anchor yourself as the pleasure spikes, overwhelming.
he’s quick—his other hand catches your wrist, pinning it to the bed, firm but gentle, his grip a warm cage. “easy, baby chick,” he murmurs, voice a low command, thick with want. “let me take care of you.” you try to nod, but it’s a mess, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his fingers move, curling, stroking, a second joining the first, stretching you just enough to make your head spin.
“mmh… f-feels so good,” you manage, voice a broken, needy mess, words spilling between moans as your hips rock against his hand, chasing the heat coiling tight in your core. you’re unraveling, a whimpering, trembling wreck, and he knows it—his eyes darken, a smug little smile tugging at his lips as he watches you fall apart.
“fuck, look at you,” he says, voice rough, thumb brushing your clit in tight, relentless circles that make your vision blur. “so fucking pretty like this.” his fingers curl deeper, hitting that spot again, and you cry out, thighs trembling, a desperate, “jun—please,” tumbling from your lips. you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, just more, just him, the edge so close it’s dizzying.
“i’ve got you,” he whispers, leaning closer, lips brushing your ear, breath hot against your skin. his fingers don’t stop, relentless, stroking that spot until your whole body shakes, pleasure coiling tighter, sharper. “fuck, i’ve been wanting to do this so badly, you have no idea,” he murmurs, voice cracking with a raw, desperate edge that makes your chest ache. his other hand moves to his belt, the leather slipping free with a soft clink, fingers deft as he undoes the button, then the zipper, the sound sharp in the quiet room. he tugs his underwear down just enough, freeing himself, his cock already throbbing, glistening with a sheen of precum, a testament to how much he’s been holding back, how much he’s needed you.
his fingers stay curled inside you, unmoving now, a steady pressure that keeps you teetering on the edge but denies you release. you buck your hips, desperate, trying to grind against his hand, but he holds firm, keeping you pinned, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to ground you. “not yet,” he says, voice low, dominant but trembling with want, like he’s fighting to keep control. all those hurried kisses in the debrief room, sneaking around when laura steps out, avoiding the media like the plague—“shit, it’s been killing me too, baby chick. i need to feel you.”
you whimper, a broken, needy sound, your body trembling as his fingers stay still, buried deep, the pleasure sharp but just out of reach. “jun, please,” you gasp, voice slurred, a moaning mess, hips twitching uselessly against his unmoving hand. he leans closer, lips grazing your ear again, and you can feel the heat of him, the slight tremor in his breath. “relax, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, commanding, but laced with that same desperation that’s got him leaking, aching for you. “let me feel you. let go.”
he pulls his fingers out, slick with your juices, and brings them to his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he tastes you, a low groan rumbling from his throat. “tastes so good,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, your body aching for something to fill you again. but he’s already moving, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers gripping tight as he drags you closer, the rough pull making your breath hitch. one hand grips his cock, lining himself up at your entrance, the tip brushing against you, teasing, while his other hand keeps your thigh angled, holding you open for him.
“holy shit,” he breathes, voice shaking as he guides himself in, slow, agonizing, every inch stretching you, your walls clenching tight around him. he bottoms out, fully seated, and pauses, eyes squeezed shut, a low, guttural “fuck” slipping from his lips as he feels you grip him. one hand moves to your waist, steadying you, anchoring himself, while the other stays on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he starts to move, slow but deep, each thrust deliberate, like he’s savoring every second inside you. “you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, voice raw, desperate, his hips rolling with a rhythm that’s desperate with need, like he’s been starving for this, for you.
your hands claw at his shoulders, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each thrust hitting deep, sending sparks through your core. “jun… more,” you gasp, voice trembling, needy, your hips rocking up to meet him, chasing the intensity. “please—harder.” the words spill out, raw and desperate, and his eyes snap to yours, dark and wild, like you’ve just flipped a switch.
“fuck, you want it rough?” he rasps, a strained chuckle, almost a growl, escaping his lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls back, then slams into you, harder this time, the force making you cry out, a broken moan that echoes in the quiet room. “like that, baby?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer, “you like it that much, huh?” he teases, almost breathless, his thrusts picking up speed, each one deeper, faster, the slap of skin against skin filling the air. your thighs tremble, his hand still gripping one to keep you angled just right, his cock driving into you with a relentless rhythm that has you unraveling—a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him.
“n-need you… jun, please, don’t stop,” you beg, voice slurred, your head tipping back as the pleasure coils tighter, your body shaking with every thrust. his hand on your waist slides up, fingers splaying across your stomach, grounding you even as he pounds into you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. “so good, so fucking good,” you moan, words tumbling out, incoherent, your nails raking down his back as you try to hold on.
“shit, you’re driving me insane,” he groans, voice thick with desperation, his hips snapping faster, harder, the heat of him filling you, stretching you, making your walls clench tighter around him. “been wanting you like this forever,” he murmurs, leaning down, lips crashing into yours, messy and hungry, swallowing your moans as he fucks you deeper, the bed creaking under the force of it. his grip on your thigh tightens, almost bruising, but it only makes you want him more.
you kiss back pathetically, sloppy and desperate, practically drooling as you moan into his mouth, the taste of him mixing with the heat of your need. he grunts against you, low and rough, his groans vibrating through the kiss, each sound a testament to how much he’s losing himself in you. “fuck, i’m close,” he pants, voice strained, hips snapping harder, faster, his cock throbbing inside you, pushing you right to the brink.
“i-i am too,” you stammer, voice a broken mess, your thighs locking around his hips, pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go. “jun, please—fill me up,” you beg, words raw, shameless, a desperate plea for him to give you everything. “need you… need you inside me.” your voice is a filthy, trembling whisper, and it hits him hard—his eyes darken, a low, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he drives into you, harder, deeper, like he’s been waiting for you to ask, to want him just as badly.
“fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, voice thick with need as he sings you praises, his thrusts relentless now, each one sending you spiraling, your moans louder, messier, your body arching into him as the pleasure builds to a breaking point. “gonna give you what you want, baby,” he groans into your mouth, breathing hot and heavy.
the heat between you explodes, raw and messy, your body shuddering as the climax hits, a wave of white-hot pleasure that has you screaming his name, a broken, “jun—fuck!” ripping from your throat. your walls clamp down around him, pulsing, milking him as you come undone, thighs trembling, nails biting into his shoulders, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you moan into his, sloppy and unhinged. he groans back, a deep, desperate sound, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release, your filthy plea—fill me up—echoing in his head. “shit, you’re so fucking good,” he gasps, voice cracking, and with one final, deep thrust, he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you just like you begged, his cock throbbing as he unloads, each pulse drawing a low, guttural moan from his throat. he practically collapses onto you, barely holding himself up, his body trembling as his hands find your hair, fingers slipping between the tangled, sweaty strands, cradling your head close. his other hand slides beneath your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needs every inch of you pressed to his skin.
you’re a trembling, sweaty mess beneath him, gasping, body shaking with aftershocks, your thighs still locked around him, keeping him buried deep as you both ride it out. his hands grip you tight, one tangled in your hair, the other bruising your waist, like he’s afraid to let go, afraid you’ll slip away. your moans mix with his, a filthy, incoherent symphony of pleasure, lips brushing, tongues sloppy, the taste of him and you and the heat of it all blending into something overwhelming. “shh, baby, i’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice soft now, soothing, his lips trailing gentle kisses along your jaw, your cheek, as you whimper, still twitching beneath him, oversensitive and dazed. “you did so good, so fucking good,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers stroking through your hair, grounding you as the pleasure ebbs into a warm, hazy glow.
you’re barely conscious, body limp and heavy with bliss, your eyes fluttering shut as you sink into the sheets, a soft, sated hum escaping your lips. “jun…” you murmur, voice a sleepy, slurred whisper, his name falling out like a quiet prayer as you drift, too blissed out to stay awake. he stays there, pressed against you, his own breathing slowing, his lips brushing your forehead as he soothes you through the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that lull you deeper into that hazy, dreamlike state.
sometime later—minutes, maybe hours, you’re too far gone to tell—he shifts, carefully pulling out, his touch gentle as he untangles himself from you. you stir faintly, another soft call of his name slipping from your lips, but you don’t wake, just nuzzle deeper into the pillow, body limp and sated. he moves quietly, grabbing a clean, damp towel from the bathroom, his touch tender as he cleans you up, wiping away the sticky mess between your thighs with careful, reverent strokes. he dresses you in one of his oversized branded shirts, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of him, enveloping you like a warm embrace. his fingers linger on your skin as he pulls the shirt over your head, smoothing it down with a gentleness that makes your heart ache even in your half-asleep state.
“sleep, baby chick,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hands still cradling you, one in your hair, the other resting lightly against your back. he tucks you against him, pulling the covers over you both, his warmth wrapping around you like a cocoon. you don’t wake, but you shift closer, instinctively curling into his chest, a faint smile curving your lips as his arms tighten around you, protective and adoring, as the world fades into the quiet intimacy of the night—a stark contrast to how it all began hours ago, under the glittering lights of the yacht, the clink of champagne glasses, and the electric buzz of the crowd, all fading now into this private, tender moment where it’s just you and him, wrapped in each other, the rest of the world a distant memory.
the morning light filters through the heavy curtains, soft and golden, casting lazy streaks across the tangled sheets. you stir, body heavy with the lingering ache of last night, the memory of junhui’s touch still warm on your skin. his oversized branded shirt clings to you, the fabric soft and faintly scented with his cologne, a quiet reminder of how he’d dressed you so carefully after you drifted to sleep, spent and sated from the intensity of it all. you shift, feeling the dull soreness between your thighs, a flush creeping up your cheeks as the vivid images replay—his fingers, his lips, the way he’d filled you, the messy, desperate heat that had consumed you both.
you blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the room, and realize you’re alone in the bed. the space beside you is still warm, the sheets rumpled where he’d been, and you hear the faint rustle of paper bags and the soft clink of dishes from the penthouse kitchen down the hall. the scent of something savory—soy sauce, sesame, maybe congee with century eggs—drifts through the air, grounding you in the present. your heart does a soft flip, knowing he’s out there, already moving through the morning with that quiet care he’d shown you after everything last night.
you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly at the tenderness, and pad barefoot across the cool hardwood floor. his shirt hangs loose on you, grazing your thighs, and you tug at the hem, feeling a mix of shy and giddy as you make your way toward the kitchen. the penthouse is quiet now, the chaos of last night’s yacht party—the pulsing music, the clinking glasses, the hum of voices under the starlit deck—fading into a distant memory. this morning is a soft, intimate pause in his high-speed world, just you and him.
in the kitchen, junhui stands at the counter, his back to you, hair tousled and catching the morning light. he’s in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, unpacking delivery bags from a Chinese restaurant, the counter a spread of takeout containers—cardboard and foil, some still steaming, others neatly stacked. he’s reheating a bowl of congee in the microwave, the soft hum of the appliance mixing with the rustle of bags as he sets out a plate of fluffy baozi and a small pot of tea, the aroma of jasmine curling into the air. he turns, catching sight of you, and his face softens into a grin, eyes crinkling with that familiar warmth that makes your chest ache.
“morning, baby chick,” he says, voice low and a little rough from sleep, but there’s a tenderness there that makes your heart stutter. “summer break, baby—no race weekend to worry about next week, just you and me, off the grid.” his words are soft but deliberate, a promise wrapped in that easy, confident tone, and the thought of uninterrupted time with him sends a warm flutter through you. “you sleep okay?”
you nod, stepping closer, feeling the pull of him like gravity. “yeah,” you murmur, voice soft, still a little shy from the intensity of last night. “you?”
“better than ever,” he says, his grin widening as he sets a takeout container down and closes the distance between you. his hands find your hips, gentle but sure, pulling you against him. “you look good in my shirt,” he adds, eyes flicking down to the way the fabric skims your thighs, a spark of heat flickering in his gaze. “makes me wanna keep you here all summer, just like this.”
you flush, ducking your head, but he tilts your chin up with a finger, his touch feather-light. “none of that,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. it’s slow, sweet, a contrast to the hungry, sloppy kisses from last night, but it still sends a shiver through you, your hands finding his chest, fingers curling into his shirt.
“you didn’t have to order all this,” you say, glancing at the spread of takeout containers, your voice a little shaky from the warmth of his closeness. “but it smells amazing.”
“had to take care of my girl,” he says, simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his hands slide up your sides, one slipping into your hair, fingers threading through the strands still messy from sleep and last night’s fervor. “you feeling okay? after… you know.” his voice drops, a touch of concern mixing with the heat in his eyes, and you know he’s thinking about the way he’d fucked you into the mattress, relentless and desperate.
you nod, cheeks burning. “a little sore,” you admit, voice quiet, “but… good. really good.” you bite your lip, and his gaze tracks the movement, his thumb brushing across your jaw.
“good,” he echoes, voice low, a little smug but softened by the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. “why don’t we stay here in hungary for a couple more days, yeah?” he says, his voice soft but with a playful edge, his fingers tightening slightly on your hip. “no rush to leave, no one to bother us. just you and me, baby chick, holed up in this penthouse.” the idea of lingering in this bubble with him, away from the world, makes your heart race, and you nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips.
he guides you to the table, pulling out a chair for you with a gentle nudge. “sit. eat. i’m not letting you out of here until you’re fed.” you laugh, soft and airy, settling into the chair as he slides a bowl of reheated congee toward you, flecked with green onions and slivers of century egg, alongside a plate of baozi, their dough soft and steaming. he sits across from you, but his hand finds yours on the table, fingers lacing together like it’s second nature. you eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the clink of spoons and the hum of the city outside the only sounds, until your phone buzzes on the counter, a sharp vibration that cuts through the quiet.
you ignore it for now, though, the situation—you and junhui—at hand is your priority as of the moment. “so… us,” you start, voice soft, a little hesitant as you set your spoon down, your fingers tightening around his, trying to anchor yourself amidst the chaos. “what are we, jun? after last night…” you trail off, heart pounding, unsure how to define the shift, the way his touch feels like it’s claimed you, the way his eyes hold you like you’re his whole world.
his gaze lifts up to meet your own, eyes softening, the teasing edge gone for a moment. “you’re mine, baby chick,” he says, voice low but certain, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “and i’m yours. no games, no labels we don’t need—just us, like this, for as long as you want.” he leans across the table, his other hand cupping your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your breath catch. “i’ve been wanting you for too long to let this be anything less.”
you smile, shy but warm, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, a shield against the storm of notifications still buzzing on your phone. “i want that too,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, and he exhales, like he’d been holding his breath, his grin returning, softer but no less bright.
“good,” he says, softer this time, and he leans across the table to kiss you again, a quick, warm press of his lips that feels like a promise. “because i’m not done with you yet, baby chick. we’ve got all summer to figure out what else you like.” his voice is teasing, but there’s a heat there, a spark that makes your stomach flip.
but your attention is snapped back to your phone, you glance over, but before you can reach for it, another notification pings, then another, and suddenly it’s a frenzy of buzzing, the screen lighting up with a flood of messages. your stomach twists, a flicker of unease creeping in as you stand and grab the phone.
the notifications are from the haas team group chat—your colleagues, engineers, even the PR team, sending links to articles with messages like, “have you seen this?” and “you two are trending!” your heart skips as you open one, the headline blaring: “F1’s New Power Couple? Haas Driver and Engineer Spark Romance Rumors.” the article gushes about you and junhui, an on-grid romance between a driver and an engineer, calling it a “surprise love story” with photos from the yacht last night—stolen glances, his hand on your waist, the two of you slipping away into the night. some comments are cute, fans swooning over the idea of an “engineer-driver love story,” but others are brutal, questioning your professionalism, calling you a “walking HR nightmare,” speculating about drama if you break up, claiming you’ll drag jun down with you, tainting his focus on the grid.
before you can even process the words, your phone rings, the screen flashing laura’s name—the team manager herself. your stomach drops, and you glance at jun, who’s watching you now, his brow furrowed with concern. “everything okay?” he asks, voice low, his hand reaching over the counter, squeezing yours gently. you can’t answer, your thumb hesitantly hovering over the phone as you press accept, laura’s voice already crackling through the speaker, sharp and urgent, pulling you out of the soft, intimate bubble of the morning and into the storm of the outside world.
to be continued.
congratulations, you’ve crossed the finish line with a podium-worthy read, completing this story in record time !!! what a ride !! thank you so much for racing through this with me, it means the world to have written such a fun fic in another fandom i take part in. and also get this: while i was doing some last-minute edits on this fic, BOTHHH haas drivers scored points at the dutch GP, and hadjar snagged a podium >0< !! i barely ever write smut but this one had me typing at like almost 100wpm lmao… it was a total doozy to get through, but i swear i had the most fun writing it. also, quick apology in advance for any mistakes or holes in the f1 technicalities/references—i promise i tried my best lol. hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did !!
SUMMARY: A stupid dare by your friends turns into something much stranger than you ever could have anticipated.
WC: 4,839
AU: Supernatural, Demons
GENRE: Thriller, Smut, PWP
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: General creepiness, light depictions of anxiety/fear, references to memory loss and false memories, reader is a little out of it/everything feels off, queue random man in her house (it's Joshua surprise), explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (oops), light power dynamics, a little bit of praising, oral (f. receiving), cum eating, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, light overstim, general mess/bodily fluids, a little bit of nibbling not really, implied obsession or something at the end idk how to explain but he really likes her!!! lmfao ... I think that's it.
A/N: This is for the trick or treat request here by my beloved @joshujin. I hope this is the demon man of your dreams. I went a little insane writing this. I think I should take a nap now or touch grass. One of the two. Happy Haliween hehe.
A/N 2: No beta we die like men.
MASTERLIST | ASK | HALIWEEN
“THIS IS INCREDIBLY STUPID.”
The this in question is in reference to the creaky ladder leading up to the attic space in an abandoned house. The beam of light from your flashlight doesn’t tremble, despite the fact you feel an ounce of trepidation drip through you as you turn to look at Soonyoung and Mingyu, both of them peering up into the inky attic entrance.
“Scared?” Mingyu asks, not looking at you. His voice is cocky, but you see the fear in his face. He doesn’t want to go up into the attic space, so he’s dared you to do it instead. “You know the punishment if you back out.”
You frown. The punishment for the unfilled dare isn’t terrible - you’d be required to go to the Halloween party at the lake in a week’s time and go running into the lake naked. You’re pretty sure that Soonyoung would do it even without being prompted for not doing a dare, but you’re not so confident.
Glancing up the ladder again, you sigh. The old abandoned house in Elm Grove has been a bit of lore in your town since even your parents were in high school. You’re not in high school, though. You’re a recent graduate with a full ass degree, playing truth or dare with two of your dumb ass friends that has led you here to the famed attic.
“You just have to see if the candle is there,” Soonyoung offers, looking at you with a smirk. “No one thinks you’re brave enough to actually light it.”
“Whatever.”
Sighing, you stick the flashlight under your chin. It’s a bit of an awkward hold, but you don’t want to risk falling from the old ass ladder. Soonyoung and Mingyu squeal in excitement as you place your hands on the old wood. It’s cool to the touch and a tingle slides down your spine.
You ignore it, gritting your teeth as you begin to climb the ladder. It creaks dangerously under your weight and you hesitate for a moment, making sure it won’t give way. When it doesn’t, you continue the climb up. It’s only eight steps, but each one feels precariously, the musty, cool air of the attic space kissing your brow as you near it.
You’d never tell either of your friends below, but you don’t want to do this. It isn’t that you’re afraid, so much as something feels wrong. Neither of your friends seems to catch on though, so it’s you who sticks your head through the entry way, immediately reaching a hand under your chin to grab your flashlight.
The beam of light lights up the room. There are no windows, but there is plenty of space. It looks like it could have been a bedroom once, spacious enough to stand and have furniture, but closed off enough for a cozy space.
It is anything but cozy now. You feel your stomach twist as you look around for any immediate sign of spiders or feral raccoons next to your head before you let out a shaky breath and scan the room. Cobwebs fill the room and there’s some old trash - left over from other brave people who have hauled themselves into this crawl space.
A single candle sits in the middle of the room. You raise your brows, surprised. There had been a rumor that there was a single black candle in the room, and that when lit at night, the flame would light up black. You’re not sure you believe that much, but you can’t deny the attic feels old and creepy.
“There is a candle,” you confirm. Mingyu and Soonyoung squeal again. “Looks like a normal candle. I mean it’s black but-”
“You have to light it to know if it has a black flame!”
You sigh, looking down at Mingyu. “I thought I didn’t have to light the candle.”
He smirks. “If you’re afraid-”
“Whatever,” you cut him off, putting the flashlight on the floor of the attic. It kicks up dust and dirt and you scrunch your nose, knowing you’re going to need a serious shower after this. “If it’ll shut you up, I’ll light the damn candle. If I fall through the floor, please call an ambulance.”
“Definitely.”
The attic floor creaks precariously under you as you haul yourself up. You pause to see if the floor is rotted to the point of collapsing, but when it doesn’t crack or cave in, you take a step forward. Nothing happens and you sigh, looking around the attic as you dust yourself off.
It’s cool and dry in the room. There is dust everywhere, motes floating and twisting in the beam of your flashlight when you pick it up. The air is musty and smells old, and you kick a can of crushed beer with your toe as you slowly approach the candle.
The candle is plain enough. It’s black with no wax dripping down the side, the black wick perfectly intact and unburned. You’re unsure if that means no one has lit the candle, or if it means someone bought a new one and stuck it up here. It could be both.
Looking around, there are no signs of anything demonic or strange, but there’s a soft pressure in the air, like maybe you’re not alone. Goosebumps spread down your arms and you feel your neck tingle, but you ignore it, tired and ready to get this over with to show Mingyu and Soonyoung that of the three of you, you definitely have the biggest balls.
Metaphorically speaking, anyway.
Bending down, you groan as your knees pop. You dig in your pocket for a lighter - it’s a pink Hello Kitty lighter that Soonyoung stole from a convenience store drunk in college one - and brandish it. Licking your lips, you flick the lighter, the small flame trembling as you bring it up to the wick.
For a moment, it doesn’t catch, like the candle itself is resisting. You’re about to give up when the orange flame catches, blooming into fire. It burns orange for a single second before the flame bleaches. Your mouth parts in surprise. It’s not black - not exactly. But it’s like the color has been stripped from the fire, an eerie grey light flickering.
The light from your flashlight seems to dim in the light of the candle and a sudden chill sweeps down your back. You stand, immediately wanting to leave, but you realize how silent it is. There is no sound from Mingyu and Soonyoung, no creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet.
You turn around in circles, freezing as the room seems to exhale. The air turns thick, damp and heavy as it presses against your skin. You swear the walls expand, like they’re further away now, the ceiling growing impossible high. You blink a few times, dizzy.
A low hum vibrates in your chest and the candle flickers, and a pang of fear sparks through you.
What do you desire most?
You flinch. The voice isn’t heard so much as it's felt. Your pulse stutters. You can’t place the source of the voice - just that it's rich and velvet, sliding around you like smoke with no real direction or source. It's smooth, every syllable tugging at you to answer.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You feel the fear battling with the desire to answer, words caught in your throat. The hum in your chest deepens, reverberating through you to the floorboards until it feels like the attic is filled with it.
Say it. Whisper it. I already know, but I desire to hear it.
Your throat is dry. You stagger back, bumping your flashlight. It spins across the floor, beam jerky wildly across the warped attic walls, illuminating shadows and shapes that weren’t there before. You squeeze your eyes shut, a screaming working its way up your throat as the hum gets worse, pressing in on you until you open your eyes and -
You gasp awake in your bed.
The sheets cling to your damp skin, twisted from a night of thrashing. The room is dark, but the digital clock on your nightstand glares 3:33 a.m. You press a hand to your sweaty forehead, trying to breathe through the jagged panic in your chest.
Snatching your phone from the nightstand, you immediately begin typing, the brightness of your screen making you squint as you navigate to your group text.
[3:33 AM] You: What in the fuk happened?
[3:35 AM] Gyu: ??? u brown out lol???
[3:39 AM] Soons: Sry I am literally two minutes away from getting laid g2g
[3:39 AM] Soons: HAAAAY WE WANT SOME PUSSSSAAY
[3:40 AM] You: The attic!!! I’m so confused.
[3:40 AM] Gyu: ??? nothing happened. u lit the candle and it was lame and we went drinking
You don’t remember that in the slightest.
The bedroom feels too still. You glance around, watching as the shadows stretch a fraction too long across the walls. The air is too thick with the faint tang of wax and smoke, and your sheets smell faintly of something you can’t place. Maybe like burnt cloves. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, heart hammering as you turn on your bedroom lamp, your nerves alight with strange static.
You get out of your bed and begin to pace, bare feet cold against the floorboards. Every object in your room seems wrong, somehow. Your desk is too far right, your curtains are a little longer than you remember. The moonlight filtering through the window tilts at an odd angle that doesn’t match the window.
Thank you for telling me.
You go ramrod-straight as the whisper curls along the back of your neck, soft and slow. It vibrates through you and you feel fear twist in your gut, so sharp you think you might get sick. You glance around your room, the glow of your lamp dulling and warping the shadows of your room. You see nothing, but the hairs on your arms rise.
Darting back to your bed, you dive in and try to call Mingyu. He sends you to voicemail with a in the middle of smth that is all you need to know that both of your friends are busy getting laid after a night you don’t remember having while you’re having what you can only assume is a mental break.
The whisper doesn’t come back, but it lingers. Every shadow seems to twitch just beyond your vision, every familiar object humming with the same wrongness you felt in the attic.
Leaving the lamp on, you lay down and pull the blankets around you tighter. The soft weight of it does little to quiet the echo of the voice, and your eyelights fight the rising tide of exhaustion. You watch the glowing red of your clock tick past 4:00 a.m., each minute crawling by.
You try to reason with yourself, knowing that you obviously just had a weird dream after going out and getting drunk with your friends. But it feels like you’re lying to yourself, the lingering scent of cloves heavy on your sheets, the vibration of that voice still buzzing on your skin.
Slowly, the panic ebbs just enough for your eyelids to sag. Your breaths become uneven and shallow as you shift beneath the blanket, curling into yourself. Finally, your body betrays your mind and drags you into a dreamless, clove-scented sleep.
-
The next morning starts in fragments.
You wake late, eyelids heavy. The memory of the attic is still pressed to your memory, leaving you with a chill despite the sunlight streaming through your blinds. You look at the beams of light and frown. The colors of your room are muted, the edges of your furniture sharper than they should be.
Rubbing your eyes, you get up and everything looks normal again. Signing, you realize that however much you partied the night before really did get to you. Shoving down the memory of the attic and the weird dreams, you force yourself to go about the rest of your morning, ignoring the looming shadows and the cellophane feeling to your world.
Shadows follow you throughout the day. You swear they are, though you don’t say it outloud for fear of sounding insane. Every time you glance to catch one, they twitch back to their normal shape. You can’t look at them directly, but you swear they’re there.
In an attempt to ground yourself, you go about your day. Mingyu and Soonyoung seem to think your lack of memory is hilarious, insisting you did get pretty drunk. There’s no evidence of your drinking, save your spotty memory, but you give up trying to argue with them.
By evening, the world still feels wrong. It’s a little too quiet, and the street outside your apartment is still. The mutual clatter and hum is replaced with a thick hush that has you scurrying into your unit and locking the door firmly behind you. You’re sure that you’re just tired, but you don’t like it either way.
Shaking it off, you kick off our shoes and pad toward your bedroom, craving the familiar slump of your mattress and a mindless scroll through your phone. The living room lamp flickers as you pass, casting shadows that dance along the walls after you. You ignore them, pushing open your bedroom door with your shoulder.
The room is dim, the late evening sun slanting through the half-drawn blinds in lazy golden bars. And there, perched on the edge of your unmade bed, is a man.
You scream.
The man frowns at you, looking you up and down as he leans back on your bed, posture relaxed. His legs are crossed at the ankles, finger tapping impatiently on top of your sheets as you turn to run from the room. Your door slams shut and when you try the handle, it doesn’t open, your panic mounting.
“That’s a bit dramatic,” he purrs.
His voice makes you freeze. It’s that same velvet voice, the familiar hum in your chest kicking up once more. You risk a glance over your shoulder to look at the man again. He’s dressed simply in a crisp black button-up shirt tucked into black trousers, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
His dark hair is tousled, falling just so over his forehead, and when his eyes meet yours, your breath catches. They’re deep brown, but edged with a black-red that pins to you the spot. He’s beautiful in a way that feels unfair, and when he tilts his head to the side, your breath catches.
There’s an effortless grace to this stranger, a quiet confidence that drifts toward you. You breathe in and smell cloves, heart racing as you recognize the scent from the attic. You don’t know how you know, or how it's possible, but you know this man - being, whatever he is - has something to do with the attic.
And that damned candle.
“Who,” you asked, strained. “The fuck are you?”
He smirks. “Don’t you know? You summoned me.”
The world tilts. Suddenly you remember the attic in perfect clarity - the candle’s grey flame, the hum vibrating through your bones, the pressure in your chest. Shadows flickering up the walls, the creak of the attic floor as you stepped into it. Him. Standing in the shadows, dressed like he is now, asking you what your deepest desire was.
“You do remember,” he grins, watching you with those sharp eyes. “Tell me again. I want to hear your desire again.”
Those mahogany eyes had been the same last night, fixed on you and only you, filled with a hunger that stoked a fire in you. You hadn’t run. His voice had coaxed you forward until you whispered the answer to his question.
I want to feel real, true desire.
You remember saying the words now. The words had spilled out of you like blood, admitting you wanted something raw and consuming, the kind of want that reshapes the world, that burns away everything else.
Swallowing, you shake your head. “That was a dream.”
He chuckles a low, throaty sound. He rises then, fluid and unhurried. He’s taller than you thought he was, broad-shouldered but lean. He doesn’t crowd you, but he steps forward, hands loose at his sides. The air between you feels charged with something familiar and electric, your nerves twitching.
“It was real,” he murmurs. “You lit the candle. You summoned me. You answered my question. I’m here to deliver.”
Part of you screams to run, to grab your phone and dial for help, but your feet stay rooted. The static from last night has returned, warmer now and coiling low in your belly.
“Who are you?” You whisper.
“You can call me Joshua.”
“And what are you, Joshua?”
His mouth twitches and his eyes glitter. “Angel to some. Demon to most. I suppose it depends on who you ask.”
Joshua steps closer. His clove scent envelops you, dizzying. He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, overwhelming but pleasant. His admission hangs between you, heavy and impossible. You don’t have a rebuttal, though. You remember lighting the candle. Seeing him emerge from the shadows.
You remember the hunger you suddenly felt at seeing him, at being asked what your deepest desire was.
Joshua's gaze holds yours, steady and unblinking, those mahogany eyes searching your face. The room seems to pulse with the weight of his presence, the air thickening. He doesn't move closer, but he doesn't need to - you take a single step toward him, almost in a faze.
“Do you want me to fulfill your desire?” He asks, voice low. That hum returns to your chest, making you shiver. “I told you I would.”
Your throat tightens, words caught between fear and want. The rational part of you screams in fear at the stranger in your room, but the intensity of his stare pulls at your strings. The desire that you’d confessed in the attic burns through the fear until it's all that's left. The only thing you want.
“Yes,” you whisper, nodding.
It’s a fragile admission, but it’s enough. Joshua’s eyes darken, the warmth shifting into a smoldering heat that sends a shiver racing down your spin. He closes the distance in one fluid step, his hand rising to cup your jaw. It’s a feather light touch, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in slow, deliberate strokes.
“Good,” he breathes. “That’s good, baby. Let me show you what true desire feels like.”
Joshua leans forward and captures your mouth with his. It’s a soft kiss at first, his lips warm and plush as they mold to yours. But there’s control in the way he kisses you, his free hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you flush against him.
You melt into it, your hands tentatively rising to clutch at his shirt. He smiles into the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. He tastes like dark cherry and a hint of spice, making your head spin. When you gasp softly, he deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth with a gentleness that belies the hunger beneath.
He breaks away just enough to murmur against your lips, “Undress for me. Slowly.”
It’s not a request. You shiver and nod your head, fingers trembling as you comply. Your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, peeling it up and over your head under his watchful gaze. He doesn’t touch, just watches with hooded eyes, his approval evident in the way his breath hitches when you toss your shirt.
“Beautiful,” he praises, the words sending a rush of heat through you.
Licking your lips, you follow with your pants, sliding them down your legs until you’re standing in just your underwear, skin prickling under the intensity of his stare. Joshua’s hands finally move then, warm palms skimming up your arms to your shoulders, guiding you toward your bed with gentle pressure.
“Lie down,” he instructs and you follow.
The mattress sinks underneath you and he follows, hovering over you as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower and more deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns that make your toes curl. His fingers trail down your side until they hook into the waistband of your underwear.
“These too,” he whispers.
Nodding, you lift your hips to help him slide them off. The cool air of your room hits your heated core and you start to close your legs but he tuts sharply. You freeze as he lowers himself, his breath ghosting your skin as he settles between your thighs and parts them with firm hands.
“Look at me,” he tells you, gentle but commanding. Your thoughts spin as you prop yourself on your elbows to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and hungry, making the room tilt. “Eyes on me, baby.”
You don’t take your eyes off him. Your breath catches when he starts by pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs. He takes his time, lips brushing feather-light along your sensitive skin, nipping gently with his teeth just enough to send your hips twitching. You shift restlessly in his firm hold, squirming as he licks at your thigh, grinning.
When Joshua’s tongue finally traces a slow, deliberate line along your folds, you arch off the bed with a whimper. He’s unhurried, savoring you as the flat of his tongue brushes through your pussy properly. He hums, licking up you slowly as he collects your arousal before pulling away for a moment.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, the words muffled.
He delves deeper with his tongue, circling your entrance with teasing flicks before dipping inside to taste you fully. The sensation is electric, the warm and wet pressure of his tongue making you go insane. He pulls back just enough to blow a cool stream of air over your heated flesh, making you clench around nothing, before his lips seal over your clit.
“Oh,” you shudder, a ripple vibrating through you.
The suction of his mouth is perfect, gentle at first. It draws a moan from you before his mouth gets firmer, his tongue flicking in rapid, precise strokes that have your fingers twisting in the sheets. He alternates patterns, swirling lazy circles around the sensitive bud, then flattening his tongue to grind against your clit.
One hand leaves your thigh to join his mouth, a single finger tracing your entrance before sliding in slowly, curling upward to find that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You let out a warbled sound, pussy clenching around him as he hums, pleased.
“Shit,” you gasp.
Joshua grins, rewarding you with a second finger, stretching you open with deliberate pumps, his mouth never relenting. The wet sounds of him mouthing at you fill the room, his fingers moving in and out with slick ease, his tongue lapping greedily. You start to shake, breath coming in rapid gasps as you watch him, your mouth hanging open.
The pressure builds unbearably, a tidal wave cresting as he adds a third finger, stretching your cunt open in a way that has you reeling. His fingers hit every nerve and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind, shaking violently as he sucks at you.
“Come for me,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice damming. “Go ahead.”
You do immediately, your body convulsing as he laps you through it, drawing out every twitch and aftershock as you fall backward, twisting into the bed. He doesn’t stop, sucking at you until you’re oversensitive and your knees are squeezing against his shoulders, useless babble coming out of your mouth.
Slowly, he pulls his mouth from you. You blink at him through half-lidded eyes, watching as he licks your cum from his fingers before he stands, dark eyes on you. He sheds his clothes with efficient grace, revealing a smooth, toned chest and firm stomach that flexes when he moves.
Peeling off his pants and boxers, you nearly groan. His cock is hard, thick and veined with a glistening tip as he palms himself, squeezing a little while he shuffles toward you. He stops stroking himself to peel your legs open, biting his bottom lip when he sees the wet mess he left between your legs.
“Ready, baby?” He asks, glancing up at you. You nod and he grins, grabbing the base of his cock, stroking leisurely. “You’re so eager. I think you’re my favorite.”
He lines himself up, rubbing the head along your slick folds in teasing strokes, coating himself in your wetness before pushing in slowly. You feel your breath leave you as he sinks in inch by inch, letting you feel every ridge and stretch. The fullness is exquisite, a burn that fades into bliss as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.
At first, he lets you adjust. His hands roam your body, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the lace of your bra until they pebble under your touch. He captures your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, scattering your thoughts as you arch up into him. He hums into the kiss, his hand drifts to grip your bra at the center.
Then, he moves, a slow withdrawal that drags against your walls, followed by a deep thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He sets a deliberate rhythm, fisting your bra as he uses the leverage to fuck you down onto his cock, grinning as he watches you go boneless beneath him.
“Feel that?” He whispers, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “That’s real desire.”
Sweat slicks your skin, the room filled with shared gasps. It feels so good, each one of your nerves sparking. He shifts, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to go deeper. The new angle lets him bury himself to the hilt each time he fucks into you, his cock brushing deeper.
“You’re doing such a job, baby,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to yours. “Taking me so fucking well.”
Joshua’s free hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit to rub in tight circles, syncing his thrusts until you’re climbing again, feeling like your orgasm is reaching a fever pitch. But he pulls out just as you're teetering on the edge, flipping you onto your hands and knees with gentle but firm hands.
“Like this,” he says softly and you comply, arching your back as he slides back in. “Fuck, yeah.”
The position lets him control the depth, his hands gripping your hips as he pumps into you, slow at first, then faster. He starts to snap his hips against you, each thrust making you shiver. You hang your head down, fingers finger into the sheets, barely able to do anything but cry out.
His chest presses to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady, his breath hot against your ear. You push back to meet him, the friction building, skin slapping skin in a rhythm that's almost hypnotic. He reaches around to tease your clit again, fingers slick and insistent, and the coil snaps. You come with a cry, walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper.
Joshua follows soon after, thrusting erratically as he spills inside you with a low groan, his body tensing before he’s spent. He doesn’t stop there, though. He peels off of you before rolling you to your side, laying next to you and spooning you.
His still-hard cock nudges at your entrance and you whimper. “One more,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your sweaty shoulder.
Joshua lifts your leg to slide back in, the sound slick and messy. He rocks into you gently now, lips on your neck, sucking gently at your neck, leaving your neck tender. His hand dips between your thighs to stroke you in time with his lazy thrusts.
Every inch of him drags inside of you, his fingers making you dizzy. You turn your head toward him and he kisses you,messy and wanting. You feel another orgasm curl in your belly, softer but just as intense. When it breaks, it washes over you in soft waves, making you tremble and pant into his mouth as he holds you through it before chasing his own release for a few lazy strokes.
Finally spent, Joshua pulls out, gathering you into his arms and rolling you under him. You blink up at him, starry and dizzy and consumed with him. His fingers trace your sides softly and his mouth peppers your face with soft kisses, his teeth scraping.
“Thanks for summoning me,” he whispers against your mouth, tongue darting out to taste you. “I think I've decided to stay and keep you.”
When he kisses you again, you think he might burn you out. But when he presses himself to you once more, you realize you don’t care.
genre: smut, horror, suspense, southern gothic, 70s au, x/pearl au
synopsis: high and mighty jeno think’s he’s too good for the country side. maybe a lonely naive farmer’s daughter can help him waste time… well, he should've really thought about it beforehand.
warnings: ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! heavily implied murder, religious themes, sleazy jeno, “naive” reader, manipulation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, riding/cowgirl position, rough sex, obsessive love syndrome, sheep and fawn as symbolism, fight over control, implied fragile masculinity and creepy men, violence, blood, lowkey descriptive animal x animal consumption.
disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.
an: well summer has been over but I’ve spent my entire summers in the countryside with no wifi unless going into town so trust this is as accurate as it gets. and again, remember this is part of a series that touches on immorality.
Jeno doesn’t always seem to notice many things. He didn’t notice the job application his cousin gave him said he had to move to Austin. He didn’t notice the road he'd taken as a 'shortcut' was actually the longest way to the city. And he definitely didn’t notice his gas tank wailing and begging him for the past hour and a half to fill it up, to feed it. Starving, and in no short amount of time, it would tire, conceding its responsibilities.
That came faster than expected and while Jeno sang his lungs out to the melody of when I die, the cows eating away the weeds laughed at him with every forced push and huff to make the truck keep going. Jeno didn’t understand why this was happening and he was growing scared that perhaps the biker with the billiard eye had cut a wire or drained the gas he had put in before returning to the station for a bathroom break.
But that wasn’t it. Crossing paths with the man was four hours ago and if anything he was a sweetheart to the raven haired man.
No, his negligence is what led him to this horrid path, finding himself stranded in front of mocking cows and temperamental winds which laugh in his face. If it’s a cool breeze, it’s a light chuckle. If it’s hot — well, the wind can't help but cackle at his misfortunes.
By these events, what most bothered Jeno was being stranded in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere with disgusting yellowing fields, hideous beasts, and horrid heat that couldn't be masked by open windows and blaring winds.
“God fuckin’ damn it!”
What was there to do besides complain? Worst of all, there was a gas station twenty miles behind he passed due to his ogling of a go-go dancers’ billboard for a club off the road. Yes, that’s the only reason why he took this bump hell of a ‘shortcut’ marked by the clawing of tractors and herds stampedes.
As words and filth spew from his plump lips, Jeno’s eyes roam his surroundings in hopes that someone will come by and save him from this self-inflicted misery.
Despite being punished by the tarnished old piece of metal, it had left him right in the entrance to a farm. It wasn’t anything special. A traditional old farm house with dirt clinging to the grooves of swollen wood and red tiled weathered down roof.
It wasn’t anything special.
That’s what he saw first beside the yellow tall grass, oddly colored for summer. The chilly breeze was treacherous next to the harsh Texan sun that blinded him if he ever so slightly lifted his head. Perhaps the sun was his enemy, blinding his eyes and heart with every step he took in direction towards the tattered old home.
In the trajectory towards the high risen creaky porch, Jeno hadn’t been able to see or hear anything, only the rusty door screen which he believed remained locked while the home door was fully opened.
Shade the porch granted took him out of the trance the sun fooled him into. His ears cleared up and the sound of sermons on full blast danced into them, prickling with preaching and scoldings that reminded him why he has not attended a service in years.
That alone made him contemplate on whether he should knock and ask for aid. What if they try to indoctrinate him? What if he gets scolded when they learn he only took the off road to see topless women in thongs?
But hunger was stronger and his awoken stomach was now notifying him of such. A whiff of roasted vegetables and cooking meat drew him closer to the screen, enough to feel the rusty mesh against his sweaty face. He didn’t care for the hygienic issues, for now he wanted to be fed. Something he ignored after finishing his last kolache from breakfast. The sausage might have been cold and the bread stale but the sheer concept of food was enough to satiate his hunger at the time.
Jeno’s knuckles softly rap against the stained wood of where a pushed-in doorbell resided. The metal was beginning to oxidize similarly to the doorknob that he unconsciously held. Ever since he stepped foot past the gates of the farm, the sun seemed to take control of him.
There was an eeriness to the premises and with every passing minute he felt observed. Strange though, because despite all his knocking and pacing around the loud creaking porch, no one came to his aid.
He knew there was someone home, he could see a hand holding a lit cigarette between stub-nubby fingers. The swirling smoke even made its way towards him just to laugh through minty giggles.
“Hello?” Jeno elongates the last vowel frustratedly. His stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling and with the increase of his desperation, so did the sound of the television.
A peeved huff left his lips as his body swung in desperation, taking in the decoration and furniture of the porch. Below the dock, empty milk glasses left to aerate while the chum sat next to his feet.
Almost every inch of the overhead was filled with bird feeders and wind chimes. Some metal and others glass or ceramic, but they all aimed to irk him with their constant howls. At least that was better than the preacher calling him a sinner for the fiftieth time since he arrived.
Regardless, the amount of crosses above every window and door won't allow him to forget where he is. Everything may be rusted or dirty but these weren’t. All spotlessly clean from what he could tell, almost as if they were cleaned daily.
Jeno knocked once more after glancing at the rocking chairs on the left side of the porch. Both covered in blankets and cushions. Stools next to them, and what seemed to be a rotting plate of chitterlings.
The sight disgusted him immensely, enough to gag — crawling maggots clinging to the piece. Surprisingly enough, there was no smell, he justified it with being out in the open-air.
One.
Jeno had given up and in his petty mannerism, knocking again, spewing a loud: “Bye, I won’t bother you any longer!” In his most faux friendly voice when under his breath he cursed whoever was inside rotting away just like the home and their gross habits.
Unlike last time, Jeno was aware of his surroundings now. He could hear every creaking floorboard, the clanking of pebbles under his feet, the giggles of the wind chimes, the cows asking if he had given up like a coward who would soon wait for someone to pass by. But, most of all he could clearly hear sing-song screeches battling with liquid against a metal bucket.
Jeno couldn’t believe he had missed the remaining buildings. A few feet away from the house, a tattered small barn with broken off bits of wood. A lighter wood covering cavities held by rusted nails. This was less special than the house, with no decorations and the barn doors on their last whim. One huge slam and it’d fall off its hinges.
The pebbles were replaced by straw, dry and crunchy under his boots but not loud enough for the sitting figure whose back faced him to notice that a strange man was approaching her.
Jeno took in the view before him. Sitting on a stubby stool — rendered useless as essentially squatting was the position. Hair tied in messy pigtail braids that swung around with every tug of the cow’s tit. The image of wrapping his fingers along those locks while his hands caressed the bare shoulders brewed. A bit more movement and he'd witness side boob.
There was a blue button-up tossed across the fresh straw stacks against the wall. Left in only scuffed leather boots, bandanna, and some short overalls that rode up to your upper thigh with the position you were in.
If Jeno wasn't going to experience his topless girls at least he's thankful for you. Teeth clinging to his lower lip, eyes scanning the bits of bare skin he could view while Jim Morrison screamed at you for being lost through the radio.
The weather was always treacherous. When he had been dumbified by the scorching sun, the coolness from within the dark barn had forced you to reach for the blue button-up. You could’ve easily turned left to grab it, but the ducks had other plans, waddling in loudly, demanding from whoever they saw first.
“Oh stop the whining you fatt—”
You didn’t finish scolding the pestering animals. In lieu, you abashedly stood up from the stool, nearly kicking over the half full bucket of milk. Your eyes grew and your hands went behind your back. He couldn’t see it but you were grasping the pitchfork while reaching for the blouse to cover up. The overalls were doing fine but you knew better than to be this exposed in front of a man, especially a stranger.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin'.” His hands may have gone up to show surrendered peace but yours went down with the pet name. Your grasp on the object loosened and your eyes sparkled every time he spoke. That perfidious smile luring you further in. It was that easy.
“My truck broke down in front of your home and I was wondering if there’s any way you could help me. A phone, some gas, a ride to a gas station?... Is your pop around?” He breaks out another smile, as friendly as he could, clasping his hands before him. A smile that often helped him out of troubles with lonely women. Steadily, he walks closer, stopping when your head negates all of his requests.
Disappointingly, his smile falters with a sigh that’s ready to turn into a complaining groans, denying it upon hearing your voice. “Daddy went to the city with my brother for some tractor pieces. They took the last gas can and I can’t drive.” Your grip on the pitchfork was gone, clinging instead to the denim over you.
“Surely there’s a phone, no?” He nervously asks, another step closer. Denied again.
“Mama doesn’t like all that fancy technology. The pastor gave nana a TV last winter and she hates it. But nana and daddy love it, otherwise it’d be silent here.”
Two.
Jeno hums, he points to the small radio near the bucket, a cheeky smile on his lips as his hand drops, similar to your head with an embarrassed tinge decorating your face. “Brother-in-law snuck it in for me. He’s kinda weird but he gets me gifts so I think that’s okay.” A giggle leaves your lips, weariness fading the longer his smile remains. Disregarding the fact this one was out of his own weariness.
“In that case, is he here? I just need some gas and I’ll be out of sight, I promise.”
“No!”
There’s no denying of the desperation in your voice, and this time it was you who took the initiative to step closer. The button-up sagged and had fallen off a shoulder, long forgotten by you. “I mean, he’s not. He ain't allowed to come on his own especially when it’s just me and nana, only when sissy visits but she hasn’t shown since Easter.”
This was a lost case then. Who knows when your family would come back or if they’re willing to help. Whoever was in the home a clear example of unwillingness.
"Well, alright… Thank you.”
Ready to part, he gets stopped by your voice once more. “Would you like to wait? Nana and I cooked earlier — If you’re hungry.” Such a sweet smile decorated your lips, moistened by your tongue when he was distracted. His stomach woke up again, rumbling in a frenzy. He wanted to deny the offer. ‘Ew’ bouncing off every crevice of his brain with the thoughts of staying any longer but his hunger was stronger.
Ultimately, he smiles, nodding with gratitude rolling off his lips.
“Is your ma around, then?” He questions to begin conversation, watching your every move. Good enough for him as you crouch to grab the bucket of milk. Unbeknownst to you that the button-up and overall are doing a poor job over you.
The heaviness of the bucket made you stumble. Jeno enjoyed these moments as the fat of your breast moved around, taunting him with a nip slip that never came but was sure enjoying the game.
“Mind turning?” The blue fabric rose with your hand the second you noticed his wandering gaze. He didn’t say anything upon taking the hint. The rustling and clanking of fabric, buttons, and clasps filling the silence until you let him know it was fine with a tap to his own clothed shoulder.
Jeno hadn’t offered to carry the bucket but he knew not to make a bad impression. You country folk already think all city folks were impolite and if he wanted to win any brownie points, he oughta act otherwise. It's not like it's hard when your impressionable heart is thumping on your sleeve. “Thank you…” You timidly squeak, walking beside him and rubbing off the ache the thin metal handle left on your palm. Jeno opts to smile with a quick wink the way he knew girls liked.
Truth be told, the inside was more horrendous. Dirty carpet took over the living room where more and more cigarette swirls followed him around. The sermon hadn’t finished but the volume was definitely lowered. Besides preaching, the hacking of the one ruining themselves greeted both. No words, just hacking, coherent enough for you to understand. Almost as if it was a language of its own.
“He’s gonna wait until daddy comes back to get some gas, I’ll give him something to eat.” Received with a grunt and more hacking, obvious enough the other person wasn’t pleased with him in their home. You didn’t say anything anymore but it was obvious that whatever was interpreted, it wasn’t nice.
There was nothing special about the inside of the home. More crosses and religious imagery took shelter in the tattered wooden walls.
God, what a horrible home.
That wasn’t all that decorated the walls. In some areas, family pictures glared at him in hopes he’d leave. Not welcoming in any sense. But there was nothing special about the house, nothing in this farm was special.
Not the omniscient feeling of being watched and judged. Not the singing congregation on screen, and not the horrendous kitchen he walks in. Every inch, full of meats and dairy ready to be taken into town to be sold. Nothing special.
"Nana don't like guests.” Pointing at the counter next to an empty chum, Jeno leaves the bucket of milk there. “But as long as she don't see you, you’ll be fine.” The awkward pity smile turns joyful when you look at him, leaning against the sink. He mimics it, whispering a "Thank." he doesn't believe he should’ve uttered overall.
An overwhelming smell of spices tickle his nostrils, he figures it's the meat and what came from the oven. Ignored by the image of land before him, brighter than the grass patches he stepped on from the barn to the home.
There weren’t many trees besides a large one with a tire swing attached by old rope. A long overdo change of twine. Just like trees, no houses either. It was simply this dinky place only. He doesn’t think it’s beautiful but it is better than the ranch he had to work at in Paris or the one in Valentine.
“Beer?” Your voice removes his focus from the window, looking at the steaming plate in your hand and wide eyes, almost puppy-like. He found to like that, a smile forming on his lips seeing them glisten. “Yeah.” You return the gesture, placing the plate at the head of the kitchen table, back to the fridge where you take a can and open it for him.
You sat on the chair beside him, cheek to your palm, watching him fondly like this is a rare sight to see. A fantasy you're dreaming of and one he's playing with. Jeno smiles at that, a soft laugh leaving him the while he raises the can to thank you once more. It was awkward to say the least but he knows he'll have his fun.
“You’re a good cook.” He nervously laughs, taking a sip of his beer to down the grease. “Really?” You perk at his words, hands to the table and an excited smile as you lean closer to him. Precisely how he figured you'd react.
“Mama thinks I have much to work on. She says I add too much spice but I think she only says it 'cause daddy finishes the food when I cook but hers lasts until church.” An animated giggle left your lips, feeling more comfortable in his presence. He liked that, he liked seeing your cheeks round every time you smile or laugh, or your eyes shutting when he compliments you.
“My mom would say you’re ready to get married. She jokingly told my sister and months later she booked it to DC with this fancy pants. Now she doesn’t let me cook, she fears I’ll do the same.” You both laugh at the anecdote, your hand gracing his, something he won’t dismiss.
“So what were you doing around here? No one ever takes that road.” Your hand didn’t move, inching closer and closer, something he looked at with a growing grin.
Swallowing the piece of chicken in his mouth, his back straightens. “I start a construction job soon so I took a few days to enjoy the beach. It’s a little murky and cold but Galveston is all I can afford for now.” He laughs, playing your game and gracing your knuckle. Covering it with the motion of picking up another hash brown wedge and plunging it in his mouth.
“I've never been to the beach. Mama says the lagoon is better than the beach and it’s more decent.” You shrug, “It’s dirty and stinky from where the cows go in so I don’t see what she does.” A pout replaces the smile on your lips, slumping over the table, only pushing your hand further into his. Jeno musters another laugh before taking one of your fingers into his own.
He wonders how your lips would feel against his. More so when you reach for a strawberry in the basket next to the napkin holder. Jeno watches your every move, admiring the small bite of the berry, your lips wrapping around it and having a tiny sliver of juice trickle down the corner of your lips. He’ll have to lick it clean, essentially.
“I could take you if you want.” He mentions flirtatiously, taking the leftover berry from your fingers to get a taste himself. His plump lips turned red, suckling on the juices to avoid your mistake. Your teeth took your bottom lip under them, legs closing slowly at the image before you.
“Mama won't let me. Not with a stranger.” Right, he was a stranger after all. He found this comical, mainly because you had warmed up to him instantly.
Laughing, “I’m becoming less of a stranger now aren’t I, sweetheart?” He grasps your arm, the tickling warmth pricking your skin deep to the bone. If his touch felt this way, what about him?
“Where you headed to after?”
“Austin.”
“Oh daddy says it’s full of— well, Pastor Mark said we shouldn't use foul words.”
If only you could read his mind and what he’d ought to do to you.
"Mama said it’s full of whores, though.”
You couldn’t say other words but whore was fine? He’s not surprised. Matter of fact, he receives this with a laugh. “I’ve heard so.” He shakes his head with a smile on.
“More food?” You offer, he immediately denies. Jeno agrees it's delicious, but immensely fatty for only one in the afternoon, even if he scarfed it down. “Pecan pie, then?” He denies desperately again. You’ll have to kick him out rolling if he ate so.
“Please? Just one bite…” You pout pleadingly, those same eyes he liked earlier, staring into his dark ones. Damn them for he has fallen for your antics. “Maybe just a taste.” He reluctantly answers, your glee making the annoyance fade away.
Giggles escape through the crevices of your teeth, scooping the warm crust and filling onto the metal spoon. It was as warm as the pie, but cool against his tongue. The sweetness of the filling is intense but acceptable. He wondered if this is how you liked it. Tooth aching and warm with no ice cream.
Maybe this is how your tongue tasted.
“Mm, so sweet…” Almost like a hymn while looking straight into your eyes. “Mama’s recipe. I tweaked it a bit.” Your gaze doesn't falter, bodies closer than before. He took this as an opportunity to take a hold of your hand. The small touches —although fast paced— were becoming unbearable and all he wanted to do was have you in his arms. Your light touches, stares, and smile were driving him crazy. He could kiss you — was it not for the elder in the other room.
A harsh thud from the other room prevents anything to come into fruition, and in a frenzy you stand up. Perhaps he thought too lowly of your grandmother's mobile ability and too lowly of your care that he sighs heavily as he rises to his feet with faux helpful pleasure.
But the worry he thought he saw on your face was wiped with the harshness of your voice, like that of someone scolding a child. He couldn’t hear anything but the tone was firm enough. On occasions, harsh whispers and scoldings were audible between hacks.
“Whores go to hell.”
“Give it a few days, you should know.”
Your words left in between gritted teeth leaving her in silence, the sermon on the television increased its volume like when he first arrived. He wondered what had led to that, but he couldn’t blame your reaction. The lady had been a nightmare without even talking to her directly.
Returning to the kitchen with an ashtray and cans of beer, the look on your face was one of annoyance. You tried hiding it from him with a smile but the fire in your eyes remained. The only thing that made you forget your grandmother, was seeing him doing the dishes — something you rushed to stop.
“Oh, please don’t. I got this, you can just sit.” Jeno felt the whiplash hit him. One second you were angry and sad, and now you're panicked. Practically begging him to stop on something so menial.
He should know better. Especially with how easily you were to open up to him. But, when his interest is not with how you feel rather with how quick he can get what he wants, Jeno would rather staple on those rose tinted glasses — just like you have.
“It’s no problem at all, anything to take some responsibility from you.” The dried side of his hand caresses your cheek, an embarrassed grin replacing your worried pout. “I appreciate it but mama won’t like it. You’re a guest, I can’t let a guest do this.” There was a hidden panicked whine in your voice, he wanted to drown it and wonder how much deeper it could go. If you weren’t so pretty and enticing, he wouldn’t be there to begin with.
Stapled heart shaped rose tinted glasses.
“You talk so much about her, but she’s not here. I doubt she’ll notice.”
Your gaze lifted with his words. The warmth in your eyes was not there anymore, almost as if he had struck a nerve. The seconds felt excruciatingly long in the silence of your heavy glare — albeit, nervous, as well. The creaking floorboards in another room making it worse. He figured your mother was a sore subject, but he can't find it in himself to care for this to continue.
“She’s on a church retreat, should be in Midland or Odessa by now. They’re going all around the state to leave the word of God.” The Almighty's name broke away your gaze from him. “Sissy went with her but they told me I had to stay to take care of nana and daddy.” That whine was back, bitter this time.
Jeno was beginning to understand your role in the family. He didn’t care much for it but it was entertaining for now; not everyone opens up this quickly. Besides, it's not like you’re angry you weren’t performing your religious duties, you just wanted to get off this damn farm rather than deal with the mess it is.
“How old are your siblings?” He turns to you, drying off his hands while you now put away the dishes. “Sissy is thirty and Bubby— my brother turned ten last month.”
“How about you?”
Turning to him and lowering your arms from the cabinets, a bright grin is shown.
“Legal.”
That is all Jeno had to hear.
Soon as he was to approach you, you turn to the back door. “I’m going back to the barn. Daddy will be madder than a wet hen if I don't finish my chores.” He took this as an invitation even if it wasn’t. There was no way he was staying in there while every crevice yells at him to get out or be stuck with your geriatric grandmother. Who knows, maybe she’ll hack in his face if he dares to greet her personally.
No, you won’t leave him alone in that horrid home.
Trailing behind you with rushed steps, you swing turning to look at him. “You know, mister… you’ll have to help if you oughta stick by me.”He nodded knowing he had no intentions on doing it well. If he slacked off maybe you’ll grow annoyed and forget the conditions.
“Great. In that case, you’da clean the pigsty.”
Pigsty? Perhaps staying with your grandmother wasn’t so bad.
To be frank, Jeno did not want to help. He only reluctantly agreed in order to get more brownie points with you. He felt like goldilocks; he’s eaten your food, enjoyed the comfort of the kitchen, but now he wants a perfect bed to lie in. Preferably with you on top or below him, but for that he can’t just take it, he’s not a monster after all. The bears are awake and bright, he has to win the cub over.
Through the passing of time and his constant gagging from to the horrid smell, Jeno was coming closer to giving up. Things got worse when cleaning the corners. All were stained with an oxidized red he didn’t know too well but was weary of. The initial stench was only worse with this discovery. He had been too immersed in the filth that he hadn’t realized the red splatter across the wood.
The pigs hadn’t left him alone the past near two hours. They tried biting him many times but the shovel in hand coming in contact with their head made them pull away with a harsh squeal.
Their hunger seemed to become worse, and when fending them off, Jeno can only focus on the horrid feeling beneath his foot and crack that came with it. Alerted when the pigs rushed to his feet, making him tumble enough to see slimy red under his heel and fresh blood ooze from where he had stood. Jeno didn’t have time to curse the pigs, left in horror when he noticed he had stepped on a few developing eggs, a matter squashed under his heel and sticking to it.
No worry for these horrid animals; these beasts carelessly devoured the matter grotesquely.
He knew pigs were filthy animals, heinous and the most disgusting but he never thought to this extent. To see them gleefully munch and lick the soft red lumps was making his stomach churn. Hearing their mocking snorts as the cartilage grinds from their teeth. Red stains they flash his way before snorting again.
His intestines push up his throat and mirror the chitlins he had seen on the porch earlier. Was this what they were trying to do to him with every thrown bite? Those snorts and grins were nothing but a mockery of fate. Telling him he has saved himself this once.
This once.
The cow on the other side stares at him, almost communicating that he should get over it and man up, this was the farm life. As patronizing as your grandmother, she huffs, laying in the corral — hers was clean. Cows, ever so sacred and understanding of their fate.
Soon enough the mother of those eggs came in. A clueless goose, with no mind to the devouring pests until the shells she created with much pain came into view. Her desperate pecks and significantly loud honks deafened anyone. Yet, the pig kicked at her like he had done to them. Futile; her creations were gone.
The beak left some lesions on their thick hairy flesh, but nothing could make them grown a sense of guilt. If anything, the depravity of one made it turn to nip her neck, enough for the goose to fall limp.
Jeno couldn’t handle it. There was no need for him to experience this. Indignantly, he rushes out the barn with a look of disgust and breathing in the fresh outdoors air, cleansing his sinuses of the filth pigs create.
Resting his hands —with a tremble he had not noticed— on his knees, gagging at the memory, Jeno tries hard to breathe properly. He’s on edge and anything will throw him off, just like the soft touch on his lower back. Startled, Jeno turns with a harsh grip on the hand, eliciting a pained groan. “I— was just checking to see if you’re okay.” Your voice was careful and eyes frightened.
“I’m sorry, darlin'. I didn’t mean to— you startled me.” He pants, hand running to his thumping chest. Your own hand took a hold of his forearm, worry plastered on your face.
“Come on, let’s get this cleaned.”
Confusion and annoyance was filling him. Jeno didn’t understand what you were talking about, he was almost worried you were meant finishing the pigsty together and there is no way in hell he was going near those beasts again.
“What are you talking about?” He questions with a harsher look and tone, enough to startle you. “The cut on your arm…” You calmly explain, but there was a brewing disappointment with his attitude that was made him grown more irritated.
You weren't allowed to see him as anything else than what he's been showing you. No.
Jeno hadn't grasped the severity until he saw a large gash on his forearm. It didn’t hurt, wasn't aware when he got it but it was slowly trickling with thick dark beads of blood unlike the stream from the eggs and then their mother's neck.
A sense of dread filled Jeno the while you drag him inside the house. He couldn’t help comparing himself to the pigs who didn’t react to the goose's poking until they had enough. Almost like he had with your nagging.
But he was no pig. He's no damn pig, and should not feel this dreaded guilt. At least not when he has not yet done any damage.
You were nagging him about something that he didn’t bother listening to. He had put up with you long enough and there was no delicious whining to your tone which did nothing but irking him further.
The plate of chitlins was replaced with fresh ones and cobwebs in the corner of the overheads were gone. The clothes on the drying line were also gone, the empty wire was a sight for sore eyes to him but not as much as the figure in one of the windows that made him jump in his step, jolting his arm out of your grasp so he could hold onto his thumping chest.
Messy and filthy Jeno. Can he not see he has now stained your last pair of clean work clothes? Ungrateful, pesky guest.
He knew the house was old, and things were odd since arriving, but the occurrence in the barn and this was driving him mad. As far as he knew it was just you and your grandmother in this farm. And, there's no way the woman that could only hack to communicate had cleaned outside let alone rush to the attic simply to glare at him.
“What?!” You ask confused and justifiably as annoyed as him. He was being fairly rude as a guest and you knew mama wasn’t going to like this. Most of all, you didn’t want nana to be right about him. That hag should never be proven right.
He wanted to describe what he saw, yet the words wouldn’t leave his mouth and his limbs froze in place. His tongue formed a knot and he was unsure of how that was possible. Unfairly, it felt like barbwire the longer he tried to unravel it. Scraping the pink muscle and leaving its geographic marks.
Jeno could swear it was that woman in the attic. Wearing a white dress, almost prairie like, covered in the same splatters he saw on the barn’s wood. Her gaze followed his every move, terrorizing him furthermore. It's far more uncanny that he can't get a clear look of her face, blurred every time he tries to look at her directly. He turns to you, eyes practically begging you to help and see with your own eyes. But when he looks back up, she not there anymore, making him seem like a fool before you.
"God bless your heart." You scoff, pulling him inside the home, muttering something under your breath while he regains his. He feels foolish and lost. Oxygen had left his brain for too long, feeling like he was losing this game he created and which you willingly went along with.
The house was of no help, deliberately mocking him. Showing that it knows he's weary of nothing and he's simply a coward. The feeling of angered impotence intensifies the while you drag him towards the bathroom. Your grandmother's hacking is refined and clear to him now. It's not simply a cough, it's a cackle that haunts him, louder with every step.
She's laughing at him, she is being proven correct about him.
Everything mellows out when you slam the door behind him. The scratching of his brain and tongue leave. The static that rings in his ears and sermons are completely gone. This rickety dark bathroom proves to be his own saving grace and with a heavy sigh he thanks it. A "You're welcome." returned to him in morse code by the flickering light bulb hanging by a cord on the ceiling.
Your movement is noticeably hostile. Stretching the gauze to the point of nearly ripping each fiber, drowning cotton in rubbing alcohol and pressing it delicately on the wound just to increase the pressure. Jeno winces, eyes shutting from the sting. It's torture, he knows it is but he does not think it's on purpose.
The hostility forces the safety barriers to decay; your grandmother's TV sermon seeps through the cracks and crevices to bury into his wound and sting further. Jeno doesn't think he's ever been this miserable in his life. Not even on the long periods of forced labor by his father as a child. Was it not for his interest in you, he would've remained in that damn truck.
Right, his interest in you. Jeno isn't in your best graces at the moment, evident in the way you rub soaked cotton balls around the wound. Not as bad as the first time but still painstaking.
"I'm sorry, love." He breaks the silence, drowning the preacher's muffled voice. You grumble in response with a shrug. He doesn't back down, taking your hand into his before you can keep on punishing him with alcohol soaked cotton balls. The action only makes you glare at him, albeit it doesn't last long, slowly fading with the playful pout and wink he sends your way.
You don't outright say the words, but he can tell it's forgiven with the tone of your following words. "So what's the city like?" He sets your hand free, your rubbing of his wound proving you could be delicate. Jeno bites the inside of his cheek, holding back any resentment and weakness.
"Loud, crowded, people rushing everywhere and into big skyscrapers." His free hand pushes away the fly-aways from your braids. Some strands sticking to your cheeks. He hadn't realized how hot and humid the restroom was. Jeno chalked his sweating to the reaction from your petty cleansing and freighted soul.
"But?"
He laughs, patting your cheek. "But at night the lights are bright, music is loud, clubs are booming, and cinemas are full. You've been to a cinema?" A rhetorical question that you still answer. "What is it?"
Jesus Christ, how sheltered have they kept you?
"Really? It's where you go and watch movies on a big screen. Have you ever watched a movie, even?" You shrug with a nod. "Yes… but, only the ones the channel on TV run."
"In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the Lord for guidance." Your grandmother's sermon grew louder, blaring under the shut bathroom door.
"Well, some cinemas are huge. It gets nice and dark, you sit down with a cup of pop and eat popcorn. I went last week to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Alice, Sweet Alice. They had a revival event going on." He leans closer, similar to earlier in the kitchen. "And there's also drive-in's. I like those more, you get nice and comfortable in the truck or the bed and… you get to have some fun…" The latter he whispers, breath fanning against your cheek. You could feel his free hand caging you in.
"Resist the Devil…"
By the graces of God, you turn to face the sink, washing your hands viciously. Maybe it's the sin in your head, maybe your grandmother was right, but this man is nothing but Satan personified trying to lure you as it has with Eve.
"I could take you." He laughs, wrapping his arms around you just to deceive by joining in washing his own hands. "We can lay out some blankets in the bed. The cabin is spacious enough, if privacy is better." He laughs, each word prickling your skin. Any grime from the pig pen leaving his body as he releases those words. It feels liberating to an extent, painful the second he registers his hands prickled from the nearly boiling water.
He pulls his hands away, eyebrows furrowed when yours remain as if you were in thought. No signs of pain. If you weren't so endearing and alluring to him, he would not feel guilty for thinking you're insanely weird.
"Mama won't let me." Glumly you respond, wiping you hands dry. He hums along the creaking floorboards, feeling your warm hands against his injured arm, wrapping the gauze around the wound. His finger goes under your chin, forcing you to look at him. "She's not here is she?" Pity swaddles every word.
The increasing volume of the sermon and creaking floorboards leave you silent for longer. That impotence he felt earlier, clinging to you when it's all heard too near for your liking. "I guess not…" Your timidity leaves with each whispered word, a semblance of peace anchoring itself the closer Jeno gets. The more silent the floorboards became.
"…And he will flee from you!" The preacher's attempts are futile the second Jeno chuckles. Pearly whites shining under the yellow bulb before you feel his plump lips cling onto yours. It's shocking and strange. His lips are too wet and cold despite the horrid summer heat but they're also soft and they force a tingle that brews from your stomach down between your legs.
Like a sinner with no redemption, you sigh against his mouth. Arms wrapping around his toned torso, warm and hard under your flesh. Jeno seems pleased with this reaction, one he rewards with snaking his tongue inside your mouth and lapping your own. It's sweet and bitter, the mixture of pecan pie and lingering beer still there. Nothing unfamiliar.
His hands knead your ass desperately, finding a way to cup your bottom and hoist you on the sink; Jeno nestles himself between your legs. Insatiable as the beasts he denounced, Jeno can't seem to separate himself from you. Hands in a frenzy kneading any skin he can feel and lips latch to yours despite how much his lungs beg for air.
It's not granted to him until his fingers fumble with the clasps of your overall, attempting to take them off with no avail when you push him back. "Promise you'll take me with you?" Panting you utter, pecking his lips. He reciprocates them in attempts to deepen the kiss again. "Of course." He rushes, kissing you once more. Fruitless, because you can't seem to drop it and he's growing irritated with every hesitation.
"I'm serious." It's clearer and with no waver in your tone. Jeno takes notice of it but doesn't dwell on it, not when he can feel the warmth between your bodies increase. "I promise, love." He forms a cross over his heart and one with his fingers that touch his lips. It's blasphemous and makes you feel sickly aroused.
You cup his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It's messier than those prior and his use of too much tongue doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how good it feels to have him dry hump you. The denim you both wear makes it painfully pleasurable. This is what sin truly must feel like, you figure. You know it is.
Jeno attempts to unclasp your overalls again. And again you halt the action, much to his displeasure that his eye twitches to his understanding.
"Here?" You ask trepidatiously. "Yeah." He shrugs, doing his best to hold in the agitation. "It's inconvenient… uncomfortable." His fingers rake through the raven locks, scratching a little too hard. "Lead the way, then." He sighs heavily, moving back to help you off the sink.
Jeno knows he's being irrational and a dick. The thought of the beasts back in the barn haunt him with the way he's acting with you. He hates the way his brain is forcing parallels between the two when he knows he's nothing like them.
The lapse between the bathroom and wherever you're leading him outside of the home was met with your grandmother's hacking becoming louder. Mixing between rage and begging for something that only caused you to dig your nails into your thighs. The grumbling from earlier returns, just as inaudible as prior. It's maddening but anything within these acres will make you feel so.
One thing is for sure. Jeno has caused something that meant that hag lost whatever him and her had unconsciously begun. And Lord, does it feel fucking good…
His pride blinds him the way the sun had done when he first arrived. Further confused when he notices clothes back on the clothesline, this time muddied and… bloodied? Solid specs of something cling to the cloth, dehydrated immediately by the sun.
While questions pop in his head, his need for an orgasm is far bigger. He doesn't care if the clothes are disgusting and hanging on something meant for clean clothes. He doesn't even care that they've popped up when no one but you could have placed them there, yet you've been with him for a significant amount of time to do so. And as far as he knows, the wheel chair next to your grandmother's recliner prove that she can't even roll down the porch's steps.
Jeno is blinded by lust and pride. Five more sins to black out from the list.
It's fairly nice in the shed you dragged him to. The wood seems newer than the one that composes the main home and the barn. It's waxed and polished. It reminds him of the trailer home he shared with three other coworkers when working in Ruidoso. Oddly cold for New Mexico.
You seem to have caught on to his curiosity, wrapping your arms around him, leading him onto the bed. "We had a worker. Nice guy until he started to rid of the animals." That should explain the splatters in the barn. They looked too large to only be the doing of the pigs.
"You never truly know people…"
Three.
A slight push is enough to sit him on the bed, rebound present in the spring's creaking. His eyes fixate on your hands, the way they waltz over the overall's hardware. Nimble fingers swaying with them to cruelly drop it and move onto the next. Jeno doesn't mind, he welcomes it with a grin and his bottom lip trapped by his upper teeth. Increasing the crimson hue of his flesh.
He leans back on his palms, the stretch of his limbs cause a sting on his gauze cladded arm. It's bearable if it means he gets to enjoy the striptease he was promised.
It's a loud thump against the floorboards by the heavy denim and hardware that force him to look at your bottom half. Eyes raking the smoothness of your legs to the frail and thinning panties. He notices some loose threads, overshadowed by the satin pink rose in the middle that scream at him for a touch.
"Would'ya do me the honors?" You ask, fingers toying with the delicate buttons of the shirt. The top button must've been undone when he was busy ogling your nearly see-through worn panties. He chuckles, sitting up only a mere inches to get a glance at your present cleavage. The buds of your nipples teasing the further you pull down on the grotty fabric.
"Don't I deserve to have you do it after getting wounded? No veteran discount?" You shake your head, "No. You ain't finish your task and you're distracting me from mine."
Jeno takes this gracefully, amused, even. He laughs, properly sitting up, with his hands on his lap and more blood staining the gauze. "Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I guess you're right." It's slightly patronizing —fake, if he's honest— masked by the comedic relief he felt after being here for a few hours.
Fingers feel rougher than prior. He makes sure to tease and taunt in the process of sliding his digits down the fabric. Some touches 'sliding' off onto your skin for a feel of flesh. It's warm and sticky, sweat slowly drying off but visually present. It smells like a warm angry summer that leaves you never wanting to experience it again but you embrace when it returns — torturously familiar.
When Jeno finishes working on your buttons, he lets the fabric fall slack off your shoulders. You stare at him, his attempts to distract you by unbuttoning his own flannel work. Jeno is fast with it, much desperate and unruly to the point you hear some stitches popping here and there.
He's as glorious as Satan had been. The image of a fallen angel sculptured to be perfect by the hands of God personified before your eyes. He's as tempting as the fruit of Eden and if you've fallen before, you'll fall once more.
Your hands perch on his pecks, nails softly raking through the taut skin. He smirks, reveling in the feel so pleasurable to him.
Jeno takes your distraction as an opportunity to latch his fingers onto the elastic of your panties, slowly pulling the fabric down your legs. He lets out a pleased hiss, licking his lips upon noticing the slickness that clings to your lower lips and the fabric.
Neither speak, everything is comprehensible enough with the way you look at each other. The hunger of a wolf enticing him to the delirious sheep staring in curiosity. Unaware it is only another wolf in sheep's clothing.
He takes the bait, grinning at you the while pulling you forward roughly, his warm hand clinging to the soft mound of your ass as his boot clad feet tap your heels apart. His mouth feels hot against your stomach, and his tongue delicious as it licks wherever he kisses.
Your fingers thread through his locks, scraping in anticipation with every nip on your hips. A shudder when his mouth closes on the mound of your pelvic bone, followed by a desperate moan. Jeno has hit gold.
It feels awkward at first, his nose rubbing against you while his lips kiss between your legs. It slowly feels better with the stimulation his tongue provides.
Jeno is more interested in the silent moans you let out. In the way your head throws backs following with a tug at his locks. That is what brings him pleasure, the kind that he rewards by wrapping his plump lips around your clit, sucking to stimulate you further and keep this vicious cycle going.
He doesn't know what it is that makes you taste so deliciously different than the many others he's had before. A certain sweetness that lingers in his tongue when it swipes through your labia. Parting them to inspect every crevice with the soft muscle.
The writhing of your body in between his is something else he has discovered to like. There's a certain thrill which brews within him knowing his grip is what keeps you flush against him. If he wants to let you go, he will. If he doesn't, he won't. That's the control those arms you enjoy so much grant him. It's not like you want him to let you go either. That same depravity fills you, furthering the feeling of playing tag where both win or lose no matter what.
With such a foreign activity, it doesn't take you long to come undone from his mouth. Shuddering as he sheathes his tongue within you. It's a strange feeling, to have him open you up with his tongue and lap at the aftermath of your orgasm. To have his eyes so intently on you as you moan, howling in pleasure followed by scratches to this biceps and arms.
You're not telling him to stop, you're begging him to continue torturing you into overstimulation. But he rather torture you otherwise by pulling back, cum and saliva connecting you both. The image is tempting enough to have you lean down, capturing his glossed lips. Tongue feeling just as soft and the taste of you moving into your own taste buds.
Jeno moans into your mouth, feeling the tugs at his hair fairly more aggressive. The pleasure going down to his groin, hands rushing to unbutton his jeans and freeing himself from those restraints. One of his hands go between your legs, fingers prodding where his tongue had done earlier.
His fingers work slowly, comfortably sheathing themselves within the velvet walls. He's not intentional with anything, lazily pistoning them, slowly… dragging it out to understand what your inside feel like…
You've never felt this taken care of before, it's always quick and unsavory. Sure, some feel great but many don't. It's always take, take, take. Maybe your grandmother was wrong about Jeno, he's very giving, very doting, very hungry.
Whatever pleasure you felt left within seconds, forcing your eyes open to look at him taking his hand and wrapping it around the painfully erect leaking cock. A hiss leaves his lips with a simple touch, a painful whine that brings you the same delight yours have brought him.
You've allowed him to give so much, perhaps it's best if you return the favor.
Your eyes never leave his moving hand, jerking himself off, wanton moans flood the confines of this shed. He's rough and fast with himself, his fist applying pressure at the bottom of the base and on the tip to expel spurts of pre-come. A sheer layer of sweat, small beads cling to his pecks.
Lowering slowly to not distract him, your knees hit the dusty floorboard, some debris clinging to your sticky skin already. Your shoes had been long gone, his boots still stuck to his feet like the bunched up fabric on his thighs.
Your touch forces his eyes open, feeling awfully selfish for worrying about his pleasure rather than adding more to yours. Despite his intentions all day, he still wanted you to feel great, to have you remember him even when he was gone. Because he was special and he knew you were too.
Your nails rake his legs slowly, a red train left behind as you drag his jeans down to his ankles. He watches you kiss his thighs and knees the while you undo his boots, placing them neatly next to your own shoes. He wonders how often you've done that task, it's always a struggle for the other girls he's been with. Is it in your nature or your duty to remove boots for many men before him? Men outside of this situation, men in authority — respectable men.
It's when your lips kiss a trail up his shaft, shuddering and writhing — the way he has made you — that Jeno halts your actions and his, forgetting his inquiries. Strong and clammy hands clasp your shoulders to pull you back. He stares at your swollen lips, parted ready for another taste. Your eyes dilated as if the taste of him was enough of a strong drug.
Your head dips forward, attempting to get him in your mouth this time, yet he denies the action again, squeezing your flesh softly. "No, I won't be able to hold longer if you do." He cries, helping you up to your feet. A light stumble from the jeans that land you both on the creaking bed.
Perching some pillows, Jeno gets comfortable on the sheets, patting his thigh with a cheeky grimace to signal for you to get on. You return the expression, a giggle added the while you settle your weight on him. A kiss as a reward, his hands on your ass again, kneading softly this time. It's rather soft, more tender than the ones before.
A slap on it breaks the rhythm of this kiss, biting his lower lip from startling you. He laughs, massaging the welted area that doesn't really hurt but stings enough for it to feel good.
He watches your moves, the crouching above him while your hand works up and down his cock, using your thumb to lather his pre-come on it. Smiling skeptically when your lips pucker, letting a strand of spit fall on the tip. His tongue caresses his lower lip, eyes narrowed watching you work, positioning yourself above him before letting the tip tease your entrance.
A breathy sigh leaves him, perching his hands on your hips. Softer, nicer than before. "Not your first time, is it?" He asks calmly, not judgemental nor perverted. You shake you head reluctantly, free hand hovering over his toned torso. He doesn't say anything, simply hums, contemplation on what to think.
The innocent farmer's daughter act finally cracked.
Jeno guides you through it. Hand wrapping around yours leading his cock between your folds. You glance at him, his eyes glued to the connection between you. Shaky breaths slither through ajar lips, louder the second he holds onto your waist, helping you down on him.
Jeno's eyes shut tight feeling the warmth of you around his aching cock. It's a different feeling to you around his tongue. It's a nice stretch, a nice sting. His slow fingering hadn't done much to prepare you for his girth but the feeling of enveloping him unprepared made you feel deliciously full.
You shimmy around, hips gyrating over him the while you get comfortable. Eventually those gyrations become intentional, clinging to his torso while lifting your hips up and down, the friction between both of you forming sheer sheets of sweat on your bodies. Returning that bittersweet fruit.
Jeno wasn't shy in letting you know how good you made him feel. Lips parting and forming an 'O' shape. When they touched it was to give a pleased smile, opening them again to utter sweet nothings that made you hot in the face and lower stomach.
A hardy chuckle leaves him, pulling you in for a kiss, hands kneading the hot flesh of your waist, slowly moving upwards. "Look at you, pretty! You feel so fucking good, baby… Taking me whole, you're pretty like this, definitely fate has lead us together." His words slurred, drunk off the high you gave him. The air in these acres poisoning him further.
You reward him with light kisses that trail down his neck, nipping the salty skin. He smiles, meeting your hips halfway with his own thrusts. Breathy moans leave him, eyes closed drowning in the sensation of the warm mouth and cunt on him.
Strangled they become, writhing under you with the feeling of your teeth scraping over his nipples. Nipping them for the effect of his hips pistoning harder. It's intentional on your behalf, but not unappreciated by him. Rather, Jeno pulls you back with a mock offended grin and an airy laugh. Your gaze faking innocence, pushing his intentions forward.
"Cheeky… Cute." He nods conditioning, acting immediately by latching his mouth on your chest. You laugh, replaced by a loud moan when his teeth cling to your perked nipples. Looking down at him the while he pulls back with a shit eating grin like he "got you". It's a juvenile action, one that means nothing if this didn't make you any more wet and impassioned.
It doesn't take him long to realize what he has done. It doesn't matter either because he can feel your depravity seep into his flesh and his groin, causing that fiery arousal in him to hold onto you harshly. And when you lean down to kiss him, chest to chest, Jeno takes this new angle as an opportunity to lift his hips and fuck into you relentlessly.
This pace or position isn't foreign to you but the delicacy and the detail is. He's calculated when he thrusts forward, rushing to grip your jaw and force you to look at him before allowing his hand to take it's original position on your welted ass.
If you moan, he wastes no time to swallow it, pushing his tongue into your mouth and letting the sound slide down the muscle. And if he plans on being extra nice to you, his thighs lift off the mattress to allow the position to create more friction between your bodies, enough for your swollen clit to garner stimulation that forces cries out of you and those… those Jeno relishes upon with languid kisses that sear each other's lips.
Jeno's thrusts ultimately become sloppy and less volatile, his testicles no longer coming in contact with your bottom and for a second you miss that contact. That searing sting that felt too good but wouldn't voice in the occasion Jeno wanted to punish you by stopping, for teasing.
Ragged moans and skin against skin are the only sounds left within the vicinity of these walls. His thighs burn, the exertion tiring his body but he won't give out until you're finished. For a second, you could swear tears welled in his eyes, some spurts of come painting your walls despite how much he's holding off.
Yet, Jeno knows you're a sweet girl, and when your hands cup his face delicately, bringing your lips to him in a tender and slow kiss, he can sigh contently feeling your body begin to relax over his. One of his hands treading lightly to where you're connected, index and ring finger rubbing rapid but delicate circles over your clit.
It's you now that mimics those tear filled eyes, broken moans against his mouth, and shuddering over him with every rubbed circle. He relishes in the feeling when your cunt clasps around him. Swallowing your last moan as you come on him; he knew he would be damned if you were the one with the upper hand.
He takes it all away almost immediately, laying flat on the bed to rest his burning muscles. His fingers leave you, getting you off him, letting you sit on him the while he jerks himself off rapidly. And within seconds, his scorching spurts of come paint your stomach, dripping down the sweaty skin and down to your pelvic bone.
If he had a camera, he would cherish this moment forever.
There's a heaviness in your chest seeing the image, panting with those tears still welled in your eyes when he pulls you down for a kiss. His poor attempts of being tender not gone unnoticed but will go ignored for an ounce of affection.
Neither utter a word, Jeno laying in the atmosphere of post sex and trying his best to ignore how loud an old TV meters away could get. It's almost unfair that after he has won this little game, your grandmother's antics still linger.
"Resist the Devil and he will flee from you!"
He's not too sure how long you've laid there, with you on his chest and his arm around your body. It feels disgustingly domestic and he's glad he hears tires over gravel that force you off of him immediately.
In a spur of a moment, he watches you jump from the bed to the restroom already modestly clothed in comparison to what you and your grandmother had seen all day. There's no traces of sex or the stench of it on you that leaves him awfully surprised on how quick you could get rid of something he had worked hard to leave traces of.
The feeling deepens the moment you rush to toss his clothes at him, his boots no longer neatly tucked under the bed. "Daddy's home, hurry up!" You hiss at him, smoothing the dress that seems oddly familiar. Albeit, this one is pristinely pearl white and not stained red.
He feels like a mouse in a maze throughout these seconds. Treading lightly, almost tip-toeing around craggy gravel and rancid pasture to avoid being seen by your father and younger brother. He watches you change your mind almost a million times when deciding where to come out from.
Eventually you decide to sneak into the barn, the option causing a shudder out of him with memories of those pigs. He wonders if they're waiting for him, grimaces or maybe mocking grins letting him know his opportunity to escape was gone and now it won't be eggs and geese, it will be him. Like they initially intended it to be.
The bile rising up his esophagus begs for clemency to be let out and stop this obnoxious suffering but your spur of energy won't allow it. Pulling him out of the barn from the front and pushing a bucket into his hand with rotten gruel so disgustingly foul that he doesn't have the courage to ask what you could possibly need this for in the house.
His ears won't stop ringing either, whether it's from this inconspicuous dread that fills him — freight could be a better word — or the pitched hunting call that slowly makes his brain spin, drawing him closer without needing your aid, and a dizziness that fuels his bile's case.
All Jeno knows is how rapidly pleasure can turn into uncertainty. As odd as he finds it, the sun is to blame once more.
"Hiya daddy!" Jeno decrees this is what grounds him slightly, the floor under his feet still feels shaken and the air within these acres feels far worse than before. The poison's effects getting worse and worse.
In a blur Jeno watches you jumpily hug your father, the man's years very present in his face and stance. The sun's kisses obviously over his weathered skin, cuts on his hands from farming from days on end.
He thinks his brain can relax when he looks to the left, a fairly quiet kid with a bat in hand. There's a bow on it, something your father obviously rewarded him with for this trip. Jeno forces a smile when he notices the kid staring intently at him. Not curiously the way kids stare, but in a haunting way, warningly.
"Bubby, new toy?" Your voice breaks the gaze they share, the boy smiles with a nod. He takes your hand, skipping around the while picking up some dust, enough for it to taint Jeno's boots you had carefully managed and for the dust to enter his aching lungs.
He hadn't felt like a stranger this entire time, you instant hospitality and friendliness made him feel as if he knew you and your family for longer than the hours he's been here.
It's your brother's hostility and father's curious glare that make him feel left out. The man spits out his chewed tobacco to the left, somehow finding itself near Jeno's feet. He holds back his grimace, swallowing the spit pooled in his mouth.
"Who's this?" He grumbles, trudging heavily towards the house without tearing his gaze from Jeno. "His truck broke down," You motion with you head outside the gates, his truck nowhere visible. "Needs some fuel, daddy. Got an extra can?"
The older man grumbles again, Jeno silences his own snicker. You're just like your father.
"No. We'll fill it up after dinner, hun." Jeno can't help wince this once, your father's voice disgustingly familiar to how his had been all day with the exception that he expected nothing from you. He shouldn't, he's your father after all.
But nothing changes how suffocating and ill Jeno feels knowing he's slowly morphing into this, this that he hates so much. And if he couldn't expel his bile earlier, this and the image above on the top window sure helped.
His loud lurches and hurls force the three of you to look at him with grimaces. Confusion on your face, indifference on your brother's, and offense on the faces of your father and the figure on the window. The splotches of blood bigger than before. Brighter and fresh.
Jeno thinks it feels worse when you don't rush to his aid like before. He's used and ragged, what he wanted to do with you.
"You oughta wash up, yeah?" That's the most you throw his way, hand hovering over his back but never touching. It's frustrating how your warmth isn't felt either.
Jeno looks at you, then at the window again. There's nothing— again. Nothing for him to blame and to further make him look like a fool. Jeno can't stay here any longer, he needs to get out.
His feet think otherwise, trudging along towards the house while he kicks some dirt over the mess he's made. He winces, gagging occasionally, retrieving it when he catches your father shake his head disapprovingly from the corner of his eye.
"Man up." He's sure that's what he's thinking, sharing a sentiment with the cow.
The instant the threshold of that rickety home is crossed, your grandmother's hacking becomes louder, strained to let out everything she had in her system even if he doesn't understand it but you do. You understand it enough to rush her way and raise the volume of the TV while stuffing her mouth with some cookies she had on her side table.
A seething rage in the way you shove the dry matter into her weathered mouth, with hushed words that Jeno isn't sure he's proud of or concerned that you're showing this brash part to him. This isn't the you he has liked for the time being, he has no interest in knowing you.
Jeno is unable to hear what you tell that wretched woman but he thinks it's bad enough to make her deflate and wince like a kicked puppy. The anger of your words linger in your eyes that attempt to blink away while making your way to the kitchen in a rush.
It's reminiscent of the pace back in the shed. You move through these halls in a pace he can't keep. Clanking and open cans are heard, a sermon so muffled by now that he thanks god for once. Your grandmother's hacking stifled by the cookies she's struggling to dissolve in her mouth. And your brother like the odd little shit he is, stares and stares at him. Tapping his bat against his foot, continuing to chip off the stain until it's gray underneath.
The older offers a polite smile, waving his hand even the while he rocks on his heels. But the child minds nothing of that, in a state of mild catatonia that only applies to how he interacts with Jeno.
"Alright, daddy, I'll check if there's any." Your voice snaps him out of it, smiling your way as you lead him to the restroom so he can freshen up. There's an authoritarian pep to your step, distressed and too mature for how you had been with him — prior to their arrival — that he didn't like. He thinks the dress only adds onto this persona you've picked up.
And the while he washes his mouth clean of the contents of his stomach, Jeno notices the way you stare at him through the mirror. A semblance of worry as you chew on the skin of your lower lip.
"What is? Round two?" He attempts to tease, his chuckle comes out broken instead. When he's met with that same blank stare your brother had given him, Jeno swirls in his spot before spitting out the mouthwash.
He leans against the sink, the trimming digging into his lower side. "What is it, love?" He asks seemingly concerned. Your eyes flicker to his, mouth twisting to a side before sighing.
"I just don't know how to tell daddy that I'm leaving with you today."
What?
"What?" Jeno's eyebrows furrow, standing up properly. "You should help me pack actually." The glimmer in your eyes make him feel sick again, the grimace on his face growing.
"Today? Baby, I don't have a place of my own yet. I can't have you live with me in a trailer home with three other men, can I?" Jeno thinks of all the excuses he can muster to kill this stupid idea you have.
He offered to take you to a stupid movie, not to live with him.
"You promised…" your voice meek, eyes settling on his offended ones. He doesn't recall ever doing such thing, but he will lie if he has to. "I know, I know, baby… I'll come back for you though, yeah?" His hand reaches your arm, soothingly rubbing the clothed skin — an unfamiliar image.
"I'll come back for you, I promise." And it's disgustingly believable that your guts churn, twisting with an inexplicable anger.
"You promised you would take me." It's not whiny nor meek. Your voice is strong enough to be heard outside these walls and for the words to cement themselves in his ears. Jeno can't differentiate if what he feels is trepidation or frustration. Why is it so difficult for his words to get through your head? It's not natural for someone to get this attached to someone they met a few hours ago.
"And I will… I will, but not now. Let me get settled on my own first and I'll come back for you, darling. In the meantime I'll come visit every weekend." He smiles ridiculously, confident it will work on you. The stupid, inept farmer's daughter that will do what he wants. What everyone wants.
Jeno watches you sigh, nodding while a slow smile forming. "You're right. you're right." You relent with a content resigned smile, one he mimics finally complacent. "That's my girl." He hums, cupping your face and connecting his lips to your temple. "I'll go check my truck in the meantime."
He strides over to the door, flinging it open to have you follow behind. Your grandmother's hacking laughter is what pushes away whatever semblance of tranquility you had within you. Before he can manage to leave the house, you hold his wrist — a little too tight in comparison to any of your grasps.
"Mind helping Bubby check if there's a canister of oil from the basement? They're too heavy for him to bring up." The sweetness in your voice returns, satiating whatever Jeno clung onto from first meeting you. He's reluctant of course, his body aches and he'll go insane if he spends any time with your weird little brother.
But he has to remain in your graces if he wants to leave peacefully. So he nods, smiling tightly and having you lead him towards your brother that stands in between the threshold of the kitchen and the basement door.
The boy kicks something into the corner, Jeno can't get a good look of it but it has a foul odor and the squelching is loud enough for either to hear. You pay no mind which makes it eerie when the boy manages to cover it with the brand new bat.
"Bubby, daddy needs a canister. He'll help you, okay?" The boy doesnt respond, he simply unlocks the door to the damp and dark basement, brushing past Jeno with a shove that nearly makes him stumble. You give him an apologetic smile, gaze lingering for a while.
There's an uncomfortable silence that rises the hairs on the nape of his neck, the longing in your eyes makes him shift uncomfortably that Jeno can only think to kiss your temple again to rid of this moment. Your grasp on his wrist softens, squeezing softly before nodding to the door. Your brother had long been down there in the dark.
When he looked back to see if you were still there, Jeno's breath hitches in the back of his throat. The odd familiarity between that woman in the attic and you formed a pit in his stomach the further he went down these stairs.
He makes small talk, nervous and quivering when the wood continues to dip under his step. Your brother doesn't respond to any of this and Jeno curses under his breath. Not an ounce of light has touched this place and he's unsure of how Bubby has found his way around.
Jeno nearly stumbles when your brother turns a lantern on, shining the underside of his face. For a second he finds familiarity between your brother and the woman that he could only see in blurs.
"Easy, bud. You scared me." He jokes, hand clutching his chest with labored breaths, attempting to pat the child's shoulder before he dodges the contact.
"Your sister is real sweet…" Jeno continues his attempts. "I like her, you know." There's almost a semblance of truth in his voice that anyone else could believe, but children aren't as easy to manipulate. Your brother halts in his spot.
Jeno thinks he's getting somewhere, smiling in relief when the boy looks up at him. His face doesn't show any signs of hostility but he's also not lax about the news. Jeno can't really blame him, especially if he knew how much of a dog Jeno was.
"I'll swing by next week. Anything you think she'll like?"
"You all say the same darn thing."
Jeno thinks a kick to the balls would hurt less. No, scratch that, he's not hurt but he's utterly confused and almost freighted with the way your brother clearly states those words.
No hesitation, no childlike tone. He's well spoken and angry.
He swivels around, continuing like nothing but Jeno swears there are eyes on him now. It's reminiscent of the time he went hunting with his father once. How hungry and depraved the older man looked when finding some fawn and how Jeno pretended to root for his father.
A pit forms in his stomach the way it did then.
"I do like her, buddy." Jeno tries to laugh it off even when his voice quivers on its own. Your brother doesn't immediately respond, pointing up at the canister that in Jeno's opinion was fairly light enough. No reason for him to come all the way here when your brother could have pulled up a chair.
"Just like brother in law… just like everyone."
His ears ring, watching the way the brother takes the canister from his hands like nothing. Feather light with a tight grasp that Jeno has never managed to have.
The child's strides were fast, skipping past him with an odd melody humming off his lips. With every one of his steps, the stairs creak, singing that same melody — pushing Jeno further into that feeling he's been straining.
"Do you even know her name?" The boy chides, stepping heavily on a step enough for the wood to crack. Jeno feels his soul leave his body, the step bellow his teasing him as to tell him that his is next. He shall fall with the weak wood, as weak as him.
The boy giggles, jumping onto the other step. Jeno didn't know your name and it hadn't dawn upon him that he's given empty promises to someone virtually anonymous. This shouldn't ache as much as it does, but it makes him feel the weight of his sleaziness. He's hit a new low.
"Mama don't like bad guests." He lets out in a sing song while unscrewing the cap of the canister. Jeno can't act fast enough to stop him from pouring out most of the liquid or from intentionally dropping the canister. Running up the remaining steps with loud cries, tears immediately pouring out enough to drag you to the top of the steps.
The worry on your face is clear as day. Hands cradling the crying child for any signs of foul play, but for him you'll always believe anything he says.
"What happened, Bubby?"
"The can, it fell… it was too heavy."
Your soft gaze drops, turning to Jeno with a cold glare he could never expect from you. Those soft features he has learned to enjoy are gone and there's a meanness to your puckering lips that make him feel sick.
"That wasn't nice of you—"
"What? Love no. I- he took it—"
Jeno slips a few steps back, holding onto the concrete walls — the material ragging his hands and nails. He winces, holding his fingers in his mouth; muffling his words. "I had it, he took it from my hands. I didn't make him do anything." Jeno defends, managing his way to the top in slow strides, holding onto the same walls that are making his palms bleed.
"That wasn't nice of you…" you repeat, softly like he likes. He sighs, looking down at the boy in your arms that grins his way in between cries. Jeno attempts to defend himself again, reaching for your shoulder just to be rejected the way your brother had done.
Rejection… it's a disgusting and vile feeling. The one that clogs your throat and poisons the acid in his stomach making it far more painful to spew. Indignantly, his voice pitches. "You can't be serious?" He scoffs, trying again, to be once more rejected with a sharp hiss.
"It's not nice of you to treat a child like that." Jeno rolls his eyes, hands on his hips staining the denim. He shakes his head, a scoff louder than prior. "And it's not nice of you to take advantage of my generosity." The seething anger in your voice snaps his head up, eyes narrow and awfully offended by your choice words.
"You've been a bad guest and mama don't like bad guests."
Jeno can't process the words he's heard so much throughout his time before he feels the ache of the wooden bat against his shins. The pain increases with another blow to his back, and lastly a push so delicate he can tell that one came from you. He's not sure if what he hears cracking are his bones or the stairs — he reckons it doesn't matter.
The words won't leave his mouth, like a new born he can only complain through moans and cries. His body aches all around, no space more than the other and he wonders if this is what that fawn all those years ago felt like when it wasn't his father nor him that finished its days. How anguished the screams had been, trampled by it's own scared herd and not yet dead when the coyote launched over.
"There's gruel if you get hungry." This wasn't your voice, he doesn't think so, even if it comes from you. Whatever force there's left of him, Jeno stumbles up rushing as fast as he can over the barely stable steps. It's futile, they only end up pushing him off with the help of the oil that stinks beyond belief. It coats his clothes and skins, marking his wrong doings.
And the only thing left for him is to cry at the top of his lungs watching you glare at him. The hands that once held him forming a cross over your heart and kissing the one your fingers make.
His gaze begs you, trembling as he pleads for clemency that does not come; the door creaks shut with the melody your brother and those steps had sung. A voice joins the door once it is shut, a creep crawling through his spine and embodied through his screeching cries.
Peace is gone, the light he didn't know existed in the attic turns on. As yellow as the bathroom light that had been the only true warmth within these walls. And like the prior one, this light can only whisper apologetic: "This is the end, my friend…" directing him towards the creeping figure that has haunted him all this time.
The stains on her dress had completely covered it, a nice crimson he sees on women at night. It's fresh, he can tell this much from the stench it emanates with every step. The splatters on her face and hands show no sign of drying any time soon.
Jeno hadn't registered his surroundings. The stacks of bloodied clothes, flies over them, and the faded polaroids hidden under. He scoots back, his blood running cold all over his body when he notices his extra pair of work boots and jacket his mother had made lazily thrown over with his own polaroid. Freshly taken of him waiting for someone to open the door when he first arrived.
Jeno had never thought he'd be the fawn or the sheep he's hunted in the past. It wasn't in his nature, he's been told all his life, but here he is now. Screaming at the top of his lung with silent prayers that he mimics from your grandmother's sermon playing at full blast.
"The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not be in want!"
The large circle over his face on the picture, red from the blood he's not sure where the woman has gotten it from. It doesn't smear nor disappears under his frantic thumb. His words jumble to drown the woman's croaking. Her cold and harsh grasp cling to his leg the while he attempts to crawl up the stairs that have betrayed him.
"He restores my soul!" But Jeno doesn't have it in him to believe these words which have betrayed him his entire life. What he does believe is the pain in his body that increases with her grasp and own blows. The rancid smell of her breath fanning over his face and it's uncanny how familiar her features are to yours that he never could guess you'd have these nefarious genes.
"You've been a horrid guest… worse than those before and I don't like bad guests…"o
✧✎ synopsis: post-graduate, your life sucks especially hard. two jobs, a lazy roommate, and an imperceptible social life have dulled you to grey. nothing seems like it's going to change. until your roommate decides to let her plug crash at your place, and you're bribed into a strange adventure that challenges everything you thought you were.
pairing: fem!reader x vernon
chapter word count: 27k
full length word count: 186k
genres/tropes: drug dealer!vernon, reader is a post-grad w/ a flop degree lol, inclusion of OCs, gay!soonyoung for the lol, appearances from other svt characters, opposites attract, romance, teasinggg, tensionnn, unrequited love, angst, adventure, smut, relationship drama, sprinkling of comedy, another excruciating slowburn bc what else? + reader is a tad dramatic/sensitive but that's why i love her :]
(!) warnings: drugs (IE: weed, molly, coke, whippets, alcohol), mention of guns, mention of death/overdose, intense language, an instance of non-consensual touching to the reader by a side character, some toxic & possessive behaviour, degrading, aggression, mentions of physical abuse/harm, dips into grief and loss, fractured family dynamics on vernon's part.
✧✎ a/n: OKAY i know i have said this abt every gee dee chapter BUT THIS IS ACTUALLY ONE OF MY FAVES bc the lore gets even deeper! can't freakin believe this fic ends next week 😭
LET'S NOT THINK ABT THAT!
what to note:
there are seven parts in the series
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additionally, the chapters/parts are lengthy. the first six parts are between 24-27k while the finale/ending is 30k+!
✎ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07
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VERNON. 16.
It was after school. Vernon had wandered off the property by crossing the athletic yard, paying a brisk notice toward the group of boys dressed in royal blue jerseys, the material glimmering water-like under the sun. Some were sat amongst the grass, tying on cleats, while others bounced a ball up into the air using the edge of their foot, cawing at how many bumps they achieved until losing control.
A boy noticed him from across the field. His arm moved, like he wanted to wave at Vernon, but then he was pulled away toward the goal post and shoved to stand in its centre.
Vernon had made team tryouts in the fall. But he was removed less than two months later for 'poor academic standing' and defiant behaviour. He had also shoved another boy’s cheek into the dirt for looking through his knapsack, an arm pinned behind the boy's back as he squirmed underneath Vernon’s knee like a pinched worm.
“Now that you’ve lost this opportunity, maybe it’ll get you to think a little more about your actions, Mr. Chwe.” His principal was sat across from him, separated by a massive desk that smelled strongly of stained mahogany. A smell Vernon knew more than any other boy.
A thin, graceful hand landed on Vernon’s shoulder. “He will, sir.”
But it was all down the drain. He cared very little about losing his place on the team, and even less about the rehearsed sigh that his mother would perform on her umpteenth invite to the school, trying her hardest to convince everyone that she was still very upset and disappointed in her misfit son, when she was probably beyond a point of caring, too. She only cared about her paints, and going home to feed toddler Sofia cheese sandwiches cookie-cut into star shapes.
After crossing the athletic field, Vernon travelled down the trodden path between a picket fence and the trampled woods, the ground indented and worn from the numerous steps of high school students.
He adjusted his backpack—nearly empty, apart from one binder and a thin pencil case that carried wax gum wrappers and loose change more than school supplies—such that it pressed against his belly. Unfocused on the path, he zipped open his bag, reaching down to grab a thin box stuck underneath his Civics binder. Once he had the box, he maneuvered the bag back to thumping loosely at his tailbone.
But then someone bumped him.
A girl, wide-eyed, pulling off the cheap-looking headset she was wearing to pause her iPod. “Sorry!” She mollified, her cheeks red.
Vernon didn’t say anything, just pushed past the girl despite his unfair caprice to tell her she should watch where she was going. His brows thickly downcast, inexorable in anger, his twitchy lips finding themselves curled back like a teased mutt. Hurriedly, he unsheathed a cigarette from the box, let it hang from the corner of his mouth while he patted out the lighter in his pants pocket. With a few annoyed, vigourous flicks, the cigarette was lit, and he took a long drag, blowing out the fumes into a poisonous, dead cloud.
He had stopped going straight home over a year ago.
Instead, he would waste his time by wandering around town, finding new alleyways and avenues to peruse. Some shops had enticing displays, such as the one with the wicked bicycle, sparkling red, durable wheels, and a fancy, professional break on the handlebar. Not like his old bike, which had grown its own biome of rust after his father kept forgetting to help him fix it up. A summer project continuously postponed until Vernon wondered if he should just toss the bicycle away to test if his father even noticed its absence.
Other shop displays had fine-crafted jewelry. Vernon quite liked watches. The braided, heavy kinds that were for monetary show as opposed to practicality. He frequently imagined himself with a golden watch, not too flashy such that it became cheap, but had just enough spark to make people notice. For quite a while, Vernon pondered stealing. A watch was too ambitious, however, especially from an opulent jewelry store who were used to thieves and scruffy sixteen-year-old boys with oddly empty backpacks.
Then there was the bakery.
The older high schoolers who had privilege to leave school grounds during lunch or spare periods spoke of coming there, gave high praise to their sandwiches of thick, cloudy bread and their signature chocolate chip cookies that were almost too large to finish.
Vernon was old enough to have such a privilege, although it was another opportunity taken away in consequence to his behaviour.
Upon tossing the cigarette onto the street, Vernon shouldered into the bakery, which cued the pealing of a pleasant bell. An older man stood behind the counter wearing a white apron and a hairnet, the surface before him powdered with flour. He was pressing a circular-shaped cutter into a sheet of raw dough—perhaps biscuits—sliding each one onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. He acknowledged Vernon with a slight nod, and Vernon nodded back.
The aisles were few and short. Bagged bread, tortillas, muffins, croissants, puffed buns, and other packaged, baked goods lined him on either side. Something stirred in his stomach. He had nothing but nickels and pennies picked up off the school floors. The air inside was warm, but not sticky, and he felt the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan tickle the dark hairs on his head, meanwhile fluffing through the air the faint scent of yeast frothing in warm water.
Vernon lurked near the aisle’s end, away from the baker. He focused on a tiny plastic container of four biscuits with piped cream and jam in between. When he wasn’t removed from hospitality for eating the food, they made a similar dessert, but with chocolate instead.
He glanced around quick. No one.
The box was tiny and could easily slide into his bag. But it might make noise. It was the kind of thin, sharp plastic that hated being touched.
Maybe he could just hide it against his leg, away from the baker, so he couldn’t see what he was holding. Vernon knew he was overthinking and drawing suspicion. So he grabbed the box and walked perhaps a little too briskly toward the entrance, waving at the baker, somewhat afraid the doors might lock and some alarm would start shrieking and he would be captured inside, forced to confess and then work off the cost of the biscuits. But he felt the door give way, opening into relief and late-afternoon sunlight.
Vernon almost yelped in ebullience. His first theft. Low-hanging fruit, he knew, but it proved he was capable, slippery like liquid. He hustled down a short alley beside the bakery, no longer hiding the biscuits.
“You pay for that?”
He stopped. The ashy, suffusing scent of a smoked cigarette reached his nose, and Vernon suspected he might just get his ass handed to him for stealing strawberry cream biscuits. He looked. A heavy, faded green door with a doodle of indiscernible graffiti. Leaned beside it, a boy dressed in a dark blue apron scattered with powders. He was older than Vernon—he could tell—from the myriad of tattoos along his arms, which had more muscle and thickness and corded veins than Vernon’s did. The alley was silent as Vernon's mind floundered.
But the boy didn’t repeat his question.
His eyes were deep and dark, like wood rubbed with oil, and something about the stillness kept Vernon speared in place.
Vernon realized he was feeling a hotness—shame and embarrassment for his failure. But he would not let the stranger understand this—this taller, harder, relaxed stranger with his mature tattoos and his pierced dimple.
Vernon shrugged. “No, I didn’t. Gonna call the cops?”
“Those are five bucks. You don’t have five bucks?”
“Well—I just stole. Why the fuck would I have five bucks?” He almost wanted to ask if the stranger was stupid, but clamped his tongue.
“You look about sixteen. No job.” It wasn’t a question. He stated it with an evidentiary tone, like it was more obvious than the earth. Cigarette smoke had then curled out from his mouth, very slowly, almost chicly, like he was bending it. Like he knew how cool he was.
Vernon bristled. “And who the fuck are you? Social services?”
“I can give you five dollars. Go back in and pay for it.”
He scoffed, totally aghast by this bothersome stranger and his holier-than-thou audacity. Vernon bared his teeth. Couldn’t find the words.
The stranger stuck the cigarette behind his ear. Then, he proceeded to reach into his back pocket, pulling out a simple leather wallet with some weathered cracks and a sticker of a jewelled red cross. “You’re not a usual,” he said, sifting through a slim pocket filled with paper bills. “They come around at lunch. Loud and laughing. Buy sandwiches and juice. They don’t let you out, huh? What’d you do?”
“Nothing,” Vernon nearly growled when he spoke, making sure to sound out the word slower than usual because if he didn’t then that twang—that conglomerated singularity of a travelled boy who never found his home—would soak his voice and that might give the stranger more ammunition to fire. “You don’t know me.”
“Here,” he stuck out a five-dollar bill.
“Shove it up your ass, Jesus. I don’t need your charity.”
“You’re very funny,” he pointed out with warmth.
Vernon froze, his grip tightening around the plastic box of biscuits such that it crackled. The stranger was smiling at him politely. Now closer, too, standing in the fluid of sunlight, Vernon saw that the bronze skin of his face—especially around his nose and underneath his eyes—was scattered with freckles. The fibres of his hair were long, thick and lustrous, appearing dark brown but flashing with more reddish shimmers under the sun. Girls must love him. That must be why so many rushed there during lunch.
He didn’t thank him. “I don’t want the money.”
“Not really for you. For my boss.”
“Then you give it to him.”
“Why would I cover for your shame and dishonesty?” He laughed.
Vernon shrank, packing into himself. For some reason, it hurt to hear this young man, almost his age, suave and collected, poke his feelings, more than his own parents, his school principal. He wanted to snap and sneer at him like a wounded dog backed into a corner.
“Y’know what?” Vernon grumbled. “Take this shit.” He shoved the desserts at the stranger. “You’re weird and this isn’t worth it.”
Looking down at the biscuits, the stranger nodded satisfactorily, and then made his way toward a few stacked crates beside the door. He put his wallet away and sat down. Popped open the box. Picked up a strawberry cream biscuit and ate it. “Good. Made this morning.”
And Vernon almost screamed, fists crumpled, on fire.
The stranger licked some jam off his thumb.
Vernon charged up to him. “You’re a fuckin’ twat.”
He was unbothered at the teenager with splotchy skin and wires along his teeth seething in his face. “You have a very colourful language. I’m sure your great at English. Essays and that.”
Whatever guise of decorum Vernon had left—it was bare particles in his hands now—dust and imagination. Even if this stranger could physically best him in the most humiliating way, Vernon was too emboldened by insecurity and its underbelly of rage. His fingers lurched through the boy’s white shirt collar. He could smell the vanilla flavouring, the sugar and egg whites of a whipped meringue, cloves and nutmeg, all over his skin and clothes. But the cigarette, still burning above his ear, tainted all that sweetness. That was the stranger. A mask. Something Vernon knew.
“I’ll beat the fuck outta you,” Vernon huffed.
But it became an empty, pale husk of a threat.
“Hey!” Someone shouted, grabbing Vernon’s shoulder and lugging him away from the composed stranger. “What the fuck’s all this?”
Vernon stumbled. There was something being pointed at him, but his eyesight had gone momentarily blurry. All Vernon knew was that the object was a dull colour, with a skinny-kinked shape. His heart nearly flatlined when everything reoriented itself and he saw the object was a gun, clasped in one straight-shooting hand of a teenage boy with frumpy, loose brown hair and hollowed out, sunken eyes that made him look like a porcelain doll left out in the rain. He wore a blue apron, too. But it seemed fresh. No stains of any kind.
Without thought, Vernon’s hands flew up.
The stranger shook his head, setting his desserts aside, and spoke in a plain, undisturbed tone that suggested this was nothing new. “Not necessary. I’ll have it back, Danny. Before someone sees, alright?” And then the weapon was forfeited from the newcomer's hand. The freckled stranger tucked the gun somewhere behind his back, in a place unknown and sightless to Vernon. “Go inside and clock-in so he knows you’re here. You’ve been late too many times.”
He lingered. “Who the fuck is that?”
“A kid.”
Even though he was terrified of what the situation had morphed into, his battered ego urged him to correct the stranger. Vernon was certainly not a kid, and it was insulting to be called such when he was likely no less than two or three years younger than these teenagers.
Despite the drained nature of the friend’s hooded eyes, there was a metallic sharpness about them, scraping across Vernon like a wild cat's claw as he began leaving the alleyway, even keeping his head turned to maintain the intense contact until disappearing around the corner.
“Sorry,” the stranger sighed, “bad timing, bad luck. I needed the gun back, for obvious reasons. He’s just loyal, is all. A good friend.”
“I don’t care,” Vernon laughed churlishly, throwing up his hands. “I’m goin’. Whatever. You're fucked up. Keep your cookies.”
His march down the alley was notably hasty. When Vernon finally emerged onto the street, the sky was dense with clouds and the haloing light from before had been snuffed into a greyness. Just as he felt inside. Vernon was not a kid. But he was certainly not whatever those teenagers were, either. The one with the brown dots all over his face—Vernon would not forget him. Maybe there was no mask. Maybe it was just too chilling to realize that people with his unshaken sense walked the same roads as he did.
Just a little bit, Vernon suddenly wanted to be him.
VERNON. 18.
He spent most of his time in a house that wasn’t his. Consistently, the spaces filled with strangers. There were voices he could not recognize, vibrating through the walls, and colognes and perfumes that were foreign to his nose, lingering behind like energy. Very rarely was there ever a moment of quiet. Action popped loose at any time. He wasn’t allowed to sit by the windows. The curtains were never allowed open. Only recently was he allowed to enter the basement without having someone else escort him. If he saw that the doors to the kitchen were closed, then he was better off not entering. He could always smell the acridness. Like degrading plastic caught underneath a burner. Vernon had tried a lot. But never that.
Dots wouldn’t condone it.
Vernon came by the house in the afternoon. It was early September, and so the mornings were rife with freshness. He had taken the Light Rail. It was crammed with university students. Pressed against the wall, Vernon hadn’t had much space to move, and the girl who got on the train at the same time as him had only gotten more and more squished into his body. He could smell her fruity shampoo, peered at the textbook she was holding from over her shoulder.
The Art of Music in Film-Making. 8th Edition.
He had stared at her head, and inside, Vernon couldn’t understand if he was envious or angry. Students exploded out from the train once it hit the university, like a plastic bag filled with water, now punctured and bursting. The girl glanced sideways at Vernon as she was getting off. He wanted to scowl at her, say, “what? It’s not my fuckin’ fault we were trapped against each other for fifteen minutes.” But he didn’t. Maybe she had been wondering if he might get off, too, only for the Light Rail to whisk him away in a smooth bullet.
For once, the house wasn’t crawling with people. A few. But not an onslaught. Vernon had entered through the back door—one of the two leading into the kitchen—as it was already propped open by a dented tin bucket with a brick sitting inside. Two older men sat at the dining table, flicking cards onto the crinkly plastic sheet thrown overtop its surface. With the back door open, the air inside lacked its usual heaviness and potency.
“Hey,” Vernon sighed. “I’m makin’ a deposit.”
One of them removed his cigarette, tapped off its ashes into a tray, and proceeded to point his finger in the direction of the living room.
“He’s asleep,” the other man said.
“No, he’s not. He was walking around. I saw him.”
Vernon shrugged. “It’s fine. I just need the key.”
Wandering into the living room, Vernon stopped short of trekking his sneakers onto the carpeting. Nobody else seemed to care about it but him. The two armchairs were sunken yet empty, and the couch wasn’t laboured with a slumped-over bod slurried in drunkenness or euphoria. Fierce sunlight pushed against the closed emerald curtains, and the space was flooded with the sheerness of glowing green.
“Vernon?”
He looked to the staircase. Snozz was hobbling down.
“Uh, hey. Is Dotsy here?”
“No. Business.” That was what everybody said when they were tending to something serious but not serious enough that it needed to be said. Snozz sighed aloud harshly while he stepped onto the floor, and Vernon thought his expression was coiled like wire, as though he were in pain. “What’s the sitch? Are you depositing?”
“Yeah.”
“M’kay.”
He followed Snozz around the staircase.
The boy’s movements were stiffened and listless. Vernon could hear his breathing. Snozz was always having some sort of health problem. Vernon wanted to ask—maybe his asthma was acting up again—but Snozz didn’t talk much. For the most part, he was plain and distant, not speaking unless spoken to, and had the most removed eyes, though they were usually covered by his tufted, chestnut fringe, like he knew and didn’t want anybody pitying him.
After Snozz unlocked the basement door, he handed Vernon a different key that was much smaller. A shiny silver. Vernon then stepped down into the cool basement of the house, to which he could smell the moistness and soil that the forest breathed. No one was allowed to dawdle in the basement. Everything was done quickly. Vernon pushed aside the wooden shelf against the wall, uncovering a square cut into the cement, filled by compact, box-shaped lockers. He opened his, marked by a three-digit number, proceeding to leave inside the money he had just removed from his backpack. Vernon closed up the locker, moved the shelf back, and returned the miniature key to Snozz who was waiting upstairs.
“When is Dots comin’ by?” Vernon asked.
“Sometime tonight. You can wait here if you want.”
“Alright. Thanks. City’s crawlin’ with uni kids. Train was fuckin’ ridiculous. I need a better way of comin’ here, man. A damn car.”
Snozz smiled very loosely at Vernon. “Ask Dots.”
The longer Vernon waited at the house, the more people gradually came and left, flipping past like book pages in a breeze. Some stayed. Sharla, for instance. She was older than Vernon. Twenty-one. An advanced university student who would begin writing her thesis that year, as Vernon had learned through their numerous conversations. She had two younger siblings that often came to the house with her: a nineteen-year-old brother with vitiligo, and a quiet sister who was Vernon’s age. He had spoken to Sharla’s brother before. He was louder, with an energy that could easily engulf a room, talking about almost anything like he was some sort of expert when in reality he only read a few sentences from an article and then a commenter’s critique. “You had to pay for the full thing! Imagine fucking cock-blocking words! How do people get away with that shit?”
It always made Vernon laugh. He enjoyed being around him.
“Call me Moo!” But his real name was August.
Their sister on the other hand, Jade, was small and reticent. She didn’t like coming inside, would rather sit at the glass table on the back patio and do her homework in the shade.
Consequently, Vernon never really talked to her.
He knew Sharla the best out of the siblings. He liked her intelligence; the way she spoke was lentamente and smooth with confidence, and there was an expressional grace in her gentle hand motions. Every now and again she would stop Moo in his blathering, make a thoughtful correction that seemed so obvious even though it was deeply rooted into readings Vernon wouldn’t even know where to find. He would always watch her heart-shaped lips when she spoke, shining with gloss. And when she was distracted, he might have spent a few seconds staring at her chest and how nicely those rounded, low-cut tops framed her body. The black wig she wore was gleaming with expense, reaching down to her waist, scented with hibiscus and something else lush, perfumy, just like her dark skin.
Vernon did know her well.
They had sex for the first time last month.
“I went to the mechanic without Daddy yesterday. You should have heard the way they spoke to me. It was terrible. They would never speak to me like that if Daddy were there, obviously. There was another woman working on an engine or something across the room. She had a very sympathetic look. She wouldn’t let them try to sell me a new air-filter. The oil valve was the problem!”
Vernon nodded along; his face looped in a soft, lost smile. Sharla paused, looking to him expectantly, searching for a response that proved he was listening and not caught in a reverie.
He immediately straightened up, pulling his elbow off the back of the couch. “I’d be a mechanic.”
“Would you?” She laughed in the most heavenly way a person could laugh. “I suppose I could see you doing that…”
“You know I don’t mind gettin’ my hands dirty.”
Sharla shoved his chest and smiled. “Be polite,” she lilted in warning, though a sparkle had jumped through her eyes like a shooting star.
“What’re you up to this Saturday?”
“I don’t know… what are you up to?” With her head rested against a thoughtfully poised fist, and her lips flitting up at the edges, she was already beginning to draw Vernon in.
He could devour her right there on the couch.
But he merely smirked. “Up on you, potentially.”
She had a small black purse sitting on her lap, textured with glazed, faux alligator print. From inside, something started to ring. Sharla rummaged for her phone. “We’ll see,” she acknowledged with an effortless wink, taking the phone to answer privately somewhere upstairs.
Vernon threw himself into a starfish on the couch once she had left, groaning aloud, smelling the juicy, floral tinges of her perfume drift through the air, leaving him frustrated. He wondered if Dots was back yet, even though he hadn’t heard any noise from the driveway.
Sometimes he would be too absorbed talking to Sharla to notice anything. Vernon wandered into the empty kitchen. He approached the back door to the patio, pulled aside the square lace covering the window. Jade was there, at the glass table, a notebook open in front of her scrawled with text Vernon couldn’t read alongside an awfully thick book. Sat beside her was Dots. Leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, seemingly listening intently to something Jade was explaining. Vernon cracked the door open slightly.
“—I don’t mind her as a professor. She explains things well. But she’s kinda old fashioned and uses a chalkboard. And then she’ll erase something as I’m trying to write it down!” Jade laughed into a hand covering her mouth. “It’s mostly review of pre-calculus right now.”
“Are you nervous?” Dots asked her.
Jade paused, taking a moment to glance down at her lap, and then at her notebook, and finally she looked at him. “Yeah. Calc is so hard.”
“It is. But I know you’re smart. And resourceful,” he told her with a tone full of warmth, the kind that was nourishing and sincere.
Vernon wondered when he had come back. And for how long he had been sitting outside, talking to Jade. Nobody in the house really conversed with her apart from a few words, sensing that she probably shouldn’t be there, but was courted along by her sister as she was her usual ride. Dots talked to her. Typically about her school. Her future. Her plans. Her friends. Her life. Sometimes Vernon listened in secret. Her issues were so ordinary that he wondered how they could even be considered issues.
“It’s just hard ‘cause… you know… Sharla is the intelligent, pretty one who makes Daddy proud. Auggie has his humour. And he knows how to hustle,” Jade explained her musings, letting her pencil weakly tap the table. “But I kind of float this space… where I’m not sure what I contribute. Or what people think of me. Probably nothing. Maybe that I’m nice?” She winced.
“What’s wrong with nice?” Dots encouraged. “Nice people are hard to come by in my opinion. I guess it’s a ubiquitous word, so maybe it feels lesser in value. But why have the word if it didn’t have its place? Right?”
She brushed under the glasses resting on her nose. “Yeah.”
“It’s getting late,” Dots said, checking his wrist watch—a braided silver watch that he often wore. “Is Sharla driving you home?”
“I have no clue,” Jade huffed. “She probably wants to stay.”
Vernon’s lips buzzed at the edges with a grin. He hoped so.
Dots scooted his chair backward. “I can give you a ride.”
Jade grabbed her pencil with both hands, eyes flaring open. “You don’t have to do that. It’s only seven. I mean, our house is kinda far and I’m sure if I annoy Sharla with enough texts, she’ll get a clue.”
“Are you sure?” He questioned softly, standing up from the chair and pushing it back under the table. “I don’t mind. Why don’t you think about it? Finish your homework and then come find me inside.”
She sat, staring at her notes, before nodding. “Okay.”
Vernon moved away from the door. He opened one of the aged wooden cupboards and pulled out a glass, which he proceeded to fill with unattractively spluttering water from the kitchen tap. As Dots came inside off the porch, Vernon sipped at the water and had his phone in hand, feigning a little display of furtiveness. Dots threw his car keys onto the dining table and tugged off his dark green sweatshirt with the yellow stitching, letting it bundle into a chair.
Vernon set the water aside. It always tasted horrible. Like a mouthful of grit and coins. “Yeah. Got all the dudes on Gemini.”
“No trouble?”
“Some restlessness.”
“Well, tell them to stop using it so damn fast.”
They both chuckled. Vernon found himself examining the silver watch that his friend was wearing. It wasn’t too gaudy. Just the right amount of shine at the distance he was away, paired nicely with the small diamond studs that Dots often wore in his ears. His style was never overbearing, even if he had the money to be. Vernon appreciated his subtleness.
“You need a ride, too?” Dots asked.
Vernon tensed his shoulders. “Huh?”
“I can give you a ride with Jade.” His eyes darted with a flash of knowingness, and Vernon wanted to become invisible.
“Uh, no. That’s alright…” Vernon laughed to pulverise the suddenly awkward warmth that flooded his face. It was already humiliating enough to realize he had been caught. And sitting in a car with Jade, who he had no interest in speaking with, wasn’t going to make it better. “Actually, though. I was wonderin’ if it’s cool and all… if I stay the night here?”
Dots folded his arms. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His friend paused, letting his bottom lip slip through his teeth, and he gave Vernon one of those earnest, heartfelt stares. “That’s would be your third time this week. If you need to crash somewhere for a while—”
“I won’t anymore,” Vernon interrupted. “I’ll be more… diligent.”
“No—look—I get it,” Dots sighed empathetically, almost like a parent. “You know you can stay here, right? My room is always open. I like sleeping on the couch better, anyway. Snozz wouldn’t care. How do you think he ended up here?” The lambent, gently flickering lights of the buzzing kitchen created a solacing glow that Vernon sensed in his chest. He saw the glow reflected in his friend’s expression, that of wholesomeness. Such openness. Such compassion.
“I dunno…” Vernon murmured, sniffing. An odd bought of shyness had made him stiff. He never felt his age that frequently, and it was difficult to understand that being subject to another’s welcome was not pitiful. He wasn’t built to brave every little thing and do so unbreakably, which his teenage self—used to fighting alone—was finding difficult to accept. “It’s generous stuff, Dotsy. It already sucks enough comin’ here.”
His friend shrugged. “So stay.”
Suddenly, the back door squeaked open wide. Jade was stood at the threshold, pencil twitching between her fingers. She glanced at Vernon for no less than a second. “Hey—sorry to interrupt—I, um, I’ve been doing some thinking and I would really like a ride home… thanks.”
Dots nodded. “Sure thing.”
“I’ll just pack my bag,” Jade said, looking coy. As she let the door swing shut, Vernon found that her gaze seared across him as though he were beaming with radiation. Like she was grappling with the image that someone her age had such a different life than hers, without her ordinary problems. It reminded him of the girl who gave him that expectant glimmer on the train, waiting for him to follow her into campus. And he found that such looks were always spotted with sadness. His life must be so dampened, cold, without parents to guide him and love him, without a hopeful future backed by education or some pertinent trade. Wandering and lacking purpose.
Vernon felt angry the more he thought into it.
“Sleep on it,” Dots said as he readied to leave.
He returned to drinking the glass of horrible tasting water, finding the metallic flavour easier to palate than his creeping temper, looming up from his skin like vines. Vernon’s eyes then flitted over the lip of the glass, watching his friend leave with Jade.
His existence could not be a waste.
But he wasn’t sure how to tell.
Vernon had no idea who she was. A friend of Sharla’s that ended up coming to the house a few hours later, name forgotten mere minutes after being introduced to each other because all Vernon cared about was getting his hands on was the particular strain of weed she had brought. They bunched into an empty room upstairs. There was only a mattress on the floor, and Vernon found himself squished between Sharla and her frisky friend, still dressed in her work attire, steamed black slacks and a white button-down shirt. She smelled lightly of vanilla and subway dust, the gold bracelets on her wrist clacking whenever she moved. In passing, he would have never pegged her to be lighting a spliff at a drug dealer’s house.
The strain was Loud. Vernon immediately understood why. Its potency and sting were punchier than other types of weed, and from the very first hit, he could already sense the euphoria power through him like a careen of howling wind. The flavour lingered in his throat. Burning. Dense. It felt like he was breathing in earthy fumes. He fell backward onto the mattress while Sharla and her friend continued exchanging the spliff. Their giggles formed visible notes that he could identify in the air, a floating sheet music.
“Another hit, Prince Charming?” Sharla enticed as she leaned over him, her pupils full and swirling like two freshly poured shots of whiskey. “Pass me the spliff,” she said, motioning at her friend who was exhaling smoke.
The night only continued to divulge.
Vernon was elsewhere. Weightless as a feather.
At some point, he found Sharla’s pampered lips on his. And then he was kissing her ambiguous friend who felt more like a shadow, fluttering in and out, disappearing and then reappearing, passing through his grip with such hummingbird fleetingness. The room was cloudy and the air was sparse. There were extreme crests of warmth, around him and inside his body. Hairs were stuck to his forehead by sweat. Glimmers of bare skin twinkled past his eyes and pressed up against him, sticky, unforgivably hot.
But then morning came.
The mattress was surrounded by lumps of clothes, discarded jewelry, and two wealthy handbags. Vernon noticed that his cheek was lying against a pale shoulder blade tattooed with an ornate angel wing, whorls of ashen blonde, curly hair tickling his forehead. When he groggily squinted behind him, he saw the effluent flow of a dark wig down a lean, smooth back.
He stared up at the ceiling and grinned.
VERNON. 20.
He sat beside Moo, shoulder pressed to shoulder, on the end of a bed whose sheets were stiff and cold. There was minimal light. Most came from the bubbling fish tank set up on a long, wide dresser, an aquamarine of splashing blue. A small shrimp with translucent edges scurried along the glass. Vernon watched, expression blank, until Moo pulled out his lighter and started sparking it.
Both Vernon and Snozz looked at him. The silence was mutually accepted without communicating, but now broken, by a hissing flame.
Moo glanced between each boy. “What? I’m bored.”
Vernon was bored, too. They had been waiting in the bedroom for almost half an hour, hurried in by Snozz on account of an important discussion that must happen immediately, as soon as Dots arrived back at the house. Snozz wouldn’t reveal much, just leaned against the shut closet doors, arms crossed, staring at some random stain on the carpet. Typically his quietness wasn’t anything alarming; however, Vernon sensed a portent pressure in the room’s atmosphere that made him solemn and pensive.
“Is he buying groceries or something?” Moo grumbled, proceeding to lean forward on his knees, spark the lighter again out of boredom. “He needs to stock the fridge for summer. It sucked major ass when we were out of Freezies. I bet the forty-pack is on sale right now. I saw it last week.”
Snozz stared at him, his glance muddled by shadows, and Vernon couldn’t decipher if he was annoyed or impartial to the conversation. The boy’s feelings were always cloudy—Vernon spent the first two years of their friendship believing that Snozz loathed him—until he realized that he was just naturally distant and circumstantially numb. Vernon’s first few tattoos along his bicep were done by Snozz, either half-price or totally free.
Vernon decided to nudge Moo’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you get em’ then, huh? If you were standin’ right fuckin’ there. Hypocrite.”
“Erm, I was on duty,” Moo answered in a sarcastic, nasally tone.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Shut up, tool. I move more than you,” his friend scoffed. It was another one of their soft-hearted spats. “You were kicked off Country Club.”
Vernon rolled his eyes, half-smirked, and picked at a hang nail on his thumb. “Yeah—you’re better at suckin’ up to rich assholes. Congrats.”
“Mad ‘cause you don’t get free margs?”
“After you wipe down their clubs, Ball Boy.”
They started to giggle. Then, their laughter, completely pulling apart the threads of silence sewn into the air. Vernon slapped his knee while Moo leaned over, snickering to himself, shoulder blades contracting and rippling under his shirt.
Across the room, the closet heaved loudly as Snozz had stopped leaning against the shuttered, aged wood. Keeping his arms folded, the boy took firm steps toward the bedroom door, the countenance thinly moulded to his face stern and unimpressed. “Country Club isn’t yours anymore,” he muttered into the dusk, almost too smooth to hear, the smoothest his voice had been, before he left the room.
Moo’s wiry brows furrowed, staring back at Vernon in confusion and slight amazement, as such hostility from Snozz was rare. Vernon had not a clue, either, demonstrating a limp shrug that hardly moved his shoulders. The room slipped back into silence, the fish tank occasionally bubbling or whirring or making some paucity of gentle noise. Whatever the issue was, he was starting to swallow its occluded weight, and in the very back of his mouth, he tasted the same sourness that Snozz had perhaps tasted.
“What the fuck do you mean Country Club isn’t mine?!” Moo bellowed from the corner of the bedroom, spread out in a cheap swivel chair, hands pressing through his teased afro. “I was just fucking there! Last week!”
Dots was finally back. He had returned to the upstairs bedroom with Snozz, who resumed his post of leaning against the closet doors, observing the befuddlement hit the ground with the force of a meteor. Vernon stayed silent. Dots was sitting behind him on the bed, and he could feel his friend’s weight dip into the mattress, like a bending gravity, as he spoke factually to Moo.
“Nothing’s secure,” Dots said. “You know that.”
“Well, yeah, but—I was just laughing it up with the freaking owner!”
Vernon bit his lip. Moo often confused cordiality with business, which wasn’t particularly a concept in their world, especially when it came to the privatized rich. It was almost worse when someone who was supposed to be your esteemed buyer laughed with you, cut the fresh lime to your cold beer, grabbed onto your shoulder and shook it amicably when the conversation got good. It wasn’t bond at all. It was disposability. A definitive lack of seriousness. And Moo was painfully bad at being serious.
Dots sighed, “that’s the problem.”
“Why’d you even put me on then? Why not keep Vern?”
He tensed, almost wanted to glance over his shoulder and scowl.
“They won’t go near him with a ten-foot pole. His roughness is better on the streets, and with the arrogant college kids. You’ve got prestige because of your father. But you danced around too much. They stopped taking you serious even if you moved good product. How do they know you won’t get flighty when something screws up? That you can sack up. Take charge. They don’t.”
Vernon heard the chair creak. Moo was up on his feet, wandering around the room, pacing through the tank’s blue mirage that was stretching across the carpet like a northern aurora. He knew the feeling. He had lost streets, too. It was disorientating, uprising anger clashing in waves with the ignominy of incompetence. But Vernon always showed his grit, pushing back, taking a stance—something Moo had yet to demonstrate.
After exhaling a deep, long breath, Moo paused, removing the hands that were cushioning behind his head. “So, what’s the sitch? You want me to get Country Club back, right? Which assholes swindled me?”
Dots remained quiet. Vernon glanced back at him, watched him friend stare at the blankness of the beige wall until he huffed, coming to his feet. He walked over to his bubbling fish tank, grabbed a package of flaked food, and shook some inside. Vernon heard tiny nibbles and ripples.
Moo sighed, cheeks blowing out air, “I’m fucked, is that it?”
“No,” Dots said impassively, with stillness. “Moo, Snozz, go downstairs and review the deposits from this week. It’s late.” He proceeded to turn around from his fish tank. “We’ll regroup soon.”
Snozz was already opening the door. But Moo stood in place, frozen for a moment too long, likely understanding that the dismissal wasn’t hiding anything propitious. When Snozz called out to him, Moo begrudgingly left, scratching a white patch on his arm with twitchy, irritated fingers. Once his friends were gone, Vernon felt somewhat awkward about staying behind, especially since Dots seemed more detached and aloof than usual, letting silence thicken the air.
Sometimes things scattered, rolling chaotically, like slippery marbles shooting across a smooth floor, bouncing down stairs, swivelling under beds. And much of the pressure to make things whole again swelled up in Dots’ hands. Vernon shifted, staring down at the carpet.
“You’ll do it,” Dots said.
He stiffened. “Huh?”
Dots sat beside Vernon on the bed, where Moo once sat. His friend opened up his hands, and his palms were coordinates of ghostly, etched scars and welted callouses. When Vernon peeked at his own palms, they looked like the prelude. He saw openness in the spaces where skin was unmarred, like an unplowed field.
“I want you to get back Hylands.”
Vernon closed his hand into a fist. “You took me off.”
“This isn’t about dealing. You know who took Hylands?”
He shook his head. “No idea. Someone from the big leagues?”
“No. He’s around your age. He’s new here, but he’s been creeping his way in little by little. He’s Chinese. You know Mr. Zhang is, too.”
Vernon scoffed, rubbing his knuckles. “Then where’s he gettin’ product? Especially in quantity, if he’s just a one-man show. Sure they can communicate well, but it can’t be talk only. They don’t want promises.”
“He obviously has suppliers. Foreign, likely.”
“Hm… so… what am I supposed to do?”
Dots smiled. “If we get him, we get Country Club.”
“You think he’s free range?”
“Here, he is. For now. Hylands is big money. Moo fucked up. But so did I in believing he wouldn’t fool around. I’m sure there are others thinking the same thing. If he is free range, he won’t be for long.”
Vernon sighed, emptying out the pressure in his chest. “I just don’t understand… like… why are you pickin’ me? What am I supposed to say to the dude? Does he even speak English? How are we gonna communicate?”
“I’ve set up a meeting,” Dots said. Vernon thought he could relax until his friend continued, “’it’s tomorrow. You’ll meet your translator at the coffeehouse—Jitters—she’ll be sitting at the far-left window in a dark purple dress. She’s clever. I’ve contacted her before when we needed to deal with the Yuáns poaching around Bronson. You need to be at Hylands by five o’clock. There’s an old storage house behind the cart corral. That’s where the three of you will rendezvous. I don’t suspect there’ll be much trouble. If he’s new, he’s looking for allies. Just to be safe, though, Snozz will give you one of his Glocks. It’s smaller, fits easily in between your waistband, so a good jacket will cover it. Don’t pull it out unless you absolutely have to. Even then, don’t shoot it. Like I said, I wouldn’t expect much trouble.”
Letting the advice simmer, Vernon stared at the floor, wondering how he was supposed to react, what he should say. This wasn’t the kind of responsibility he was expecting. He was just a dealer with a witty tongue, no different than the slick, contortionist salespeople attempting to sell miraculous weight loss pills over the phone, except with a lot more gutturalness, and the pills weren’t dressed-up lies. The responsibility meant trust, Vernon knew that, but it didn’t make his acceptance any easier.
He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. “Do you want to do this?”
Now he was being given a choice. That almost seemed worse.
Vernon shrugged. “I just don’t know why you picked me. I mean, I do the street deals for a reason. I’m not exactly fuckin’ Shakespeare with my words. I’m workin’ with people who don’t need much convincin’.”
“Exactly,” Dots said. “You’re just you.”
Vernon winced. “And how is that gonna help?”
“Your authenticity. It’s not about the purple prose, right? You don’t pull walls over people’s eyes. You take it or leave it. There’s no ambiguity.”
Vernon didn’t respond. He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, hands pulling down his face. This was a job he was good at. He didn’t need to augment himself into different versions to fit some tacky mold. The money was good. He could talk and dress however he wanted. Most of his work was done alone, which he appreciated, still with a tightknit crew waiting for him to come back. It was the closest to freedom he would ever taste. Vernon was happy where he was. But complacency often made him wary. Adventure sparked at his feet like popping pieces of scorched wood.
Sometimes he did want more.
Even if the ‘more’ wasn’t what most people dreamed of.
He sat back, exhaled loudly. “Okay, Dotsy. I’ll do it.” Vernon looked to his friend and stuck out a pointing finger. “But you can’t throw me out to the fuckin’ wolves if I lose this little twerp. Give them Moo,” he laughed.
Dots had a warm, gleaming smile, a picture of dappled sunlight. He grabbed onto Vernon’s hand and pulled him in close. They both slapped each other’s backs in camaraderie and trust. Dots’ fingers suddenly ruffled through Vernon’s tamed hair with liveliness and the boy wriggled away, pushing his friend’s sturdy arm. “Fuck off. I showered today.”
“I knew I smelled passionfruit.” He smiled again. “You’ll do fine.”
“What’s this dude’s name, anyway?”
“Minghao.”
“And he’s my age?”
“Something close.”
“I bet you that translator chick is gonna turn my words around,” he said tartly.” I’ll sound like freakin’ cotton candy and Skittles.”
Dots shook his head. “You won’t be the easiest person to translate for, but she’ll do her best. Besides, your gruffness doesn’t need translation.”
Vernon traced a path of smooth skin on his palm, marvelling at the softness, before closing his hand concludingly into a fist. “Damn right.”
You stepped out from the hot shower, your body wrapped into a white towel that held floral remnants of sweet oils. Your wet feet left imprints upon the absorbent, spongey mat. While patting yourself down, you couldn’t help but occasionally pick through the expensive items lining the enormous marble of the washroom sink. It was like a beauty store—jellied lip masks and ceramide-protective skin creams and tall, thin spray bottles labelled with exotic scents that you would walk past in those overpriced sections of a mall.
You opened a tiny lip-sized tin to see a pale pink balm inside and sniffed its cherry blossom aroma. You uncapped the lid to an unused perfume bottle shaped like a ballerina’s slipper and immediately recoiled at the overbearing, sugary notes. You squirted out some peach-toned lotion into your hands and rubbed its whipped, heavy texture down your arm, dazzled by the healthy, moisturized glow it left behind. It was like you were a little girl sifting through your mother’s secretive drawers, when everything felt unusually extraordinary. But the feeling had pleasantly unearthed itself and you were helpless to deny something you had believed was long gone.
By the next morning, you and Vernon said goodbye to Kitty’s coastline manor. You were worried that the cleaners might realize her bedroom had been perturbed, but Vernon said they wouldn’t—and even if they did—they would probably be glad to have something they could fix.
He asked if you wanted breakfast. After unnecessarily contemplating for a moment (because you didn’t want to seem childishly eager), you agreed, and proceeded to sink backward into his passenger seat as he drove further into the sunny estate of villas and reserved, coastal splendors. Vernon took you to a restaurant called Sea Sides. It was circular in shape, with boastful glass windows that ensured you an unnegotiable view of the water. Walking into its chic brightness, you felt like an imposter, with your lazy button-down shirt and wrinkled lounge shorts. A woman sailed past you in a flowing, pale dress, her skin sun-kissed and cheeks tinged like ripe berries. You two perhaps stood out in a rough, jarring way. But Vernon wasn’t concerned.
“Watch this,” he whispered to you as a hostess stopped by.
“Hello! How can I help you two?” Her voice had a polished quality to it, just like her slicked-back hair and clean, shining clothes—so luminous it was difficult to look at without falling into a squint.
Vernon smiled. “We’re here under Pollezna.”
She was behind a tiny podium. Her large eyes reflected the screen of the sleek monitor she was examining. A click later and scroll later. “Oh! Yes, of course!” She grabbed two menus, small and neat, on cream cardstock. “Follow me,” the hostess said. She walked in swift, long steps that you hurried after, weaving between tables laid with white tablecloths and the royalty of orchid centrepieces. “I haven’t seen Miss Catarina in quite a while. Is she doing well?”
“She’s dandy,” Vernon replied. “Off in Europe.”
“Quite the traveller, isn’t she? You must miss her!”
He nodded solemnly; his lips downturned. “Terribly.”
You were in the midst of sitting down when Vernon bumped your elbow, tipping his head toward the opposite seat. Thinking it was associated with the window view, you shrugged, and let him sit where he wanted.
The hostess’s face was a mirror of Vernon’s, softened and empathetic to the imaginary lonesome he was crafting. “You’ll need to come back here for breakfast once she returns. What can I start you both with?”
Vernon glanced at you.
“Uh, water is fine,” you mumbled, forgetting you could speak.
“Same,” Vernon said.
“I’ll get that for you right away!”
Once she was gone, your eyebrows piqued. “What stunt is this?”
He cleared his throat in mocking sophistication, settling the tiny cardstock of dishes before his face. “Friends and family discount.”
You snickered, sliding your menu toward you. “It seems so.”
“I came here enough times that they added me to the Pollezna tab.”
“And she hasn’t noticed?”
Vernon lowered the menu and smirked. “AKA her Daddy’s tab. And he doesn’t give a fuck, anyway. We’re spendin’ pennies, here. Get whatever you want. The Belgian waffles are always a slam dunk. Super fluffy. Gelato’s in-house.”
Your eyes gleaned over the embossed, golden script, and you straightened up in your chair as though you were supposed to be sitting there, stolid and elegant, even though you ate burnt toast most mornings. A moment later, and your hostess returned with a glass carafe. Slices of orange and lemon bobbed around inside. She poured the icy water into both your cups before settling the jug down onto the table coaster. You never understood the trope of citrus in water. It felt meretricious. And sometimes the seeds would slip out and catch in your throat. But you smiled at her and sipped up a tiny bit so she would see you were still appeased.
After placing your orders, the hostess left. You immediately unwrapped your fork from a cloth napkin and used it to spear out the oranges and lemons, which you layered onto a small bread plate.
Vernon snorted, chuckling into his hand. “Gosh, you have less fuckin’ table etiquette than I do, PJ’s. Never thought that would happen.”
“Shush,” you whispered. “You know how I feel about oranges!”
He kept giggling, and you were tempted to fling a wet slice of citrus at him, but you weren’t about to prove his point. No one in the surrounding dining area seemed to notice, anyway, likely too engrossed by their own riveting tales of luxuriant lifestyles. Vernon reached onto your plate to grab an orange slice. You assumed it was tasteless and watery, but Vernon ate pretty much anything you gave him, and he never stopped feeling hungry.
“Much better,” you hummed having removed all the fruit, and took a big gulp without wondering if you were going to start choking.
“Such a weirdo,” Vernon tsked.
Behind him, you spotted a very large painting hung up on the restaurant’s distant wall. It was so large that you feared it may squish flat the diners who were eating their breakfast underneath it. You supposed it fit the theme—a clashing of delicate blue waves spraying mist into the air—and you could see that the hues came alive with the incorporation of dazzling glass bits cut into petite tiles. Beside the painting was a plaque, looking comedically small.
You tipped your finger at the painting. “That’s gorgeous.”
Vernon finishing chewing at another orange slice from your plate and discarded his rind. He didn’t bother turning around. You figured he had already seen the painting before.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, licking his thumb.
“I wish I could create stuff like that.”
He shrugged. “You can.”
“Well, you have to be inspired. And have some skill.”
As he sipped from his water, he scoffed. “Right. It's just practice.”
You suddenly remembered that his mother was an artist. From what he had told you, their relationship was virtually non-existent, and you shrunk slightly into your cushioned chair for the unintended negligence.
Since you ran into Diana outside Mr. York’s that one evening, and saw how much healthier she looked, how much freer she acted, you wondered if she had reconsidered applying for Catherine Love’s assistant position. Tara was still practicing her interview skills, but you told her to be wary that she didn’t sound too rehearsed. You remembered Diana saying that you could apply for the position despite your gaping inexperience. Back then, there was nothing you could do but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it, knowing you were being undermining to your own skill, but, now, you couldn’t deny that were was something about the job that enticed you.
Maybe it was the idea that you could live a life similar to this.
Or maybe it was to prove your past-self wrong.
Breakfast was served to you off a rolling silver tray that the hostess aligned beside the table. You decided to pick Vernon’s recommendation, two stacked Belgian waffles with creamy coffee gelato and fresh berries scooped on top, while he chose a toasted sandwich that oozed with saucy egg yolks, yellow like mangoes.
Everything that touched your tongue was perfection.
“Are you even chewin’ it? Damn.” Vernon laughed.
There was a mangled piece of waffle stuck in your mouth. It took you quite long to swallow. After gulping down some water and cleaning a smear of gelato off your cheek, you finally had the breath to speak.
“Yes.”
He smiled. “I like a girl who eats ravenously.”
“I can’t tell if I should feel offended by that or not.”
“It’s a compliment.”
And you smiled, too. The fact he could sit across from you ripping apart your waffles like a junkyard animal and forking out slices of citrus from your fancy water and having melted gelato sticky on your chin while finding the room to compliment you was a miraculous, freeing feeling. You didn’t need to cosplay anyone but yourself. And you had been morbidly hungry.
But you did slow down, enough to converse. “So,” you cleared your throat, running a strawberry through some syrup, “are you done with your… you know… stuff? Do you still need to get more… stuff?”
He licked his teeth. “Money?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Trust me, that’s not a taboo word here, PJ’s.”
“I just mean what it’s associated with.”
Vernon folded his arms and leaned back. “One more thing.”
“Really?” There was a spike of vigour in your tone.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Is it a lot of money?”
“In a way,” he sighed rather desultorily, tongue swirling against his cheek, eyes adrift and chasing seagulls that flocked through the open air in white tufts. His energy seemed different.
When it came to Diana and Minghao, he was pouring with resilience. He was his own gasoline and match. But sitting across from him, you could feel a cleft, like soaring along on a bicycle and suddenly the wheel got trapped. Helping Vernon in the past was a mixed bag for you. It was always fun treading where you shouldn’t, but having the consequence flash a knife from its pocket wasn’t as endearing.
Nonetheless, you wanted things to go well on his behalf.
“Should I be worrying?” You queried, making sure to adorn your lips with a soft smile so he knew not to take the question too literally.
He stared back. “Guess not.”
“That wasn’t convincing at all.”
“You don’t need to worry more than you already do.”
Slipping the strawberry off the fork with your teeth, you began to nod and bite into its sweet juiciness. “Okay. I can work with that.” But you wanted to know more. However, this wasn’t the place to discuss it.
What kind of cleft had Vernon stumbled into?
Before ending breakfast, you and Vernon shared a dessert, which was a plate containing small, puffed buns with delicious cream and fresh jam spread in between. Vernon stuffed an entire one in his mouth, and nearly coughed it back out into his napkin, which made you snort and giggle. Then you tried doing the same, and ended up spitting some jam onto his face.
“Fuckin’ dweeb,” he cursed as you reached over the table to wipe it away with a polite thumb, your mouth still full, as you choked out inaudible apologies. But his smile was lazy with ease and fondness.
The hostess returned, again wearing her polished, tight expression, not a single thread to her uniform or brushed hair out of place.
Vernon picked up your hand as he helped you out from the chair, and then grinned at the hostess.
“You can put that on Miss Catarina’s tab.”
4 MONTHS AGO.
When Soonyoung told you he was planning on leaving Common Cents, you nearly lost your hearing, and the disorientation had you stumbling around until you gripped the supplement shelf for balance. You wanted it to be a joke. Soonyoung made many jokes, and none of had ever been funny, and that would take the cake as his unfunniest by far. But his expression was betrayingly flat, like a paper sheet glued and hardened over his face, and you deflated. You forgot Soonyoung had a degree. It was seldom mentioned because he enjoyed talking about his social life too much.
“I’m going to work with several cat species at a rehabilitation clinic. I start at the end of July. I’m gonna get some friends to help me pack. And I’ll probably throw a shindig at my place for one last hoorah. Feel free to come. Just don’t get too cramped.”
And you smiled at him like your lips were made of thin strings. He couldn’t leave. What were you supposed to do five mornings out of your week without him there to boss you around and engage you in shiny gossip and overexplain his bizarre sexual encounters with older men? You always made him deal with the nitpicky regulars. You often subjected him to your personal qualms because there was a time when he felt like the only person who couldn’t possibly judge you. Who would have the audacity to replace his coarse bleached hair and oversized shorts and splashy backward caps and his terrible, terrible hearing? Such thoughts hung over you in a palling manner—they chased you around the store like cackling witches—and suddenly you realized that Soonyoung had become important to you.
On your break, you wanted to text Vernon.
You sat out back on an upturned bucket and used a TV-dinner table that Soonyoung dragged over from across the street to place your food on. Tikka Masala—still steaming—so you let it rest. The thing was, Vernon hadn’t been very present lately. He sometimes went hours without responding to your messages, and his appearances at the apartment began dwindling. When you were together, he didn’t act all that different. Maybe there was a soft wind of distraction in his eyes that carried him away every now and then, but once he looked at you, he refocused. You pondered asking. You wanted there to be no more secrets. But part of you was very anxious to peel him back too many times and confront something that was better off staying unbeknownst. It drove you to restlessness.
After your break was over, you replaced Soonyoung at the cash register so he could take his lunch—an energy drink in an eclectically designed can and a packet of salted peanuts—where you continued contemplating whether or not to text Vernon. Your previous messages were about glow-in-the-dark mini-putting, though he ended up cancelling the night before, citing some trouble a spoiled college student was giving him.
The worry nettled you all over.
Was he lying? Was it worse to know or not know?
“Hey! PJ!”
You shoved your phone away. For half a second, you wanted to believe the person chiming out your nickname so smoothly was him.
But it was Moo.
“Oh, hey,” you answered, smiling awkwardly, not sure what he was doing at a convenience store so far from where he lived. “How are you?”
He sauntered up to the counter in his usual swagger, a frame of loose shoulders and casual glances to every corner, like he was trying to spot someone he knew without making it obvious. No more was his fluffed afro. Instead, his hair was tucked into tight, neat cornrows that flowed down to the back of his neck. He wore a blue and white windbreaker with some flashy red patches. He picked up ginger-flavoured mints in a compact tin, sniffed. “Just hanging.”
And you nodded back. “Cool.”
Moo put the mints down. “Didn’t know you worked here.”
You almost laughed.
There was basically nothing he knew about you—not even your real name—just that you were close to Vernon. But he said it so effortlessly, in a way that made it seem like you were more than acquaintances and that was just a simple grey area. “Over a year.”
“That’s awesome,” he sniffled, sounding genuine. “Yeah, thought I’d come in and get a drink or something. Never been in here before.”
“Well, drinks are in the back.”
His nails started tapping a rhythm against the plastic cover for the lottery tickets, a beat that existed for only a transient moment, before he glanced at you with his wandering eyes and asked, “Ruby—how’s she doing?”
You wondered if that was his intention from the start. “She’s been doing well. She got back from a corporate trip, twoish weeks ago?”
Moo nodded. “I still feel bad about you guys leaving early. At the party-thing I threw. Uh, sorry, and shit.” Your head tilted in astonishment. “I feel like I didn’t get the chance to really know you guys. Maybe you can come over another time. I’ll get the barbeque out this summer. Sound fun?”
“Uh,” you swallowed, contemplating. “Sure.”
“It won’t be a huge thing. Vernon said you don’t like crowds.”
At his name being mentioned, your chest tensed.
“You guys are dating? Is that it?” He continued, scratching his scalp. “I haven’t seen him much lately. It’s crazy. I never thought I’d see the day that Vernon gets a girlfriend… before me! Actually, I did have a girlfriend last fall, but it was rough. She stole from me, and—”
“How’s he doing?”
“Vern?”
Your fingers furled up, and you nodded. “Yeah.”
Moo sighed, long and large, let his elbows tumble down onto the counter as though he were at his favourite bar after a hard day’s work. “Busy with some shit, I guess. Snozz talked to him a few days ago.” His brown eyes perused over the lottery tickets. “Is something wrong between you guys?”
“No,” you were quick to clarify. “But he’s been a little distant.”
“Yeah, he gets like that,” Moo huffed, tapping his fingers again, this time a different rhythm reminiscent of a song you heard before. “Just kinda goes off the grid for a bit. Usually when he has to catch a big fish.”
“What’s that mean? A big fish?”
“Like, if he has to close a big deal, or handle some bullshit.”
“Oh…” you murmured, letting your curiosity dampen and drift, and then a cloudy weight sinking into your chest, like soaked cotton. And you wondered how much Moo knew of Vernon’s business. He seemed rather guileless, talking to you without restraint, as though you were now part of their shadowy world and therefore had access to whatever files you wanted. But was it wrong to meddle simply because you cared? Would it benefit you to know? Sucking your teeth, you sighed, “a big fish indeed.”
“Shit’s not all sugarplums and fucking fairies, right?”
“Uh… yeah. True.”
“Well, I’m gonna grab my drink.”
You watched him continue his lazy, practiced saunter, arms swaying jauntily. He stopped by some candy, picked up a yellow chocolate bar, and flashed it to you. “Charleston Chews! These are old school!”
There were glimmers of Vernon in him.
It was unalloyed torment.
Moo returned to the counter with a soda bottle. As you rang up his drink, he pulled out a bill from his wallet, and you returned the change. He cracked the bottle open right there at the counter, took a sip that sounded like bubbles popping in his throat, and swallowed densely. “I love me some orange cream.”
“Hey, is it okay if I ask you something?”
He shrugged. “Just treat me like your search engine.”
“Uh—” you laughed nervously, “—do you know what Vernon’s been up to? I’m just a little anxious. He’s been slow texting back.”
“Well, I don’t know all the deets. He’s been trying to set up a meeting or something. With this guy. We don’t like saying his name,” Moo laughed, taking another swig from his bottle. “Like Voldemort!” When your face remained stiff and hollowed in with unnerved tension, Moo coughed against his fist and continued. “Uh, but his name’s Jeonghan. Sometimes we call him El Timador for code. Our friend coined it. Means trickster or tricky or some shit. Anyway, he’s this huge kingpin that’s been fucking over some of our territories for a while now. Vernon has issues with it.”
You forced a cheap, bent smile. “Oh, cool. Thanks.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t worry,” Moo soothed. “Vern’s clever. And he’ll get back to his normal self once it’s off his plate. Does that help?”
“Yeah.” No. It didn’t help at all. It was like pushing salt deep into cuts you didn’t know existed, and now each one was tingling hot in pain.
Moo nodded, satisfied. Then, he proceeded to lean forward, squinting at something on your bright red uniform shirt. “Hmm… so, that’s your name,” he said in an assured tone, taking another bubbly sip from his soda. You realized he had discovered your nameplate.
“Okay, I should go.”
Moo left.
And he took every thread of your composure with him.
Vernon was staying the night at your apartment. When he first arrived, you tended to him almost suffocatingly, a hand ruffling through his black locks to feel for bumps on his scalp, then your fingers squeezing his chin, turning his head from side to side to look for scratches, and having him splay open his palms for your fastidious inspection. He swerved away from you, seeming tightened like a jar, as he joined Ruby in the kitchen.
Later on, you all watched a comedy film in the living room.
You weren’t the biggest fan of comedies. But you were wary to begin the action-thriller that Ruby suggested in case it impeded too heavily on Vernon, though you hadn’t said anything because he was acting touchier than usual. He sat next to you on the sofa. Your arms curled around his elbow. Even though his skin felt warm, there was a coldness emanating from the boy’s bones, his movements few and far between, creaking metal.
When your head laid against his shoulder, he sighed a cumbersome sort of sigh that summoned a hard lump upon your throat, and rather than smelling his characteristic amber, you smelled the bitterness of stress, cigarettes and stale coffee. He excused himself halfway into the film to smoke. Ruby stayed inside with you.
Despite your implacable burn to ask her if she was sensing his distance, you remained silent, because you already knew you wouldn’t like her answer. When he returned from outdoors, he didn’t even ask what he had missed—just collapsed back down in his seat, arms stretched out behind the couch, but never reaching around your shoulders to pull you closer like usual. At that point, your eyes began to sting, and a sharp, demanding fire crackled in your mouth. But you swallowed it down until the movie ended.
Ruby wished you goodnight. She slipped into her bedroom.
Vernon said he needed to make a call and disappeared again, the wind of his iciness drawing chills. You waddled into your bedroom moodily, sat back against your headboard, and hugged a stuffed toy into your chest, hating how timid and afraid you felt to question him.
He came into your room about twenty minutes later, the door clicking shut softly, as you laid on your side away from him so you could stare out the window, at the glitters of small bugs around a street lamp.
The mattress dipped, and his hand was on your hip. “I’m sorry.”
You couldn’t say anything since your throat was too tight. Even if you wanted to speak, each word would splinter like an axe coming down on a dry log of wood. You would start to cry.
He sighed. This time, it lacked encumbrance. His hand drifted to your shoulder, so heightened and pointy, a mountain. And then he kissed your temple with such tenderness, the sour of his smoking now stitched into his clothes, but you breathed it in deeply anyway. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, massaging your shoulder. “I missed you.”
“Clearly, you haven’t,” you managed to pronounce waspily, the rumble of emotional thunder toiling in your chest. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he murmured. His forehead pressed into your hair.
For a moment, you bit your lip, and while you felt fearful, you pushed its burring aside. “I don’t appreciate being treated that way.”
“It was my mistake.”
“Yes,” you said, peering over your shoulder to glare at him, ensuring he felt the scorch that was solar in your narrow eyes, “it was.”
He was grinning at you. Laid comfortably on his side. Hand supporting his head. A malleable depth created liquidness in his golden eyes, and so they glimmered, and the twisted vestiges of bitterness digging inside your throat unwound. He leaned forward, proceeded to cup your cheek, and a kiss was sweetly moulded to your lips with expert care. “I missed you, baby.”
You sniffled, gulped. “I hate how many times I’ve cried over you.”
“Wanna cry in a different way?” He purred, squeezing your hip, letting his teeth graze along the cusp of your tingling ear.
Quickly, before you could feel lust surround you with its tendrils, you shoved his hand away. “No. Never.” And turned back on your side.
He chuckled. “Never?!”
You nodded. “Never.”
“I’m gonna kill myself.”
“Bye.”
He chuckled again, taking pleasure in your dryness, how you refused to fold, keep him on the outside like a pacing dog. Vernon then slipped further down the pillow, adjusting himself tightly behind you, one arm sneaking underneath your waist while the other caged overtop in a sling. He squeezed you, nuzzled at your hair. “And for how long will you be mad?”
Sighing, you slotted your fingers through his. “Are you stressed because of the money thing? How do you normally deal with stress?”
He shrugged. “Drugs and sex.”
“You know that’s not healthy.”
“Thank you, Harvard medical graduate.”
Your elbow jutted back, finding the sinewy flesh of his ribs. “Shut up. I’m asking because… well… I think it would be better if we talked things out more, you know? Even just a little bit…” Glancing down at a thick, silver band on his finger, you began playing with it, twisting the ring around while you mumbled, “it hurts when I feel like your stress is targeting me. And right now, I can’t give you sex, and I definitely can’t give you drugs.”
Vernon breathed in the scent of your hair. “I know, PJ’s.”
“So… is everything alright?”
“Not entirely. M’tired. It’s just hard to get a hold of this guy. He’s slippery, and all his people are slippery. It feels like chasin’ an eel.”
“The guy you need money from?”
He paused. “Yeah.”
“Need any help?”
His entire body jerked with laughter. “Uh, no. This really isn’t somethin’ you should be gettin’ involved with, PJ’s. I’ll figure it out, alright? I want you away from this stuff. I don't want you thinkin' it's a playground and shit. You've done enough.”
You stroked along his arm, running over years of intricate ink, and took in a deep breath that rolled through you from top to bottom while recalling your conversation with Moo. Vernon didn’t know that you spoke to him. He didn’t know that you knew the mystery’s name.
Jeonghan. The kingpin. El Timador.
Angling around, you slipped an arm behind Vernon’s head and moved your fingers fluidly through his velvet hair. You pushed into his forehead and softly moved your lips against his, feeling him immediately perk in response, the pressure around your waist tightening. The tartness of a smoked blunt had never smelled so desirable on somehow, and his slick tongue was impressively gentle, always eager to taste you. His hand squeezed up your flaming body, his fingers coming to curl at the beating base of your throat, and if you weren’t still clamped onto that angry red kite, you might have let him submerge into you, drink you from the inside out.
But you didn’t.
“Why don’t you rest a bit?” You murmured, licking off his sheening spit that smeared your lip like a constellation. “Would that hurt?”
He stared at you with a wild, cosmic infatuation. “No.”
This isn’t really somethin’ that you should be gettin’ involved with.
You wanted to listen.
But you could not. Would not.
It seemed that all you had done your entire life was listening. The words of others had continuously filled you like droplets from a bamboo spout, and you had lugged around the sloshing weight sensing it was there but not wanting to believe it. Consequently, you were pruned on the inside, wrinkled and sodden, from never letting the water drain, and now you needed to dry yourself out under a lovely, dappled heat. Unfortunately, that meant you must meddle.
Even if Vernon did not want it.
He didn’t need to know. At least not for now.
Tara was brushing out her long, pearlescent strands of syrupy hair at her locker when you asked if she was willing to help you with a strange favour. She kept brushing her hair, eyebrows raised, as she waited for you to elaborate. When you told her you wanted to a drive to the Kichesippi scarp yard, the baby pink hairbrush that she had likely preserved since girlhood days in Farringdon nearly flew out of her hand. You understood it was an odd request, and you couldn’t be too generous detail-wise, and for a long moment, she gathered her things quietly, face contorted with the heft of an internal dialogue.
But then she agreed.
“You’ve helped me a lot with my interviewing… I guess I can.”
To which you almost leapt on her in relief.
She drove you to the scrap yard that weekend.
You shot past the abandoned hanger that you and Vernon had waited at, when you were twisted up inside with emotions, a canon ready to sizzle and pop. The fields were greener, with a refreshed shimmer, and the forest was much denser, almost overflowing in regrowth, compared to your last visit.
“There’s the gate,” Tara said. “What should I do?”
“Stay here,” you told her. “I’ll be back soon. I think.”
Her fingers flexed around the steering wheel, and she peered at the tall fence with her slim brows worried. “How are you going to get in?”
Upon thrusting open the car door, you shrugged. “I’ll climb it.”
You could only imagine Tara’s expression as she watched you approach the fence, your fingers curling at the metal, the tips of your shoes wedging into every little space, until you reached the top. It wasn’t easy. You were still breathless coming down the other side. But you wanted this to be quick, and so you did it the only way you knew how. Marching past the distributed piles of abandoned rubbish, you approached one trailer in particular, caught in the shadows cast by monstrously sized conifers. Without letting yourself think too much, you knocked on the door, which rattled loosely as though it could be pushed open with a limp shove.
About a minute passed. Maybe no one was there.
You noticed a curtain fall back in place. The door suddenly opened.
It was not surprise that controlled Minghao’s face. Rather, an absence of anything. His countenance was flat, dull. Uninterested. And you would have felt offended if not for the fear fumigating your other emotions.
“What do you want?” He said, his tone a deft line.
Your lips were dry, and you could not stop pulling at the skin with your teeth. Licking them off, you smiled, very weak. “Can I come in?”
“No,” Minghao answered immediately, like a slap. “Leave.”
He attempted to close his flimsy door, but you stepped forward, stopping him. “Please, just for a few minutes. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Finally, a split in his paper expression. A brittleness. “You are only trouble,” Minghao said. “You and your boyfriend.” He tried the door again.
You stopped him. Again. “Vernon—I-I know he stole from you, or he was stealing back what you stole—I know there’s some bad blood. The bottom line is I need to speak to someone. And I think you might be able to help me. Please. I’ll never bother you again. Cross my heart.”
“Girl, you need to leave,” he hissed, pushing back on the door.
“I need to speak to Jeonghan.”
And Minghao slightened. His colour became that of bleached bones. You felt the door give away, and it swung open silently until it banged the wall. An aroma of fragrant herbs touched your nose. Earthy sage, burned. A fresh and lemony tinge. Minghao muttered something under his breath in an unfamiliar language while pressing his fingertips against his nose. There were red prints left behind as he made a soft rumbling noise in his throat. “Okay.”
“I can come in?” You squeaked.
“Come in. Quick.”
And so you fluttered inside Minghao’s trailer like a curious, timid butterfly, still on edge, still skittish, but enjoying the relief. All his curtains were dark orange, drawn tightly shut, turning the dust in the air to a desert sand. His walls were covered with canvas’s, each smeared in unique patterns of paint where colours messily clashed and faces were hidden between thick strokes, though they might stop looking like faces if you stared too hard. He had a metal bowl sitting on his small dining table, a charred powder at its bottom, with twirling smoke ablaze. You breathed in the herbs and lemon.
He pulled out a chair from underneath the table, used his foot to kick out the chair oblique to his, the one you settled into, uncomfortably.
You flashed him another nervous, teethless smile. “It’s nice in here,” despite knowing he had very little interest for your prevaricating.
Minghao folded his long, lithe arms. There was a hooded narrowness weighing down his eyelids as he observed you like some sort of bad curse staining his abode with your energy.
“Why speak to Jeonghan?”
“Um…” you exhaled, swallowing. “I just need to, I guess.”
“Are you turning on Hansol? You need him dead?”
Your foot kicked the table leg especially hard in hysterics and the metal bowl quivered, the cinder smoke wobbling in the dusk. “No!” You spluttered. “No, no, no. Gosh no. Nothing like that. It’s hard to explain. But it… it has nothing to do with you.” Unfurling your tense fingers, you inhaled the flavourful odours. “I’m not turning on anybody. I just need to talk to him.”
Minghao leaned closer, the orange glow of the cloth curtains shining like ribboned fire in his cherry hair, while the moons beneath his eyes darkened. “You do not talk to El Timador unless you want to make a deal, or someone to die.”
Paste dried on your tongue. A horrible, chalky paste that you wanted to scrape off because it felt so thick. Minghao allowed the intensity of the moment to hover, to seep, before he leaned back, his chair creaking.
You rolled out your shoulders. “Then… I guess it’s a deal.” Looking to him and his stone-face, you continued. “Where can I find him?”
His brow raised and his round bottom lip pursed, perhaps a flash of impressiveness that you were not shaken off like a flea from a dog’s coat. “Do you know what you’re doing?” He said. “El Timador plays no-fun games.”
No-fun games.
Something about that stuck to you, webbed under your skin. “I don’t know,” you admitted, clammy hands rubbing together beneath the table, smooth and warm. “But I have to. I don’t know how else to explain.”
Minghao was quiet, his attention moved to the curdles of smoke rising from the metal bowl and its charred ingredients. You were urged to keep speaking and pleading your case, but you knew better than to bulldoze the moment. The silence kept lasting. It was astonishing that Minghao could sit so still, like he had taken out his heart, his insides, and was nothing but a husk of flesh stuffed with grain. A doll. But then he shifted, reaching behind him to a kitchen countertop, where he placed a metal lid over the bowl.
He sighed. “You know Paulo?”
That name again. You nodded. “No, but yes. Not personally.”
“Everything scattered when he died. Everything. I was scared. I sold off product that was not mine. I thought moving back to China will fix the mess. I always argue with Hansol back then. The way he talks and does things. I don’t like it.” Minghao bit his lip, and it lost some colour. “But he is good. He brings me into a safe place, back then. He helps me adjust. He warns me to stay away from El Timador when they approach me and ask me to work for them. Hansol said that to me: you do not talk to El Timador unless you want to make a deal, or someone to die. But in his stupid way I cannot understand very well. Now, I am under El Timador’s thumb because I try to harm you. I just wanted the money. But now I cannot care.” His eyes flickered up, unexpectedly glossy. “You see why you are trouble?”
In that moment, you became frozen, just like he was. To hear the slight rasp develop in Minghao’s tone, notice the shine splotchy in his eyes. His mistakes unravelling at his feet like dropped, unorganized film, because he was scared, and confused.
You softened up. You weren’t fearful anymore.
And you smiled. “I’m glad I came to speak with you. I promise, I won’t be the reason Jeonghan plays games. You shouldn’t worry.”
Minghao shook his head. “Naïve,” he mispronounced.
Perhaps true. You accepted it. “Where can I find him?”
Another beat of silence passed by. Minghao’s final moment to ponder, and you saw his chest rise and fall deeply. He reached behind him again, grabbing a pen and a magazine. With the pen in his teeth, he tore off a strip from the magazine's corner and proceeded to write something. “Here—I cannot say this word to save my life.”
You accepted the torn corner. “Prerogative. What's that?”
“A club. Once a month, he has business meeting in the basement.”
“Do you know when?”
“Try end of the month.”
“Okay. Thanks.” You nodded satisfactorily.
Tara had sent you a text, asking if you were alright. You messaged her you would be back shortly and took the torn paper in your pocket.
As Minghao walked you to the door, you stopped, turning around to examine him. “I really like your octopus graffiti.”
His face creased, marginally; the edges of a shy smile. “Me too.”
It was amusing to behold Vernon out of his element, and adorable that he was trying so hard. You sat across the table from him. Rather than letting his canvas sit on the easel like most refined people in the studio, he was gripping it at an odd, stabbing angle to his chest, clasping the paintbrush like it hurt, while he focused hard enough on his work to make heat come from his eyes. You were so enraptured in watching him that your small canvas was noticeably bare, mottled with few dabs of vibrant colour.
Ruby introduced you to the studio not long ago. They hosted weekly paint nights for adults. There were various wines, complicated Hors d’Oeuvres organized on lazy Susans, mellow music threaded with daintily-pressed piano keys, and an entire wall dedicated to acrylic paint swatches in the form of dried, ceramic tiles.
You didn’t care for wine, and neither did Vernon.
But he got up from his seat only ten minutes in to slosh himself a glass that had a woman with curled hair, a purple beret, and flashy spectacles pompously side-eyeing him. You urged him that this wasn’t supposed to be stressful. That it didn’t matter if his art looked messy.
He grumbled, “it’s for you, PJ’s. It has to look perfect.”
And that had made you swell up with joy like a helium balloon.
Since he was putting in the effort to paint you something, you wanted to return the favour, and so you settled on a photo of his Camry that he sent you a while back upon buffing out some of its rusted age. Your phone was rested against a container filled with different sized brushes.
“How’s it coming along?” You asked.
Vernon was quiet—quieter than he ever had been—while the tip to his very thin brush stroked so timidly on the surface of the canvas. You had given him a tiny elastic from your bag when he kept complaining about the hair sloping down over his eyes. Now he had a black, sooty tree sprouting from the crown of his head. All the modest aprons were taken. He was wearing an apron that was bubblegum pink, stitched with daisies and honeybees. You took a picture with your phone when he was busy choosing his canvas size, giggling at how paradoxical it looked.
“Can’t… talk…” he mumbled. “Focusin’… hard…”
“If only you could see yourself.”
As you began shaking a bottle to mix the paint inside, Vernon suddenly slammed his detailing brush onto the table. “Fuck!” He shouted, collapsing back into his seat. “I fucked up the fuckin’—ah—fuck it.”
You pressed your lips together, trying to disappear behind your canvas while squirting out the sky-blue paint onto your palette. The thing with Vernon was that his gutturalness never really turned off. Sometimes you loved it. Sometimes it was complicated. He could be in the most high-class restaurant, eating with kings, and he would still not forfeit his untrimmed spirit.
The lady sitting at the table beside yours—the same lady who watched him pour his wine like it was a beer keg—reached over to tap him on the shoulder, and you could only suck in your teeth.
“Excuse me? Could you please refrain from that sort of language? This is a public space. It's shared. It’s important to be polite.”
“Lady, I’m in the middle of some serious shit, alright? Fuck.” He dismissed her slim fingers and long, coffin nails off his shoulder, sighing aloud while squinting at his canvas. “Guess it’s not that fucked up.”
She proceeded to throw you a very specific look, almost sympathetic, mournful, as if to express her condolences that you were perhaps trapped with this profanity-mouthed man and his concerningly full wine glass. But you didn’t return the look in any capacity.
You were happy.
“If you get kicked out of Wine and Paint, I’m never taking you anywhere, ever,” you warned him, smiling, from over your canvas.
Vernon grabbed onto his glass and sipped at the red wine, to which his face instantly puckered and he shook out his head. “Tastes like batteries.”
“You shouldn’t have poured so much.”
“Help me finish it.”
Swirling your brush around in the blue paint, you cackled. “Nope!”
He groaned, setting his canvas back on the wood easel. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t make me tell the art teacher.”
Vernon got up, stretched out his arms and their silky gilded tattoos, the tight, youthful pink apron squeezing around his waist. “Can we get ice cream after this? Otherwise I’m gonna need a line off your tits.”
“Okay! Shut your mouth, first of all,” you gritted. “Second of all, behave. Or else.”
He narrowed his gaze at you. “N’ that means what?”
You eyed the lady at the table beside you and smirked.
Vernon swatted his hand at you dismissively, then pressed into his lower back. “Whatever. I’m goin’ to the washroom.” He started walking away, but turned around. “N’ don’t peek at my canvas while I’m gone!”
Without him being so distractingly cute, you managed to make some actual progress on your painting, filling the white space with an eggshell blue sky, stippling in fluffy grass, attempting to create the street even though it looked very amateurish. But you did like to paint when you were younger. Without the strict regulations of a teacher. As your brush swirled a liquidy yellow sun into the cloth, you thought of Diana and how much she would enjoy doing something like this.
From the corner of your eye, you noticed someone approaching the table, and you assumed it was Vernon returning from the washroom.
Upon picking up some creamy paint on your detailing brush, you glanced up and smiled, expecting to see the tree of hair on his head and his pink apron.
But it was not your Vernon.
It was Lee.
And a thousand feelings collapsed, bones snapping like tightwires, as your emotionally intact infrastructure suddenly smashed to the ground. Your chest and lungs became spongey. They absorbed and absorbed but they did not give back. You were gripping the paintbrush as though it were a weapon.
“Hey!” He chirped, a friendly sound. “I thought that was you.”
Now he knew it was you.
What the hell was Vernon doing in the washroom? You hoped to god he hadn’t smuggled in a blunt. The woman’s washroom had a window in the last stall, although you would need to stand on the toilet to reach and open it. Maybe it was the same for the men’s. Maybe Vernon would sense your distress, how it glimmered on your skin like an oil, smothered the air.
Lee cleared his throat. “I know this is probably a little weird…”
A little? You wanted to shriek. You had your filthy hands dipping and diving all over my body! You treated me as though I were some lifeless shell! But you did not say anything of the sort. “It is,” you sighed, and it was shaky. “Very weird.”
He didn’t look much different physically. Nonetheless, you sensed something. Your gut was suddenly inside your mind, and it granted you a sort of power to see through him, at his tangled intentions and the unattractive miasma festering within. Though his words were soft, slipping off his lips like fallen petals, his eyes were gritty and unclear.
Lee laughed. “Yeah! Trust me, I get it.”
You deadpanned, “is there something you want?”
And Lee’s smile hung a little crooked. “Well… we really haven’t seen each other in a while. I guess you blocked me. Ruby doesn’t answer my texts. So I wanted to know if we could… well… talk about it?”
“Here?”
“No,” he laughed again, swallowed tightly. “Not here.”
The paintbrush twitched in your fingers; the acrylic pressed into its bristles beginning to dry. “No thank you. I’m not interested.”
He scoffed. You wanted to slap him, hard enough to leave a sizzling, stinging imprint of your hand chaffing his cheek. “Not interested? Can you explain that to me, or something… because I feel like it would help us—”
“Help you. Not us. I know what happened. You should figure it out on your own.” Turning back to the canvas, you nearly touched the cloth.
Nearly.
“Well, no offense, but that’s kind of fucked up.”
Your mouth was about to drop open. But then you noticed Vernon, how he sidled up to Lee with his tongue prodding at his cheek, his eyes cool, settled, but with a craftiness underneath the copper. He proceeded to slip his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. It hung there loosely, but could fasten in an instant.
“Hey, look at you Suits. Been a while, yeah?”
Lee glanced at him. You weren’t sure how else to explain his expression apart from the kind of paleness you see of dead, stiff limbs. “Uh, Vernon. Hey…” he attempted to laugh, though it turned to fleeing breaths.
Vernon’s hand gripped his shoulder, shook it. “Thought I might go outside.” His eyes were bullet holes into Lee’s head, a smirk forming. “You wanna come? No wind in the back alley. Easier to light.”
Lee shook his head. You shouldn’t let Vernon subtly tease and threaten him. But you didn’t want to move or speak. “No—uh—that’s fine. I was just catching up. We haven’t seen each other in a while—”
“But you haven’t seen me in even longer. C’mon. Let’s step out.”
“I’m here with a friend. I should get back to our table.”
“Your friend, huh? They a lawyer, too?”
“Well,” Lee gulped. “He’s not. We’re still in school.”
“Shit. This will be good fuckin’ practice then. Let’s bring him outside with us.” Vernon jutted his finger into Lee’s chest, his eyes changing tone, flashing with streams of electricity. “And I’ll have him mock up my defense trial after I beat the fuck out of you, you spineless cunt.”
“Vernon, enough.” You stood up. “I’ll talk to Lee outside.”
Surprisingly, he listened, and sat back down. His index finger was tapping harshly on the table. There was no hiding what he was thinking as you pulled Lee outside the studio, into the evening’s gentle warmth.
Immediately, the boy shivered, and the colour gradually seeped back into his once blanched and hollow face. “Did I almost just die?”
You exhaled, enjoying the sensation of the calmer sun rays tingeing your skin, instilling you with a deep, pulsing strength. “Lee, I was being serious back there. I don’t want to talk to you about what happened. I have no interest in digging it back up. I have no interest in being the one to make you feel better about a shitty thing you did. The truth is, you need to sack up, alright? Because I know you’ll feel a lot lighter afterward.” He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave you was strange, a clouded look; a look you give to a stranger who said something you struggled to catch because it sounded like syllables chopped up in a blender. But you knew that he heard you.
He just wasn’t aligning such striking boldness to his memories of you. In a way, you were a stranger.
Lee kicked a stone at his feet. “Vernon is your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
Again, he said nothing. Only hung his head, rubbed off his nose, and walked back into the mellowness of the painting studio, making sure to avoid Vernon by taking a sharp turn. You let the sun energize you for another minute, and then said goodbye to its sweet tangerine rays.
When you approached Vernon, who had been diligently waiting for you, tense in his seat, you bent down and kissed his cheek. “Not your best, but still very good behaviour,” you whispered into his ear, plucking out the elastic tying up his hair in order to adoringly ruffle the strands between your fingers. “I think we can go get some ice cream.”
You sat on the hood of the car, running the plastic spoon through vanilla and chocolatey, rich syrup. It was your favourite flavour, a childhood comfort, and its taste had never changed. Vernon preferred his mint chocolate chip—a polarizing choice—one that suited him. Since neither of you got to complete your paintings, the studio offered to hold them until you could book another session. You were ineffably curious to know what had been giving Vernon so much trouble. Or perhaps it was merely his ineptness with a paintbrush and having to execute fine detail.
He was standing in front of you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” you mumbled around the spoon in your mouth. “I’m sure.”
His eyes studied you, carefully flitting. “He should die.”
A lump of ice cream was sucked into your windpipe and you started to cough into your elbow. “Vernon!” You spluttered. “Uncalled for!”
“I’m just sayin’, you know.” He shrugged, dragging his spoon around the flurry of pale green mint and small chocolate chunks. “I don’t like the idea of someone so slimy, who caused you so much pain, walkin’ around on the same Earth as you. He’s so fuckin’ privileged and he doesn’t even realize it.”
Sighing, you scraped some hot fudge onto your spoon, tried not to smile and condone his morbid perspective but smiled anyway. Vernon didn’t fit into the unspoken conformations of life the way others did, or forced themselves to, and as much as his roughness perplexed you, you would never ask him to change.
You couldn’t imagine him any other way.
“That was pretty funny,” you hummed, planting your shoes onto the car’s newly furbished chrome bumper. “Getting all scary with him when you had your hair in a palm tree and a little girl’s apron on.”
Vernon shrugged. “It’s my Power Puff fit.”
And you giggled, staring up at him through your lashes, turning him into a portrait against the pulpy clouds and daffodil sky. You let your ice cream sit on the car’s vanilla hood and hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, admiring the faint crests of pink dusting his cheeks, the robust amber smell on his clothes.
“I’m so thankful for you,” you told him.
Vernon took a scoop of chilly mint chocolate chip and shoved it in your mouth. You laughed, half-swallowing, half-choking, until he kissed you and everything splendidly melted into the late spring heat.
Ruby couldn’t believe that you wanted to go to a club. You mentioned it about a week in advance while you two were cooking in the kitchen—Ruby was browning up ground beef while you chopped ingredients for a fresh pico de gallo—and she immediately started laughing and snorting like a pig, bending over the stove top. For a moment, you let her enjoy the joke that was only a joke to her, and then blinked at her flatly. “I’m serious, I want to go to Prerogative,” you said. Ruby straightened up, her luminous hazel eyes widening as she pursed her lips. “How do you know about Prerogative?”
She went on to explain that it wasn’t a typical club. The atmosphere was stuffy, its patrons being the rich and shady, that it was rather difficult to get inside unless you knew someone who was a needle mover with moneybags. Those who weren’t accustomed to their snide, supercilious culture usually stuck out like sore thumbs, becoming raw roadkill circled by eerie vultures dressed in designer brands. Ruby had gone twice, though she said it was a long time ago, when she was still friends with a wealthy businesswoman’s daughter. But she no longer had the connection.
You had pushed your diced red bell pepper into a mound. “I think I know someone who might be able to get us inside,” and Ruby glanced from side to side, uncertain, desultory, like your roles had suddenly flipped.
“I mean, I’ll go with you. Just… why?”
“I can tell you afterward.”
“This reeks of Vernon.”
But you didn’t say anything, instead tossing the chopped vegetables into a bowl and squirting in some tangy juice from a lime wedge. In between slower periods at work, you asked Tara and Lara if they were interested in coming along, too. Tara squealed, “I haven’t been out in so long!” while Lara played with the tips of her soft hair, her nose wrinkling. “Isn’t that the place where all the fancy, pretentious rich people go? Purse Dog Lady will be there, I bet.”
She still agreed to come.
However, you desperately needed an outfit that wasn’t a loose, flappy t-shirt and weather-bleached jean shorts. That weekend, you and Ruby went to the one of the larger malls, slipping in between stores, your head aching from the obsessive use of fluorescent lights, your nose overwhelmed by the gaudy perfumes the sales staff wore, and your patience falling out from under you like suspended tiles. You would waddle out the changerooms, disgust ample in your face, as some tight-fitting fabric clung to your body akin to a moth silkily wrapped into an inescapable, sticky spiderweb. Ruby would excitedly clap whenever she adored an outfit, squinch up her nose when she wasn’t a fan, and give you a mild half-smile when the outfit was passable. You bought a few, to have options.
Except you didn’t really like any of them.
It was merely to play a part.
When the night finally came, you spent such a long time thinking in the shower about what an awful, terrible idea this was, that the water began running ice cold and you had to hop out with half your conditioner unwashed. Ruby helped with your makeup. She didn’t play any music like usual—when you were that anxious, you needed silence—anything else was irritating and grating and salt-to-wound on your nerves. Once she was finished, she took a tiny bottle and started misting your skin with a product that had a synthetic yet fragrant smell, enough to make you cough.
Then she let you see yourself in the washroom mirror.
“Holy shit,” were the first words from your rouge mouth, made slippery by a gloss. “I hardly recognize myself…” fingers drifted lightly at your skin, hidden underneath foundation, concealer, cream contour, blush, as though you were touching a costume mask that could be unwound and removed. “Are you sure these lashes won’t fall off? They feel a little heavy.”
Ruby shook her head. “Trust me—you could get dunked upside down into a pool and they wouldn’t fall off. This is, like, illegal lash glue.”
“How will I take them off?”
“Just peel! And then some makeup remover on a Q-tip.” She gave you a push out the door. “Put your dress on!”
Back in your room, you opened up your closet, removing the hanger that the spandex dress hung from—the colour of a dark, succulent cherry—and sighed. It wasn’t that you hated dresses. You loved them, just on other people. Like Ruby. Like Tara and Lara. Their bodies were the reasons people made dresses in the first place. You always thought your body was built for aged, wrinkly t-shirts and non-accentuating pants that made you look somewhat like a little boy. So putting on the dress was hard. You constantly plucked, pinched, and readjusted the material to make sure you could be reminiscent of them, Ruby and Tara and Lara, even though you never would be, not even in a faraway dream where reality blurred.
Ruby clapped ecstatically when you left your room. “I love it! I knew that was the one! How do you feel? Because you look so sexy.”
You shrugged, fingers rubbing together. “I feel fine.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t wear a lot of dresses, so it’ll feel strange.”
“I guess so.”
“Where are your kitten heels?”
You pointed to the closet space by the front door. While sinking down on the couch, unhelpful, you watched Ruby search for them.
“They aren’t even out of the box!” She exclaimed, scurrying over to you and sitting on the coffee table.
“I forgot.”
Ruby tossed aside the frilly layers of cream tissue paper. “So adorable, right?” the girl fawned, handing you one to examine.
Your fingers ran along its smooth, sleek texture, black and slim. It was unbeknownst to you how you were going to survive with these strapped to your feet all night. Your soles were made for dirty sneakers and tennis shoes. A flash of your reflection appeared in the kitten heel, distorted by ebbing, pale light, and when you could not find comfort in the lost expression that was supposed to be familiar to you, tears pushed, stung, burned your eyes. Ruby was setting the matte box aside when you squeaked out a high-pitched whine of frustration, and it felt like your throat cracked.
“What’s wrong?” She cooed.
Sniffling, your head wrung back and forth. “I’m so ugly, Ruby.”
And she gasped with such immediate sharpness that it nearly cut you. “No!” Ruby said, exasperated, tucking back her hair. “No, you’re not!”
“Even this makeup can’t hide it. I think it’s making it worse.”
For a moment, your roommate quieted. The living room rippled with the pained, insecure hymns of your crying. But then Ruby sighed, and she sat down on the rug, and laid her head on your lap. One arm wrapped around your legs and squeezed them.
You suckled in, confused, laughing, wiping carefully at your runny nose. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not ugly. You’re gorgeous. And I will keep you here all night by your legs until you agree. And give yourself some damn grace.”
She always smelled of jasmines. A subtle sweetness, and then a deep, powerful richness, like a garden leading down into a moonlit cave. There was something in the scent that grounded you, similar to Vernon’s amber musk, and your wet eyes closed to enjoy the weighted warmth of Ruby’s crimson hair spilling on your lap. After a minute, you stroked her head, smiled, noticed that you weren’t itching from the inside out as though you had swallowed a poisonous plant. “Thank you, Ruby,” you sighed.
Her eyes glinted; two green summer ponds drifting with yellowed gingko leaves. “Do you feel better?” She asked, patting your knee.
“I think so…” your fingers pinched at the spandex to massage the stretchy fabric. “Don’t take offense to this—you did such an amazing job and I think you might have sprayed twenty dollars on my face—but this makeup is kinda suffocating me. Would it matter if I took it off?”
“I think you feeling comfortable is top priority.”
“Okay,” you said with a relieved exhale. “I’ll remove it.”
About an hour later—after rubbing soaked cotton pads of witch hazel to your face—you and Ruby rendezvoused with Tara and Lara, who were already downtown, each dressed in a sultry black dress. Tara’s dress was very short compared to Lara’s, hers adorned with a halter design that hugged over her hips but flared gently at the legs. They had been waiting outside a pub. Lara was smoking a cigarette, which turned the air acrid and sharp.
“I’m so excited!” Tara rallied. “I’ve never been to this club.”
Lara’s arms were folded unenthusiastically, her shoulders slumped forward. “You are going to have rich nepotism children fighting the urge to spit on you because you don’t work a six-figure job,” she explained while taking a puff from her cigarette. “Proceed with caution, Tars.”
“It doesn’t matter!” Tara quipped back. She was practically wearing her sparkly optimism like a cloak. “We’ll stick together! It’ll be fun!”
You smiled, not letting the honesty of your bumpy seams show.
“Should we start heading over?” Ruby asked.
“I think so! Who knows how long the line is,” Tara pointed out.
Lara looked to you, her eyes low, tracing. She made sure to get one lasting, long inhalation of bitter smoke before chucking her cigarette onto the street, where it fizzled into orange, peeling paper like a fading firefly. “Fine,” Lara sighed.
Ruby and Tara took the lead, striding and chatting. You walked beside Lara. “I’m sorry if Tara forced you into this,” you murmured.
She hummed. “No need to be sorry. I know you’re scheming.”
And you choked a bit. “Scheming?”
“Nobody willingly goes to Prerogative.”
That made you snort. “Rich people.”
“When I say nobody, I mean us regulars. The Averages of the world.”
“Lara, you’re far from average.”
She glanced at you, quirking her groomed eyebrow, and the way her lips calmly reached into a smile was charming. “So are you, it seems.”
“Then I suppose we’ll fit right in.”
While waiting in Prerogative’s long line, you understood very quickly the specific archetype of people that belonged here. They almost didn’t seem human. Most were tall, thin, as though beneath the dapper suits and eccentric dresses, there were only ivory bones for the wind to whistle through. Their movements lacked fluidity. It reminded you of a flip-cartoon with frames removed, such that you would suddenly blink and find them contorted into another stiff, waxy facial expression, eyes like marbles; polished, shiny, but lifeless. Standing amongst them, you felt as though you were not alive in the same way they were. And they could smell it. The sticky city plumes on your skin, the cheap perfume tangled into your hair, how smoothly your face could move. Stares lingered. Empty yet deep.
Upon reaching the front of the line, you were met by a single bouncer whose chest was wide enough, sturdy enough, to land a jet. Tinted glasses were shifted down to the tip of his big nose. He didn’t speak. A machine. Waiting to hear a human’s call before it could activate.
“My ID,” you showed him.
He glanced at it, uninterested, saying nothing.
Stay calm, you reminded yourself. “We’re with the Polleznas.”
Thick, bulging arms folded overtop his chest. “Who?”
“Georgio and Catarina Pollezna, to be exact.”
The bouncer’s eyes skipped between you. He stood up straighter, and the entrance behind him swallowed. “Don’t look like it.”
“I was just there, at their beach house,” you explained. “We all went, actually. Have you ever been up Windermere Boulevard? There’s the blue house—big, like a colosseum—the seafoam green one, and the one with all those pretty grey bricks belongs to the Polleznas. Backyard pool. Gigantic yellow curly slide. Has the turrets and baskets of bright pink Hibiscus. Anyway, Catarina’s visiting Georgio in Italy right now. He’s been working on a new shoe design with his leather suppliers.” Pulling out your phone, you showed him a photograph, the same photograph of Kitty and her friends partying in Italy, which you downloaded from her social media. “This was us at Blanco Beach.” You don’t let him glean for too long. “And she has to board a flight tomorrow, to Florence. She tests the shoes!” You grabbed Ruby by the arm, lugged her forward. Her parents were from Italy, and she even knew how to speak the language, though it wasn’t perfect and tended to degrade the less she was around them.
Ruby smiled. “Sì signore. Come stai? Piacere di conoscerti?”
The bouncer was unmoving, until he pushed the tinted glasses further up his nose. In a husky voice, he gestured at Ruby. “ID?”
A few moments later, you were all let inside the black, glassy building, and you nearly stumbled over each other—hips bumping, arms smacking, heels wobbling—in a buzzing, livewire excitement. You rounded a long, curved hallway with matte silver walls and elegant streams of violet lights that flowed along the ceiling like galactic water. “I can’t fucking believe that actually worked!” Tara squealed. “I almost forgot how to speak,” Ruby giggled, nerves still breathy in her voice. “The lady behind me kept stepping on my heel and I almost tore her breast implants out,” Lara spat.
You were so relieved to be let inside the club that you nearly forgot the reason you were there. But it emerged, bobbing at the surface of your consciousness, and you felt the edges crafting your exhilarated smile dampen slightly. Different sized globs of people consumed the room, all stuck to each other like gum, refusing to mingle, as though brushing shoulders with someone outside their circle was essentially reinstituting the plague. The bar was quite large and easy to identify. Its counter was glowing white, something of a spaceship, and numerous bartenders swarmed behind it, handling bottles and glasses and shakers. The music was simply a deep, thrumming beat without lyrics, high energy, full of magnetic pulses.
“Who wants a drink?!” Tara offered.
Ruby agreed. “Let’s check it out.”
She held your hand as you grooved in between bodies. Though the atmosphere was dim and people’s faces were powdered in smoky shadows, that didn’t seem to stop the occasional preened onlooker, glancing you over from top to bottom, their eyes metallic in the seedy, sensual light.
You all squeezed against the bar’s glowing countertop, lined up like awkward ducklings while your elbows dug into each other.
Almost immediately, a pale man swooped in from what you assumed was a rift in the staunch air, his lips thin and pink, his eyebrows dark and thick, and his voice a low, errorless purr. “Who’s going first?”
“What’s your special?” Tara asked.
“Can I have three shots of tequila?” Lara muttered.
“I’d love a vodka cran!” Ruby chirped.
You said nothing. Instead, your head swivelled around the room, refusing to let any detail go unmissed. Two walls were bracketed by staircases that led to the balcony, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that’s where he was lurking. Above ground, tracing the murkiness, alert to everything and everyone. But it didn’t feel right. Too obvious.
Ruby nudged your side. “You want a VC?”
“What’s that?”
She laughed, “vodka cran!”
“Oh, uh, sure.” It was hard to care about which shitty alcoholic beverage you were going to be forced to sip for the rest of the night when you had much, much bigger concerns. The bartender slid you a glass filled with dark pink liquid, a black straw, and balls of ice. You took a shallow sip from the straw while tilting your phone against the fancy card reader, and bristled slightly upon tasting the expensive vodka’s lingering sterileness. “Let’s wander around,” you suggested, shrugging. “Maybe we can sit somewhere.”
“These people look like aliens,” Lara grunted.
“It’s called face fillers,” Ruby said. “And botox.”
“The bartender’s teeth were literal piano keys!” Tara exclaimed.
“Don’t you play piano, Tars?” Lara asked. “Why not practice a tune on his blinding teeth. Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy? Fur Elise?”
Tara’s face wrinkled. “I haven’t played in a year!”
“For how long did you practice?” Ruby questioned.
“I’ve been playing since I was eight. Started ballet at nine.”
“I knew the ballet part,” Ruby laughed. “That was one of the first stories I remember you explaining. You started doing pliés and relevés beside the hot plate! I thought you were going to get fired right then!”
“She likes to relive her glory days,” Lara muttered.
“Like you don’t!” Tara shot back, playfully slapping her friend’s arm. “When I came to your flat for the first time, the first thing I saw was a gigantic poster of yourself when you headlined The Nutcracker! And you keep your original ballet slippers in a glass display case!”
Their squabbling began to disintegrate, fall through your ears like sprinkling sand, and no longer were you listening to Lara and Tara argue whose pirouette was better while Ruby refereed their biased quipping. You saw another staircase, except it led downward, was secured by red rope, and had a bulky guard with an earpiece standing right in front of it.
You shrivelled.
How on earth were you supposed to slip past him?
Lacing your arm around Ruby’s elbow, you tugged her off to the side while Tara and Lara continued to hopelessly blather at each other. She pressed the straw of her drink between her lips, sipped, eyebrows lifted.
“I need to get down there,” you said, nodding toward the stairs.
Ruby swallowed, glanced at the guard. “Uh… there?”
“Yes.”
She sipped from her drink again, then stirred around the spherical ice cubes. “I think that might be for VIP’s, babe.” The ice clinked against the glass. Ruby suddenly furrowed her brow. “Do you know a VIP?”
You sighed, shoulders sagging. “No… but I need to meet one.”
“Who?”
“It’s… well… I can’t really tell you. Not yet. It all depends on if I can get downstairs or not. But how am I supposed to get past the guard?”
Ruby’s expression folded with skepticism. “This doesn’t feel like a good idea… this does have something to do with Vern, doesn’t it?”
In that moment, you wanted to snap at her. Ruby spent the entirety of her career getting wasted, making stupid choices, and wreaking havoc on the city with her substance-snorting friends. She had cooled down the rambunctious behaviour over a few months, put more focus into her job, and while you were immensely proud, now was not the time for her to tell you that something wasn’t a good idea. So you breathed, and breathed some more, and tried to wrestle down your feisty tongue that was ready to exhale your vodka into a blue flame. “It does,” you admitted. “Because I love him.”
She looked like someone had just popped a balloon in her face. Both her hands white-knuckled around the glass. “Wait… are you being serious?”
You smiled at her. “The seriousest.”
And Ruby squealed. She hugged you. “Have you told him?!”
“Uh, no…” you responded awkwardly, noticing a few dark blotches on your dress from the slightly spilled drink in your hand. “Not yet.”
“You gotta tell him!” She urged, passion alighting her like sparks.
“I will, I will.”
“I know he feels the same way,” Ruby remarked. “He’s never been like this about anyone. And… actually… I’m so freakin’ proud of both you guys. I see how you’ve impacted each other. This is, like, destiny.” She proceeded to sigh dreamily, nursing another savoury sip from her drink.
You started to smile at your roommate, but then you noticed something unraveling over her shoulder, and a weight smacked the pit of your stomach in one gigantic earthquake.
Ruby seemed to notice, too.
Lara, her lips peeled back in contempt, engaged with another woman who stood concerningly close. She looked older than Lara, with flat black hair trimmed to unnegotiable precision around her chin, short bangs, and a face that seemed as though it were carved from white wood. There was a taunting, antagonizing flicker in her eyes. You gathered Ruby and rushed toward Tara, who was standing off to the side, nibbling at her nails.
“What’s happening?” You queried.
Tara sighed; gaze pinned to her best friend, her vitriolic flare. “It’s that woman who was stepping on Lara’s heel when we were outside, waiting in line. She bumped into Lara and, of course, Lara wouldn’t let it go.”
Ruby frowned. “She’s not… a fighter… is she?”
The look on Tara’s face was deadpanned. “Gosh. I wish.”
Suddenly, there was an audible soundwave of gasps that emanated from the crowd the two women were garnering. Each stranger looked like an oilifed painting as they stood in shock. Strobing light cascaded around the room, occasionally glittering off bejewelled watches or rhinestone necklaces.
“What the hell happened?” Ruby dared to question; her jaw taunt.
“I think Lara just threw a drink on her!” Tara cried.
The next thing you saw was the glimmer of a pale, bony fist swinging toward Lara, and within seconds, the entire room swayed—a rocky platform riding a dastardly wave—and you had nothing to hold.
Everything moved in flashes. Tara started unhooking her earrings.
“Uh—what are you doing?” Ruby stuttered as Tara poured them into her hand. “Are you—shouldn’t we—what the fuck is going on?”
She tightened her ponytail. “Lara would do the same for me,” was all Tara said, gulping in a breath, the anxiousness in her eyes suffusing into something so stern it almost made you shiver. Both you and Ruby watched, mouths agape, as Tara started elbowing her way through the crocheted crowd, swinging, before she seemingly got sucked down into a whirlwind of fists and screams. You froze, feeling the warm strobe light pass over you.
But then Ruby bumped your side. “Go!” She whispered harshly.
“What? Go where?”
“The stairs!” She grabbed your chin and turned it toward the red rope, waiting for you to slip underneath, without the looming bouncer and his craggy scowl. “He’s trying to stop the fight! Go right now! I’ll hold your drink since I’m already holding fucking everything at this point.”
And so you didn’t think. You ran toward the stairs, budging in between a few strangers and their stick-like bodies. Lithely, you slid underneath the rope, and with your kitten heels quivering on every step you took, your sweaty hands lurched for the banister.
There was a long, disorientating corridor waiting for you. Tiny bulbs of blue light bordered the floor, leading down, down, down, without an end in sight. A sharp kink twisted inside your stomach, as though someone was turning a corkscrew, and you needed a moment to breathe like a mother on the verge of giving birth. But you couldn’t wait forever. The opportunity, while unplanned and terribly concerning, had fallen right at your feet and you could not afford to squander it. So you gulped in the thick vapour of your own fear and started progressing down the corridor, moving through the foggy orbs of blue light.
The further you walked, the less you heard the pulsing club beat, until nothing remained but a faint echo tickling your ear’s outer shell. You noticed the air became moister. Cooler. You walked until you reached a dark metal door perimetered by bolts, and you felt something like an explorer outside an ancient tomb filled with oracular secrets.
Behind that door… you almost wouldn’t allow yourself to imagine it.
You do not talk to El Timador unless you want to make a deal, or someone to die. At that point, you wanted to die from anxiousness.
“How sneaky of you.”
You whipped around, gasping up your entire soul.
A man was standing behind you. Not uncomfortably close, but closer than you’d like him to be. A beautiful man, with the dewy, pearlescent skin of a siren, and deep, rich brown eyes, almond-shaped, that seemed to swim with darkness you would not find above ground. His hair was lengthy, swooping elegantly above his shoulders in black rivulets. Interestingly, he smelled of sterile, pure nothingness—a complete lack of existence—like he was a void. In that moment, terror grabbed you with its cold, icy hand.
“Jeonghan,” you said.
And he said your name back to you.
Not a nickname. Not a mispronunciation. Not a mix-up.
You.
“I was—I thought—”
“Yes, I was on the balcony,” he said, and his smile was wicked.
El Timador plays no-fun games.
Your throat was paper-dry. All you could mumble was, “oh…”
“That fight. What a commotion. And—how very clever of you—to slip away so delicately. Like a loose fish. I almost didn’t catch you going underneath the rope.” He tilted his head. “Good thing I did.” And then he took a step forward, his movements eerily silent. Your head cocked at him, the sheer intensity of his closeness, how consuming he was. “Do you know what would have happened if you knocked on that door?” He asked you in a low, slithering whisper. He didn’t blink. His dark eyes bulged as though they were being pressed on.
“N-No…” you choked out, lips trembling.
Jeonghan pulled a hand down his face, though it paused to cover his mouth, and it stayed there for a slow, ticking, nauseating moment. But then he quickly removed his hand, sharply turned his sculpted face away, and stepped around you.
“Nothing,” he said. “There’s no one in there.”
You felt lightheaded.
He now had a key that he slid into the door’s lock.
Another shiver tingled down your spine.
The room he revealed was bare; not one person inside. Jeonghan waltzed straight in, but you hovered at the threshold, your eyes probing the space with snowballing apprehension. There were two white, glowing platforms elevated from the ground, each with a shiny pole, but no dancer to work the room. And then the booth against the wall, black leather, tight like snakeskin. Jeonghan slid himself into the booth until he was sat in the very middle, his hands clasped together, laid on the golden wood of the broad tabletop, as he smiled at you, waiting to see if you would enter.
He tilted his head. “I promise, there are no tripwires that trigger swinging axes or pits full of spikes. But you are welcome to stand there, if that makes you feel…” his wispy voice drifted off, “comfortable.”
And so you stepped inside. Paused. “Should I… close the door?”
“Well, are doors made to be open or closed?”
You stared at him, your heart pattering heavily. “It depends.”
Jeonghan nodded. “Yes, it does. Do you want us to have an easy, smooth conversation with the door closed? Or a conversation that is stilted and terribly lost because the only thing you can think about is how fast you will bolt to that open door if something goes South between us?”
So you closed the door, watched the blue, hazy lights fade outside in the hallway, knowing it was all a game of trust, or perhaps a gullible cage you had just locked yourself inside because this man had all the control. You approached Jeonghan, hands flattening over the thighs of your spandex dress, and proceeded to slide your way across the leather.
But he stopped you. “Stay right there.” You were not beside him, but at an angle. “If we sit beside each other, I cannot see your face. You know, I always make my men sit right where you’re sitting, instead of those who come to make deals. I can read my men’s face faster.”
The inside of your mouth was sticky. “Keep your friends close...” you sighed, only half-finishing the saying because your breath was falling fast.
“Yes,” Jeonghan agreed. “And your enemies closer. Literally!” He started chuckling, and it was such a sweet sound, childlike, nasally, the tinkling of windchimes. It reminded you of when Vernon laughed especially hard—all his prickled edges became bright clouds on a sunny day—and there was some warmth that found its way inside you, a beam of courage to hold your ground.
“I was told something,” you said.
Jeonghan nodded. “I’m sure you were.”
“That one only goes to you to make a deal, or for someone to die.”
He tossed an arm around the booth. “Ah—is that what the kids are saying these days?” His other hand dug into his pocket. Out came a slim, tiny cardboard box, which you assumed to be cigarettes. Instead, he pulled out a hard candy, popped it into his mouth. “Would you like one?”
“Uh… what are they?”
“Hong Yuan candies. Guava.” He let the green candy move from cheek to cheek. “My daughter quite likes these. I’ve grown fond, too.”
You could not help your face flickering in astonishment. “A daughter?” And then immediately regretted that you had let the absentminded question slip. There was no ring on his finger. Given the fact the room had two poles for dancing, you weren’t sure if he was in any sort of committed relationship, either.
Jeonghan grooved fingers through his hair, the colour of a raven’s feathers, and you watched how the strands fell calmly back into place. “Yes, she turns eight this year.” He stared at you, held out the very small box assorted with different flavours of candy. “Would you like one?”
“No, that’s alright.”
He shrugged, placing the box into a pocket on his suit jacket. “And what are you here for then?” Jeonghan murmured. “A deal?” He settled his clasped hands back onto the table. “Or for someone to die?”
“Um… a deal.”
“You should say it with conviction.”
“I’m here for a deal,” you repeated, forcing the sternness into your voice while you held the gravity-like power of his gaze. He let a palm fall open, and it was impressively soft-looking, akin to the surface of an untouched pillow. It was a simple gesture for you to continue. “I would like you to speak with Vernon. He wants to see you.”
“Okay. And?”
Your shoulders felt heavy. “And… that’s it.”
“Ah, see, that is not a deal,” Jeonghan was swift to correct, and he pocketed the fruity candy into his cheek. “When I make a deal, there is an exchange. Contraband for money, most likely. But you have not come to me with a deal. What you have, is a request. And I don’t do requests. Even to make someone disappear, I must receive something in return.”
“I just—I don’t know what I can give you.”
“Interesting.” His hands clapped his thighs. “Well, you should have thought of that before you dragged yourself to an insufferable, staunchly club where everyone believes you are the equivalent of a dirty plastic bag floating down an exhaust-soaked street.” He made a dilated pause. “Do you agree?”
Your throat was sewn shut. It ached and stung.
Jeonghan wouldn’t let his gaze falter for even a second. He stared you down, his dark, dark eyes a suckling abyss, and you were circling the swallow, helpless, spluttering, crying out for a hand to save you, pull you to dry land. His fingertip began tapping the tabletop, and you imaged a gothic piano before him, where he continued to press that one shrill, eerie key. The imagined sound crawled through your bones in a cold, spidery sensation, and when you glanced down at your lap, you realized just how tightly you had the succulent cherry spandex wrapped into your grip.
“Silence tells me everything you are not,” Jeonghan murmured.
“Did you kill Dots?”
He sat back. His eyebrows twitched. “Pardon?”
“Paulo. Vernon’s friend. He was all their friends.”
“Whose friends?”
You swallowed. “Moo, Snozz. Others, I assume.”
Something spilt into Jeonghan’s eyes, like a bumped-over inkwell, and when he spoke, his voice was grittier, the texture of rubbing sand between your fingertips. “You mean August and Daniel.”
“Their real names?”
“Yes. And what do you know of them?”
“Well… nothing, really.”
“I can tell you a little about them. They are fascinating people.”
The conversation's direction seemed to be whirling, a compass confused. But you were in no position to act mighty. You didn't want to become a shadow. Before you could think to answer, Jeonghan rolled back his shoulders, cleared his throat.
“August. I always think about him. His father was once CEO of an extremely powerful bank in Kenya, you know? Silver spoon. Extravagance. The things we tend to envy. But he was not allowed any handouts, and this turned him to a series of transient jobs. He is boisterous, loud, but has an odd charm that still persists even when he is terribly wrong about anything and everything, but believes he is right because obliviousness is mighty. Why does someone like him need to deal in the first place? Because he wants to. Simply that.
Daniel, my poor Daniel, was damned from the start. Sometimes I awake at night and feel myself still ache for him. His mother was in an abusive relationship. His father almost cut his mother’s throat with a shard from a beer bottle, and poor Daniel had to strangle his father using a utility cord from behind their television. He has stumbled a lot. I'm sure he'll stumble many more times. You will know him best for his silence, but he is always watching, and his loyalty to those who show him grace is commendably strong.
Now, Mr. Hansol Chwe. Mr. No-Manners. We have always had a tumultuous sort of relationship, to say the least. We never mixed that well, but when we did it was always trouble of the most fun kind. He was pulled all around the world by his struggling parents who desperately needed a break. Nothing ever lasted. The ground constantly shook under his feet. He was a snowball that never stopped snowballing until he was essentially wandering the streets at sixteen with enough anger to collapse a town, while his little sister was paraded as a blossom. Sofia. I hear she goes to school in Korea, now. He is rough and jagged. He is not meant for society. But he will always find a way because his world never stops moving.
Paulo... he is most difficult to speak of... he moved between halfway houses and clinical facilities like a coin toss. His parents disappeared, and so he was his own parent. I caught him stealing half-eaten sandwiches from a coffeehouse dumpster when he was fifteen. I was eighteen at the time, in university, working at the coffeehouse, Grit. He was scruffy and dirty. But he was sharper than I would ever be. And no matter how unliveable his life became you could not remove his humanity and kindness. Together, we were pure energy.
I found Paulo behind a dumpster. Paulo found Daniel cooking cough syrup on a car engine. Daniel found August hustling gullibles in street games. And then Paulo found Hansol stealing from a bakery. Before you knew any of those boys existed—Dots, Moo, Snozz, Vernon—selling weed, and dope, and pills, I was there. I protected them. They were like my little brothers. Before I knew your street-rat boyfriend, and the depressed narcoleptic, and the vitiligo lunatic, I knew Paulo. And now, my friend, my beautifully polka-dotted friend with the dappled eyes, he is gone forever.”
You shifted, and the booth made a horrible squeaking noise, and you suddenly wanted to rip the entire thing to shreds. “I’m sorry.”
“Paulo and I did not agree on things as we got older. He was tender inside. Everyone was his friend. But in a business like this, your dealers are your dealers, not your friends. And so we split apart, a bifurcated road.”
“And you started taking over his territories.”
Jeonghan nodded. “Yes.”
“I think Vernon wants them back.”
Finally, Jeonghan crunched the hard candy, and it splintered in his mouth to sugary shards. “I know he does. But he will not have them.”
You sighed, palms humid and damp, pressing an outline of your fingers into the flexible dress. “I don’t know… but it feels like you two are fighting for pieces of the same person. A person you shared.”
Jeonghan’s eyebrow quirked. “Do you think that’s it?”
“Well, I-I’m just, you know, don’t take that too literally—”
“No,” Jeonghan interrupted with gentleness. “I am genuinely asking. The way you put it—I had never thought of that before.”
You weren’t sure what to say. In the low-lit, misty-aired room, far away from the club’s stifling arrogance, you both maintained a mutual silence. Jeonghan opened up his palm, moved his thumb across a mapped line, and you watched him, wondering what he was lost thinking about.
Finally, he sat back. “I did not kill Paulo. But I have often thought I contributed indirectly. By creating this empire with him. And it was a formidable empire. He could have gone to school. I bet he had the ability to become an astrophysicist, or a renowned professor. Though I see him choosing a quieter path. Like a librarian.” He smiled, his ivory face becoming warm in the dimness. “I do miss him. It never stops hurting.”
For a moment, a sharp thought cut into your brain. You found that you were leaning forward, arms squishing against the table. “Did you…” he looked your way curiously. “Did you submit a leaf for Paulo at Sherwood?”
“Sherwood Hospital?”
“Yes, by their recreation room.”
“How would you know?”
“Well… I guess I don’t. Vernon goes there.”
“To Sherwood?”
“Yeah. He sits and looks at the big tree. I never asked if he did it because it seemed so personal. But my friend saw him there, during one of her narcotics meetings—said he stared for a really long time.”
For a moment, Jeonghan slipped into a different skin. His solid, stern shoulders seemed to melt, and the little smirk that never really left his mouth was finally at ease. You saw in his eyes a brightness as the abyss shrunk, revealing a marvelous sun underneath. He glanced at you. “I submitted the leaf a week after his death. But I told no one. I wonder how he discovered it… he does tend to travel about. Never still.”
You swallowed in nettles. “I don’t think he stops hurting either.”
Jeonghan nodded. “It seems so.” Again, silence was threaded delicately through the air. “Okay,” he then huffed. “I will see him.”
A spark jumped to life in your stomach. “You’ll see Vernon?”
“I will.”
You damn near threw your body over the table to hug him. Relief and glee and fondness was soaring in circles, from your head to your toes, to the point you were surprised you weren’t floating. Instead, your hands clenched together, and you spewed out a thank you that made him squint.
“So,” Jeonghan hummed. “You are dating Chwe, hm?”
Nodding, you said, “yes,” with a little too much excitement.
“He is gritty, isn’t he? Like a handful of gravel. We got along better than I let on, actually, back then. Always egging each other on. We reconnected when he asked me that special favour. I realize he’s still got that cocky attitude.”
“I know,” you answered, smiling lopsidedly.
Jeonghan seemed to inspect you, his fingers again tapping the golden tabletop, head falling to the side along with full, thick ribbons of his velvety hair. “You are not what I was expecting Chwe to like.” That faint smirk returned to his hydrated lips. “I remember you, from many months ago. You ran in front of my car to chase the bus and we almost flattened you into an animal hide. Such a helpless nature about you, I thought. You will get chewed up and spat out many times. But you don’t seem so helpless now.”
“Holy fucking shit…” the words tumbled out in dense blocks, bereft of any grace. “That was you? That’s batshit crazy. I can’t believe it.”
“Funny how the world works.”
“No kidding.”
“Well,” Jeonghan huffed while pushing up from the table, making a shooing motion with his hand, so you slid out the booth hurriedly, “I hope the best for you two. Chwe has hardened you up a bit, it seems. Maybe you have softened him somewhat in return. Maybe he will finally be still.”
You nodded, following Jeonghan to the door. “Maybe.”
Ruby, Tara, and Lara had all been kicked out the club.
Following the address from Ruby’s text message, you found them inside a packed bar, all slumped together at a table, surrounded by glasses of alcohol and a huge basket of chicken tenders with checkered paper, each girl gobbling away, grease shiny on their mouths. The music was bursting and the lighting was terrible. A stranger touched your shoulder in the corridor to tell you she loved your dress. When you greeted them, they all exploded into an overlapping quarrel of questions, and you didn’t understand even one.
Lara’s eyebrow was already beginning to swell. Tara had scratches on her arms. Ruby said the black-haired woman with the bob was also thrown out, and that Lara had stolen some money from her handbag.
“To pay for the tenders,” Lara mumbled while eagerly devouring the accompanying potatoes wedges that came on the side. And you apologized for the awful chaos. “Not your fault,” Tara mollified, her eyes cheery. Ruby let you have a sip of her iced tea. “This was actually a pretty great night,” she said.
An hour later, you and Ruby waved goodbye to the British twins huddling together in the backseat of a yellow taxi. She asked if you had met your VIP, and you told her yes, and that if she saw him, she would be swooning for a month straight.
“Please don’t tempt me,” she grumbled back.
When you returned to the apartment, Ruby didn’t waste any time half-heartedly showering and promptly throwing herself into bed. There were times she came home at dawn, heels deserted across the kitchen floor, outfit still adorned, face-planted into a makeup-stained pillow. You always worried about her back then. But now she could hardly make it to midnight.
However, you weren’t tired. Jitters of anxiety and relief still quivered in your muscles, plucked like guitar strings. The inherent dulcetness of Jeonghan’s tone lingered in your ears. His playful grin. How he manoeuvred between power and empathy with such easy flicks. How well he knew the boys, each with their own story and scars, as if they were his, too. Chwe has hardened you up a bit, it seems. Maybe you have softened him somewhat in return. Maybe he will finally be still. You chewed on those words. They settled in your teeth.
Maybe he will finally be still.
But as you sat on the edge of your bed, still pinching the stretchy spandex in your restive fingers, you wondered how Vernon would feel. Would Jeonghan tell him that you were there, at Prerogative?
He didn’t want you involved, and you understood why, and yet, you did not listen. That, he would not like. Not at all.
Suddenly, there were knocks banging at your window. You lurched, gasping, feeling over your heart—a hurdling stampede of horses.
He knew. Oh, gosh. Oh, fucking hell. He knew.
And you prepared to get weathered.
Shucking aside your curtains and lifting open the window, Vernon was hopping inside and over your desk with polished habit. He was mad, you could sense it in the air, how it crackled around his body, as he began pacing back and forth, smelling like cool smoke.
You didn’t move or speak.
He dragged a hand through his hair, already disheveled. He pulled his adored gold chain between his teeth and grinded it. He rolled up the sleeves to his black windbreaker. Finally stopped pacing. Then he looked at you, and his eyes were a soaked mixture of cinders.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He seethed.
You didn’t say a word, hands behind you, gripping the desk.
Vernon raked his bottom lip into his mouth with wolfish teeth. “You had no fuckin’ right.” He proceeded to spit. And suddenly you understood Jeonghan with striking clarity when he had said Vernon was a handful of gravel—roughened edges, uneven yet sharp, cutting as clean as knives—his street grit. “You put yourself in that fuckin’ conceited shithole of a club, to talk to him, that slippery fuckin’ snake, on some bullshit I could have done myself.” His breath was harsh, flaring out his nostrils, as though his belly was boiling rocks.
Behind you, your hands squeezed together. “I got you what you wanted,” came the soft tremble of your voice, and for some reason, your own words sounded so distant and echoing, like there were seashells covering your ears. “He’s going to see you.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Vernon bellowed, and you feared that Ruby might hear everything. “I don’t give a fuck, do you understand?! That wasn’t your authority to handle! That's not a choice you get to fuckin' make for me! It's my goddamn business at the end of the day! How the fuck do you not understand that?!”
Your lips separated, dry, afraid. “I do understand, but—”
He stepped closer to you. “Fuckin’ bullshit you do.”
“I told you that—that I won’t be able to stay out—”
“So smarten the fuck up!” Vernon chastised. “Don’t be so fuckin’ stupid thinkin’ every little thing’s always gonna go your way, especially shit you have no fuckin’ knowledge about.” He tongued his cheek, grasped at his frayed, stressed locks of sooty hair. “But that’s you, huh? Everything fuckin’ goes your way.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose, smirking, but it lacked his supplemental warmth. “You’re so fuckin’ lucky. All your damn issues are so mundane and simple. You’re just some outsider lookin’ in, thinkin’ you can play around, move things like dolls. But you’ll never understand.”
There was a deep, throbbing pain in your throat, as though something was there, digging. A small part of it was from his anger at you, but the majority was from the cataclysmic hurt, rumbling down around him like surges of breaking earth. So many wounds you couldn’t see, wounds that had barbed his interior since childhood and had been wearing him down from the inside progressively. And you, a perceived safety, a relief, now swiftly taking it all away.
You swallowed bitterly. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to make everything easier. I-I thought I was helping.”
Vernon glared at you. “Then learn when it's time to fuck off.”
A sharp sensation in your gut. Something was pulling, moving its way up your stomach, into your esophagus. You wanted to cut it free, but you didn’t know how. Your eyes narrowed. “Meaning what?”
“Leave me the fuck alone, is what it means!”
“You’re the one in my bedroom.”
He pinched his nose, irritation singeing off him like a flame eating up a waxy candle wick. “Don’t get fuckin’ smart with that mouth of yours. You know exactly why I’m here.” Moonlight shone through the window, bathed him in silver, made his chain glint and sparkle.
You paused, about to rescind the jeering urge back into yourself. But your body wanted the urge gone. Refused to let it settle.
“Did you not just tell me to smarten up? Which is it?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“No, what the fuck is wrong with you?” There was a spear down your throat, splitting you open, unearthing a sap full of unspoken, smothering weight. “I fucking told you that I wouldn’t be able to stay out of your business! I fucking told you! How come you get to break rules when it comes to us? Why don’t I get that?!”
Vernon's teeth flashed. “You could fuckin’ die you idiot! You could get caught in the middle of some stupid bullshit! I know when it’s okay to let you, and when it’s not okay! But you don’t fuckin’ listen!”
“If I’m ruining your life, then just tell me.”
“God—even now—you’re not fuckin’ listenin’, you stupid girl.” He tossed up a helpless hand, chuckled in frustration. “You fuckin’ stupid spoiled people. Playin' house with people's issues. Playin' fuckin' doctor. Thinkin' you can come in and open us up like a broken toy and fix everything you think is wrong and we'll just accept it.”
“I never asked for you to change!”
“So stay the fuck out of my business!”
The feeling was a wilted rose head, finally snipped, and the weight of holding back disappeared with a windy whoosh of wrinkled petals.
Without control, you shoved his contoured chest.
He hardly moved.
You shoved him again, again, again, started pounding your fists against the boy while he just stood there like a stable mountain and absorbed your every furious shock. “Fucking hate you!” you cried aloud into the silver-stained room, your eyes pinched shut to avoid seeing his expression. “You fuck off! I fucking live here!” His smell consumed you—that heady amber, the tangy smoke, the sweetness tangled in his thick strands of dark hair—and with one final shove, you bumped past him, cheeks glazed in a sheen of tears.
But he refused.
“Let go!” You hollered, swinging your elbow about haphazardly while his fingers lodged into your skin. “I freaking hate you! I’m never doing anything for you ever again! You, you—"
Vernon lurched you closer. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed.
“No! No! You shut your mouth!”
He wrestled with your arms. “God, you annoyin’ fuckin’ girl.”
“And you’re a drug dealer! I should report you!”
But then he had your warm, fleshy arms pierced to your sides, his fingers pressing deep into the skin and rubbing bone. He was everywhere in your senses. His nose an inch from your nose. His eyes seething into your eyes. And suddenly, you wanted him to grind you up into a crystally, scintillating powder, like the ones he snorted so casually, have you inside his blood, kicking his synaptic receptors.
“Yeah?” He gritted his teeth, stared into your soul. “Is that what you’re gonna do, you fuckin’ psychotic girl? Gonna go run your fuckin’ dumb mouth, huh? That’s all you're good for, isn’t it?”
“You’re the—” you grunted, twisting, “—psychotic one.” His skin was melting into your skin. “M’never gonna speak t-to you again.”
And then, he let go.
You stood there, clueless, confused, splotchy in tears.
Vernon flicked his head. “Go. Tell. Get me fuckin’ arrested.”
For a moment, you froze. His heat was gone. His smell. His rough voice so close to your skin. Everything was gone.
You felt empty and dull.
So you dared push him again.
And he had your lower back hitting the curve of your desk. You squealed aloud at the sudden pain, but Vernon’s mouth dampened it.
He had never kissed you so hungrily. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tugged him closer, eager to float in his addictive scent and submit to his touches. The boy’s weight pushed you harder into the desk. It only opened your lips wider, left more room for his hot tongue to fill your mouth and stroke you sloppily from the inside. You started to scratch and claw. You were desperate. So, so desperate. So blitzed in passionate, surging feelings that you could think nothing.
“You stupid girl,” he groaned. “You stupid, stupid girl.” His slippery lips suckled you, then his daggered teeth bit you. “My stupid girl,” he breathed across your mouth in a fluttering huskiness, which was already swelling, tender. “Why don’t you fuckin’ listen to me? Hm?”
“I do,” you whined. “I promise I do. I fucking promise.”
His calloused, tattooed hand was pressing at the base of your aching throat, soft pressure, and his eyes were hooded in a lascivious way that you had never seen. He hovered close to your glossy face. “Then prove it to me,” Vernon’s warm, whispered words tickled you, though, for not a moment longer. He gripped behind your neck, shoved you down onto your knees in a smothered thud. You gulped, peering up at his intention evident in the moonlight. Your lashes danced with nerves, anticipation. He gripped your chin. “Suck me off. Now.”
You paused. Never had you done anything like this.
He knew that.
Even if the desire had crossed your mind.
The hardened tent in his pants was making you dizzy, and you were right at eye-level with it, the moisture between your cheeks desiccated. Choking down a lump in your throat, you glanced up at him again to notice some softness in his steely gaze.
He reached out, fingers brushing over your raw lips with a sort of tenderness you wanted to greedily swallow. Vernon hummed, “do you want this, baby?” as his thumb feathered across a stinging split in your bottom lip. “You can say no. Hm?”
But you didn’t want no.
You wanted him in deep, dark, twisted ways that made no sense.
Afraid but willing, you licked at his thumb, grabbed his wrist, pushed the digit further into your warm, slippery mouth. “I want this,” you mumbled, and tested circling his thumb.
He smirked. Removed his thumb from your wet mouth, drawing along a shiny thread of your spit that you tried not to grimace at. You breathed in the room's defining warmth, watching him take hold of his belt, the rings flashing on his fingers, as he started the process of unbuckling it. And then he popped his button, grabbed his zipper, started pulling it down. The air was so ineffably dense in your nose that you struggled to breathe, and your lungs were dried fruit.
There was another sweet, lentamente brush along your cheek, drawing you into groundedness. “Relax, PJ’s,” he whispered, and the sound of your coined nickname rolling so naturally off his tongue alleviated some tension. “Just relax. I’ll help you, baby. Yeah?”
So you nodded obediently. “Yes.”
He smirked. “My good girl.”
Nothing else in the universe mattered as Vernon dug an inked hand underneath his black pants, grunted a bit, pulled himself out. You wanted to scream. Human nature was… biased. It stuck a fork into your brain and scrambled it into a fluffy pile of mush. Vernon was big. He was big and thick and certain engorged veins were curving along his daunting length to his flushed tip. You couldn’t do anything but stare, stare, stare, breathe, breathe, breathe, gulp, gulp, gulp. And then his hand, starting at his shaft and gripping upward, pushing out something milky-looking from his tip.
You finally glanced up at him.
And he shrugged. “Can’t make it any smaller. Your fault.”
“Vernon,” you said nervously, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
His brows mellowed. “I know. Give me your hand, okay?”
You were shaking. He took your clammy hand, had it wrap delicately around him, and you immediately squeaked, “you’re so hard.”
His chuckle was deliciously raspy. “I know.” His toughened hand laid over yours, and slowly, he began to guide your motions, having you stroke him, feel him, his heat and texture and the odd pulses. “Like this, yeah?” He hummed. But then his grip tightened, made your hand twist in more skillful demonstration. “That’s good, too. But you can explore a bit, see what you do best.” His hand fell away and your stomach lined with fear—now left to your own novice.
“What if what I do doesn’t feel good?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“But what if you don’t like anything I do?”
“Don't scare me like that, PJ's. Not a whole lot you really gotta do to suck a dick well. What kind of fucked up porn are you watchin'?”
“I'm not watching—I just mean, l-like—what if I'm bad at it?”
“I'll guide you.”
“But what if that's not—”
He tossed his head back, snorted with dry laughter, ruffled his loose hair. “God, shut up! Do you not see what the fuck’s in front a’ you? Do you not see how good I’m clearly fuckin’ feelin’? I trust you, alright?”
You nodded. “Okay, sorry.” Flexed your fingers around him, remembered to breathe. “I’m just a little scared that you won’t like it.”
“Only a little, huh?” He abruptly tickled your cheek and you couldn't help giggling. “I know. I hear you, beautiful. But I’m gonna cum from just lookin’ at you on your damn knees, so please start.”
Really? That seemed to motivate you. Fill you with warm, liquid, oozing heat. So you began stroking him, up and down, up and down, at times attempting to incorporate that snappy wrist trick but finding it unusually awkward for you to accomplish. When you glanced up for a moment, saw how he was staring at you with such wild dilation in his gorgeous eyes, you prickled with something adventurous. You moved forward, refused to breathe, and let your tongue lick over his tip. His hips suddenly twitched. Vernon’s bottom lip pulled through his teeth and he groaned, tilting his head back, revealing the hard column of his neck. You loved the reaction, so you tried it again, ignoring the saltish taste and gluey texture of his leaking semen.
“Fuckkk,” he moaned, crackly and deep, stirring up your insides. “Give me more of your perfect mouth, sweetheart,” he cooed.
You listened, slacking your jaw, tampering with his size pressing in past your lips, getting in a little ways before it felt too big, too much, too strange, and you had to slip him back out. “Sorry.”
“Try again. Take a big breath. Close your eyes.”
Determined, you heeded his advice, getting him further into your trembling mouth, feeling his grooves and veins glide along your tongue. An urge lurched in your throat to spit him out from the intruding thickness and length, but you willfully ignored it, eyes squeezed shut, kept pushing your head down.
“Yes, yes,” he breathed so raggedly, “fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”
But then his tip hit the back of your throat and you gagged, coughing up slimy spit that forced him back out. You wiped your mouth, hacked into your elbow. “Can’t fit—wasn’t even close,” you panted.
“M’not expectin’ that on your first go,” Vernon chuckled. “That was so fuckin’ good. Don’t wanna cum yet but you make it so hard.”
You smiled. Prepared yourself to try again.
Letting your sore jaw fall loose, you closed your eyes and held onto him, directing his girth back into your mouth. The spit from your previous attempt had lubricated him, made him easier to slide. Hot tears were pushing against your eyes and your throat irritably hitched, but at that moment you managed to swallow rather than messily choke. Vernon shuddered. The silkiness and warm pressure must feel indescribable. Lightly, your teeth grazed him, and then you felt his hand cradle the back of your scalp. “Let me push your head, baby girl,” he mumbled, “just a bit.” You let him.
Tears drifted down your cheeks and lined your chin like morning dew droplets. Why was it so delicious? Allowing him such control over you? Your jaw was aching terribly, his leaking cum dripping down your throat, but you didn’t want any of what he was doing to stop.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Vernon praised you for his pleasure, his thumb delicately stroking your head. “Let me inside your mouth, pretty fuckin’ girl.” He was suffocating you. Saliva flooded your hollowed cheeks, trickled from your stretched lips, and you felt a vulnerable ugliness. “God—you look so fuckin’ dirty like this, hm? On your fuckin’ knees, gettin’ that loud mouth of yours stuffed with dick.”
He chuckled with a possessive darkness, pressed your head deeper, let you whimper and drool. “Dressed in that tight, tight dress. Shows off your tits and your ass for those inflated, braindead fuckin’ rich pricks.” Your hands braced against his hard, muscular thighs. Tears were overwhelming your slimmed cheeks, tiny silver streams. “You slutty girl, hm? I bet you’re a fuckin’ freak. I should fuck you over this desk n’ make your pussy cry until you’re just a sloppy mess of my cum. Make you mine.” He suddenly tensed. Then his hips bucked forward, and you couldn’t handle it anymore, but his grip on your head was too focused, strong. You cried and shrivelled around him, scratched his thighs with your nails. He started to wickedly pulse.
Gone.
He was outside your mouth. Coldness replaced him. You breathed in like your lungs were tasting air for the first time, gasped and whimpered while feeling a metaphorical winter freeze you over.
But then something was being squirted onto your ruined, glistering face—white ropes, slippery—in your hair, along your lips, down your dress. And you just kneeled there, stupefied, accepting it.
“Fuck, fff-fuck,” Vernon swore, pumping himself intensely.
A moment later, and you collapsed back against the desk.
It was over.
Leaving you an absolute soiled, seamy mess.
Your bed was a cloud. A cushioned cloud. No hard floors. No sharp edges. Just cotton blankets that breathed around you and plump pillows. He was there, too. His arms opened for you, and you crawled into them, immediately softening into his embrace and his rich, luxurious amber scent. Your skin was pampered due to a hot shower.
No more sweat or drool or your boyfriend’s sticky ejaculate. Only the moisture from a jojoba oil lotion. Clean hair.
But still an aching jaw and a very sore throat.
He held you, pressed kiss after kiss into your temples, your dampened locks that smelled like lush hibiscus, and you held him back, fingers skimming his tattoos, a thumb running reassuring circles over the scars engrained into his palm. You wanted to tell him—I love you, I fucking love you Hansol Vernon Chwe—but you stayed silent because the moment was meant to be only tender kisses and warm brushes of bare skin and eased smiles as you relinquished the infatuation from each other.
Vernon murmured against your forehead, “you know I need you.”
You listened to his heartbeat through his chest. “Yes. I know.”
He paused, breathing in your shampoo. “But I’m no good at relationships. I’m no good at anger. I dunno. I just care about you. If you get hurt, I’ll never forgive myself, you know that, right? You’re an angel. You’re such an angel.”
“We can’t fight like that,” you sighed, letting your fingertips drift along the sliver of warm, downy skin above his waistline. Was it terrible that you would let him take control of your mouth again, at that very moment, even though your jaw was pounding and your throat was too taunt? “Do you really think that I’m…spoiled? That I’m trying to change you, or fix you?”
His fingers squeezed the top of your shoulder. “Our lives are just different,” he mumbled, the words vibrating through his hard chest. “I know, it was shitty of me to say that. You’re not spoiled. Sometimes I just get frustrated by the lucky cards other people have, y’know? Most times, it never bothers me. I’ve always managed to get by. I make my own luck.”
Your lips flattened into a small smile. “You do.”
“But you really don’t listen,” he laughed quietly.
You stared up at him, scrunched your nose. “I told you!”
He muffled you with a kiss. “I know, yeah? Brat.”
“Shush,” you mumbled back, proceeding to rub your hand down his chest, following the path of his lean, well-tended muscle. He had been with so many women. But it was only you he adored. Maybe that thought shouldn't cushion you. Nonetheless, it did. “I wonder if Ruby heard any of that,” you sighed. “If she’s tired enough, she would sleep through a freaking house fire.”
Vernon snickered. “Guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”
“I really did it because I care so much. Are you still mad?”
“Does it look like I’m mad, PJ’s?”
“No. But you were so hurt before.”
“When you go so long without lettin’ people hurt you, you kinda forget how to deal with it when it comes back.” He grabbed the top of your head, shook it playfully. “It was a stupid idea. Dolt.”
You smiled, giggling as he toyed with your hair, scattering his hand away. “Whatever.” You then looked up at him. “How the hell did you even figure out I was there? I didn't think you would know so fast!”
“Dumbass. You don't think I know Jeonghan has little meet-ups at Prerogative? You don't think I can get eyes there to scope things?”
“I was faster.”
“Stupider, too.”
Rolling your eyes, you curled back up against his chest. It was almost three in the morning. His hand brushed caresses along your back, so smooth, comforting, and you took in a long, slow, blissful breath. You wanted to be with him forever. Time should not have the right to ever separate you; take him away. Your rough, clever, unpolished boy.
He bent down, his lips pressing drifting, soft kisses to your jaw, the metal through his mouth warm, ticklish. “You’re so beautiful on your knees.”
Your lower abdomen fluttered. “We are never having sex,” you grinned, nuzzling his t-shirt. “You are too big. My mouth almost fell off.”
“That’s your mind sayin’ that. Not your body.” But he still kissed your jaw again with a sort of apologetic grace, wrapped his arms around you and squeezed, as though to press out the sensitive pain. “Sorry, baby.”
✧✎ synopsis: post-graduate, your life sucks especially hard. two jobs, a lazy roommate, and an imperceptible social life have dulled you to grey. nothing seems like it's going to change. until your roommate decides to let her plug crash at your place, and you're bribed into a strange adventure that challenges everything you thought you were.
pairing: fem!reader x vernon
chapter word count: 25k
full length word count: 186k
genres/tropes: drug dealer!vernon, reader is a post-grad w/ a flop degree lol, inclusion of OCs, gay!soonyoung for the lol, appearances from other svt characters, opposites attract, romance, teasinggg, tensionnn, unrequited love, angst, adventure, smut, relationship drama, sprinkling of comedy, another excruciating slowburn bc what else? + reader is a tad dramatic/sensitive but that's why i love her :]
(!) warnings: drugs (IE: weed, molly, coke, whippets, alcohol), mention of guns, mention of death/overdose, intense language, an instance of non-consensual touching to the reader by a side character, some toxic & possessive behaviour, degrading, aggression, mentions of physical abuse/harm, dips into grief and loss, fractured family dynamics on vernon's part.
✧✎ a/n: a bit of an earlier upload since i have work in the morning :( but when you finish this part it means we are officially more than halfway through the series! that is kraziness.
thank you again for all the kind comments & reblogs <3 i didn't expect many ppl to actually get into this fic bc of its length and subject matter so i'm glad there are readers willing to take the journey with me teehee.
also, i rly do encourage yall to check out ghana's many hopes. they do AMAZING things for young girls rescued from trafficking! they get to learn skillsets and have opportunities to build support systems!
what to note:
there are seven parts in the series
releases are weekly, ~12am EST, sunday!
inspo playlist!
if at any point you want on or off the taglist, comment/inbox/msg me!
additionally, the chapters/parts are lengthy. the first six parts are between 24-27k while the finale/ending is 30k+!
✎ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07
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leave a comment or make a reblog stating something you enjoyed abt the chapter! at the end of the week, i will tally all legitimate comments/reblogs and make a donation to said organization.
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You stopped by the apartment to grab a few things. After leaving the pastry behind in the fridge for Ruby, you shoved pyjamas into your knapsack—checkered bottoms and the pony t-shirt, as you had been coming to the end of your clothes—and some skincare from the washroom.
It didn’t take as long as you remembered to reach Vernon’s place.
The small, frisky dog with cataracts was barking at you two, scratching against the shutters, just like last time. Someone had finally fixed the broken doorway, replacing the wooden board with glass. You repeated the same tiresome trek up the winding staircase until reaching the fourth floor, where you released an audible breath of repose upon entering his cozy bachelor. No plain grey walls, no stiffness, no apprehension.
“Do you mind texting Ruby?” You sighed, handing Vernon your phone. “She’s asking about what happened. Just tell her I’ll explain everything tomorrow, and not to worry too much.” It was torturous to open your messages and see Lee’s unopened notifications pleading at you. “It is okay if I use your bathroom for a second? To change and wash up?”
Vernon looked down at your phone, then back at you. “Sure.”
The washroom wasn’t in great shape, but it was still better than what you imagined—at least for someone who was hardly there to clean it.
Most of the damage didn’t seem like Vernon’s fault, but rather the cheap costliness pertaining to the landlord. A crappy patch job in the shower, chips in the porcelain sink, peeling, faded wallpaper beginning to curl from the corners.
You set your knapsack down on the toilet, unzipped it, and pulled out your face product, which you soaked onto a cotton pad. Staring yourself down in the water-stained mirror, underneath the ghostly sterileness of the washroom’s pale lighting, you began wiping off all the dried tears and grime that stippled your skin. Every swipe of the cotton pad only made you focus with more intensity on yourself, until you felt so unbelievably and wildly unattractive that you couldn’t bear to stare into the mirror any longer.
With an exhausted sniffle, you unbuttoned your jeans. One leg at a time, you kicked them off, before removing the shirt overtop your head, tossing your bra onto the clothes you left bunched on the floor. Before you could catch a glimpse of your bare body in the mirror, every little detail under the light’s harsh dissection, you quickly jumped into your pyjama bottoms and wrestled on the loose t-shirt to unaesthetically match.
A deep breath before going back out to face Vernon.
He was lounging on the futon. You dropped your knapsack onto the coffee table, gave him a queasy, weak smile, and collapsed next to him.
Vernon tilted his head toward you. “Need anything? Water? There isn’t much in the fridge and I’m a shitty fuckin’ cook, but I can make a pretty gnarly grilled cheese. Takeout is fine, too. The world’s your… uh… oyster.”
But you shook your head. “I’m fine.”
He then held out your phone, which you dropped into your bag. You didn't want to read anything. You didn't want to know anything.
“I told Ruby what you said,” Vernon mumbled. “She responded a few times. Didn’t read it.” He proceeded to shrug. “Well, didn’t answer it.”
“I’ll set aside some time to text her tonight.”
He nodded, looking out the apartment window for a moment or two before Vernon turned his attention back to you. There was a reluctance in his expression, a withdrawal, like he desperately wanted to ask but felt tentative in case his queries were too intruding. You appreciated his sensitivity. His eyes flicked you up and down a few times in thought.
And then he pulled the trigger. “So? I get to know anything?”
You were curled up closer to him than usual, your cheek just barely grazing the boy’s shoulder. It was solacing to feel his heat, smell the outdoors on his clothes, the tinges of flavoured smoke. Your body untied itself.
Then, you were drawing in a long, long breath. “I tried breaking up with Lee…” you started, speaking quietly, “and it turned to… shit.”
No antagonizing remarks. No comical digs. He stayed silent.
“I didn’t expect it to be that hard. He was being so nice to me the second I stepped in the door. I just… couldn’t get the words out, y’know? It was torture.” Pulling your knees closer into your chest, you stared down at the open space of Vernon’s lap, his strong thighs. “Once he was done his homework, he came right next to me on the bed…” it was suddenly harder to speak, your throat automatically tightening up. “I was so stupidly nervous that I couldn’t articulate enough. Lee started kissing me… on my neck… he started moving his hand down my shirt…” your eyes began to sting again, blurring your vision into a cloudy vignette. “He tried to touch me, you know, in between my legs,” you breathed out in a trembly voice, “but I got too scared and stopped it. It’s like he was completely missing the signals I was giving. He was like, pulling me back down onto the bed and I freaked out even more. I had to leave. I couldn’t—I felt like I was on fire—like he was trying to trap me. I-I don’t know. It was all so quick.”
You started looking around for a tissue box.
Vernon reached underneath the coffee table to grab you one.
Pulling out two tissues, you fought to capture a structured breath, taking a moment to dry your eyes and blow your nose. “Then…” you huffed, skin irritated and wet, “I couldn’t help but think it was my fault, y’know? That I should have been upfront. I’ve just been so nervous and uncomfortable about intimacy with him. I don’t know why. But… maybe if I was more vocal, he would have understood, and, like…” bringing another tissue to your face, you blotted up the tears, sniffling louder and louder. “I just feel like, so useless. So dumb.” Blinking at the crumpled tissue squeezed into the flesh of your sore hand, you wanted to shrink, to disappear, as the embarrassment flushed through you.
Vernon shook his head. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
You nodded. “I-I know. It’s just hard not to think that way…”
“No, PJ’s, look at me.” Vernon angled himself on the futon so he could face you more intimately, capturing your fullest attention, until the brilliant rings of his earthen irises were all you could gauge. “What he did was completely not your fault. There’s no excuse for it. Someone who actually has your best interests at heart is not gonna treat you like that,” he reaffirmed you, his tone much more serious, unnegotiable. “He was countin’ on your discomfort to keep you quiet, so he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He wasn’t bein’ oblivious, or missin’ your signals. Bet he knew what was comin’ and figured gettin’ inside you could change your mind. That’s real slimy fuckin’ behaviour. I should kill him for that. But you stood up for yourself, right? And even if you didn’t, it still wouldn’t be your fault.” Vernon reached his arm around you, rubbing up and down your shoulder as his firm reassurance only sparked another onslaught of waterworks.
“I’m sorry,” you spluttered, piling all your used tissues onto the coffee table before pulling the collar of your t-shirt up against your cheek, letting it absorb all the dampness. “I’m such a mess.”
“Fuck that,” Vernon laughed, pulling you closer into him. “You can be a mess when you’re with me, yeah? You really think I give a fuck?”
A smile broke through your lips. “N-No.”
“Exactly.” He nudged his nose against your hair. “I’ve been around you enough to know how dramatic you are. Usually you’re dramatic about shit that doesn’t matter,” Vernon chuckled. “But I like it.”
Your head slid into the crook underneath his chin. “So, I’m being perfectly dramatic about this. Is that what you’re saying?” You teased.
“Hey, you be the master of your emotions, alright? Don’t let anyone else dictate anything without good reason.”
“How are you so randomly eloquent and insightful?” You let out a half-hearted giggle, snuggling your face in closer to his neck. That’s where his cologne was most concentrated. Rich amber filled your nose and floated to the centre of your head.
The backs of Vernon’s fingers stopped at your elbow. After what felt like an oddly long pause, he rubbed his nose and chuckled, “dunno.”
Silence followed, soft enough to touch.
And you couldn’t have embraced it more.
Closeness with Vernon felt so easy that you wondered why you ever bothered grasping at straws when it came to Lee. The way you slotted against his side was like perfectly matched puzzle pieces. His calloused fingertips drifting along your bare arm was equal parts soothing and arousing. Having the weight of his chin rested on your head made you feel so protected, as though nothing in the world could reach you. With his other arm lax in his lap, you took the opportunity to meet your fingertip with a vein underneath his prettily inked skin, which you proceeded to trace until it disappeared into the elbow's crook. His shifted his hips as you touched him and nothing had ever made you want to jump across his thighs more.
Swallowing, you retracted your hand. “Was it good?”
Vernon casted back his hair, humming. “What?”
You repeated yourself, more audibly this time. “Was it good?”
“Was what good?”
Biting your lip, you eventually came to murmur, “the head?”
“Oh,” Vernon laughed, snorting. “Uh, fuck, it was fine.”
You stared up at him through your lashes. “Is she a friend?”
There was a prominent stiffness to his rising adam’s apple, sharp against his throat, like an arrowhead. “Not really. I know her name, where I met her, and that she fucks heavy with ketamine. But she’s not that nice around the privates, you feel? I try to tell her what I like but she just fuckin’ operates my dick like she’s drivin’ a damn stick,” Vernon chuckled, shrugging. “You’re easy priority over that.”
Looking back down, you smiled. “I guess that’s nice to know.”
“Shit—even if it was the best fuckin’ brain I ever got—I still would have come got you,” Vernon asserted, slipping his hand underneath your arm, his fingers pressing deep into your ribs. “Lucky you, huh?”
You nodded, adjusting the knees against your chest.
Vernon cleared his throat. “Why don’t I throw on a movie?”
“Okay,” you obliged. “What kind?”
“Let’s look on my Netflix—well—not mine. I’ve been bummin’ off the dude who lives underneath me. But I give him mint weed. So it’s fair.”
He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on his flat-screen television, which took a moment to start up. You assumed he didn’t use it much as you both watched the spinning loading circle.
Vernon smirked. “Is it really comfy to sit like that?”
You frowned. “Like what?”
“With your knees against your chest. You always sit like that. Why don’t you spread out more?” He offered. “Put your legs across my lap.”
A weight hit your throat. “Are you sure?”
“No, I gave you that option so I could take it back three fuckin’ seconds after I said it,” he sighed, chuckling. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Naturally, you obeyed, untucking your legs and resting them across the boy’s thighs. He was right. It felt way more leisurely.
“Why don’t you pick the movie? Show me one of your favourites.”
While you operated the remote, Vernon had his palm lying flat against your knee. The smile that shot to your face was immediate, unbridled twitches dancing in your cheeks, though you attempted to hide it. Whenever he touched you, no matter how faint, it set off unstoppable fireworks from the base of your abdomen, fulgurant and hot and sizzling with desire that was near impossible to quench.
“There,” you sniffed. “Wall-E.”
“Oh, that’s a banger. I haven’t seen it in ages.”
You grinned into his neck. “Then you’ll love it even more.”
It was difficult not to fall asleep as the movie played.
The apartment grew dimmer and dimmer over the hour, with the sun setting outside, pulling all the baby blue out from the winter sky until it was an unsaturated cloth. Your head was in such a comfortable position, cradled against Vernon’s shoulder, and you had only curled up more such that you were a ball half-supported in his lap. His body heat was pulling down your eyelids and the strokes of his hand along your thigh’s underside was so lulling. You didn’t even realize the movie had ended. It was Vernon’s fingers tenderly brushing the hair from your face that rekindled your senses, and you began to stretch, watching the film’s credits through the apartment’s hazy darkness.
“It’s over?” You yawned.
Vernon laughed. “It’s been over.”
“Oh…” you blinked, still wearing off your brain fog. “Why didn’t you wake me up for my favourite part?! When Eve gets Wall-E to remember everything! And they hold hands! It always makes me cry in happiness!”
“And how the fuck am I supposed to know that?”
You ignored him, falling back against his shoulder. Staring out the wide windows, gazing across the last embers of sunlight buried far against the horizon, you sighed, “that’s my absolute favourite part…”
Vernon picked up the remote. “I can go back.”
“No, it won’t be the same.”
“Don’t fall asleep then.”
“Uh? Wake me up then?” You retorted. “Dumbass.”
“Aren’t you gettin’ all relaxed with the language?” He snickered, rubbing his thumb to your thigh in such a way that you nearly purred. “I’ve never heard you drop so many swears. Should I call your mom?”
“Hey—I’ve had an awful day—I can drop all the swears I want.”
“M’kay, fair.”
Your eyes stilled on the empty fish tank that caught your curiosity when you first visited. It seemed like it had been sitting on the shelf for months. The glass was cloudy, uncleaned, with some tubes left curled up against the bottom. If it never belonged to Vernon, you couldn’t help but wonder who. Maybe the presumed sister shown in the photo frame on his nightstand. The tank was large, likely fitting a decent number of fish. It must have required a notable deal of commitment and responsibility. Vernon hadn’t spared much information when you originally asked him, though you were tempted to ask again, even if it got you nowhere.
“If the tank isn’t yours, then whose is it?”
He chuckled. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Is it a secret?”
“Not… exactly…” Vernon answered, sounding hesitant. “It just belonged to someone who was really important to me, y’know?”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He breathed out for a moment, and you could feel the shallowing of his broad chest underneath your hand. There was a subtle increase in his heartbeat, each thud gentle but quickened. “I’ll show you something, actually,” Vernon said. “But you gotta move.”
You smiled, shuffling away from his heat. “Sure.”
Vernon got up from the futon. He turned on a light belonging to a ceiling fan above his bed, then approached one of the drawers on his dresser and started rifling around through its unorganized contents.
Oh my gosh, it’s happening! It’s happening! You were shrieking inside your head, jumping up and down like you’d just won an insane lottery.
He’s actually going to show me something personal!
He trusts me! He’s opening up!
As he sunk back into the futon, you noticed that Vernon had a few photographs in his hand. They looked like polaroid images based on the fuzziness and white-cast. You straightened up, practically vibrating with anticipation, while he arranged them a certain way.
“So, for context’s sake: this dude was my best friend for years. I met him when I was sixteen. He was nineteen, at the time. You could call it a double-edged knife—” (sword, you thought), “—but he showed me everything I know. When it felt like no one else gave a fuck about me, if I lived or died, he was, like, the hand on my shoulder, y’know?” At last, he gave you one of the glossy polaroid images. It was taken on a concrete staircase belonging to an aged-looking brick house. Vernon was on the right, dressed in his thick bomber jacket and throwing up a peace sign. The young man beside him wore a dark green windbreaker. His complexion was much tanner than Vernon’s, his rusty hair slicked back and a cigarette loosely hanging from the corner of his mouth. You stared at the stranger intently, bringing the photograph closer to your face. Vernon sighed. “That’s him.”
“What’s his name?” You wondered.
“Everyone called him Dots.”
“A nickname?”
“Yeah,” Vernon said, nodding. “It’s hard to tell in that picture, but his cheeks, across his nose, was all covered in freckles. Y’know, dots.” He began to laugh as his eyes roamed the other image in his hand. “Girls fuckin’ loved that. It was the first thing they’d compliment—your freckles are so pretty—and he was always so polite. But his real name was Paulo—the other guy that Minghao asked you about.”
Vernon passed you another fuzzy polaroid, though he didn’t feature in the shot this time. His friend occupied the image, likely taken at a house party judging from the bedazzled strangers frozen in time behind him. He was wearing glittery New Year’s Eve glasses shaped just like the number, a red solo cup in one hand, a smoking cigar packed with herb in the other. There was something so irritatingly familiar about Vernon’s friend. It was akin to an itch you just couldn’t scratch, no matter how hard you stretched.
“Yeah…” Vernon hummed, “he was a sweet guy. Pretty mellow, actually. Not that into parties, clubs. He had a lot of interests, too. That fish tank was one of ‘em. He kept all kinds of shit in there. Snails, little shrimps, all these fishies whose names I can’t fuckin’ remember. He liked to read books a lot. He even showed me how to press flowers one time when we got bored in the summer—no clue where the fuck he learned how to do that—he just kinda knew stuff.”
You laughed. “Probably from all his books.”
Vernon nodded. “Good point.”
“So… he does what you do?”
“Kinda. When I first met him, he was just a dealer. But he knew all the right people. And he was super charismatic. So it was easy for him the climb the ranks and get the right promotions. Instead of pullin’ the shots, he was callin’ them, y’know?” Vernon let the last photograph slip into your hand, which you brought close to your inspection. “He was more of a distributor. He got people to move product. I did that for him. At one point I wanted to be more, but he told me it wasn’t worth it. Low profile is better in the long run. Especially if you want to get out. Makes it way easier.”
It wasn’t a polaroid image.
The detail was much crisper, with a full spectrum of vivid colour. You recognized the Camry. The two boys were sitting atop its hood, rough sneakers on the silver bumper (then, without a spot of rust), elbows weighted against their knees. Vernon was in his cherished bomber while his friend wore a jacket, green-checkered fleece. Without the polaroid glare, you could see all the details of his freckled face, from the big, dark brown eyes to the piercing in his dimple.
You knew him.
You had seen him before.
“That shitty car I drive,” he snorted, “that used to be his. But he sold it to me for a cheap buck. I always wondered why. That car went everywhere he went. Sentimental type shit. I was honoured, though.”
“Vernon.”
“Yeah?”
Looking at him, your eyes widened. “I met your friend, Dots.”
His forehead was quick to wrinkle. “Really? No bullshit?”
You cast through the photos again, your certainty only becoming stronger, the memories crawling out from the deepest recesses of your mind like the dead unearthing from tombs. “He came to Mr. York’s, I think over a year ago,” you started explaining. “I was newer, having a super hard night… I thought he was gonna be another customer to shove me around but he was sweet. He even… drove me home.” The memory was uncompletely unthawed. Everything rushed back to you: missing the bus, chasing after him down the dewy street, getting into the car, feeling nervous but relieved. There was a softness about him that you had never experienced from anyone else, a certain trustworthiness that sat so right in your gut. “I remembered asking for his name, too. He didn’t tell me.”
“Shit—he drove you home?” Vernon was astonished, immediately pressing for more information. “When was this again?”
“Over a year ago. Not this recent fall, but the one before it.”
“At… where?”
“Mr. York’s,” you laughed. “Where I work, as a server.”
“Oh, fuck. Right.”
“I never saw him again,” you admitted, suddenly becoming overwhelmed with forlorn. How funny that one encounter with a complete stranger could evoke such powerful yearning, as though he had been a dear friend, someone like Diana. You supposed it was the unexplored possibility of everything ahead, a road never taken, a bridge never crossed. Lives skimming by but never blending.
“That’s crazy as fuck,” Vernon rasped, dragging a hand through his loose, shiny hair, grinning formidably bright. “You and Dotsy, huh?”
“Wow—you have a nickname for his nickname?”
“Of course.” His hands fell back into his lap. Vernon started prodding at the cuticle of his thumb. “It makes sense, though.”
You looked between the photographs again. “What makes sense?”
“Why he drove you home.” Vernon sunk lower into the futon, spreading out his legs and folding his arms, running the tip of his tongue along his teeth. “He liked shy, awkward, weird girls like you."
“Gee,” you coughed. “Thanks, I guess.”
He grabbed your knee and shook it. “It’s a good thing. I think people like that feel the sincerest, right? It’s not an act. That’s just how they are. They can’t help it.”
You pursed your lip, appreciating the nuance of the idea, and the comfort it harboured. “Maybe… I never thought about it like that.” At last, you set the three photographs onto the coffee table, leaving the particular polaroid of the two boys relaxed against the concrete stoop on top, and joined Vernon in leaning back into the futon. Rubbing your lips, you thought for a moment. “Are you guys still friends?”
Vernon tilted his head at you, laughed heartily. “He’s dead.”
“O-Oh…” you stuttered, frowning. “I’m so sorry.”
But he casually dismissed your sympathy. “No need to apologize.”
“That’s really upsetting,” you sighed, grabbing onto your ankles. “I would have loved to know him better. I mean, he seemed so kind.”
“He was. He did his job well, but he never should have been there. I’m sure you two would have got on well. I mean, already seemed like it.”
Your smile beamed at him, like a gleaming rainbow.
Fiddling with the collar of your sock, you wavered on whether or not to ask about the gloomy specifics. The smile began to drift from your countenance, replaced by teeth nervously chewing your lip. “Am I allowed to ask how he passed? You don't have to tell me.”
“Overdose,” Vernon answered. “Gruesome stuff.”
He didn’t mention if it was accidental or not.
Either way, you sensed the distant hurt underneath his firm tone.
Picking up the photographs, Vernon took them to the privacy of his dresser, setting them down into the cabinet space with gentleness, as though he were handling a delicate flower bouquet. “Talk later, Dotsy,” he lilted before shutting the drawer. “Miss you every day.”
You were woken up much earlier than preferred by the daylight glaring in through the windows. At first, you assumed you were in your own bedroom, where you almost always kept the curtains shut because your view was a parking lot. Hence your confusion to pull the covers off your face and realize there was a ceiling fan directly above you, in addition to a series of posters against the wall that definitely weren’t yours. Shuffling to sit upright, you saw Vernon sprawled across the futon with a grey blanket half-pooled onto the floor, exactly where you had left him the night before.
He was holding a phone above his face, thumbs tapping away, rogue bits of hair sticking straight up. It was unbelievably strange to awaken in a bed that wasn’t yours. At least it was a Sunday.
You had nowhere to be.
Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you yawned. “Morning.”
Vernon poked his head up. “Oh—you’re awake. Sleep alright?”
While adjusting the blankets in your lap, you nodded, glancing around the apartment and noticing how subtly the morning light impacted its appearance. Everything felt cooler, softer. “Yeah… I think I conked right out, to be honest.” You grabbed your phone, making a quick pitstop of your messages. The notification to Lee’s had disappeared. Ruby had texted you a few times around midnight. “Have you been up long?”
He shrugged, guesstimating. “Uh, maybe an hour?”
“I can’t believe you’re an early-riser. It doesn’t fit you at all.”
“Why?” The boy snickered, continuing to dawdle on his phone, throwing his leg over the back of the futon. “You think I’m lazy? That us drug dealers just mooch around all day, stoned and fuckin’ brainless?”
“Well, you don’t have the best portrayals through media.”
Finally, he slapped his phone down. “I’m glad I can be a little science experiment to you. Contact with the specimen is critical, huh?”
Your eyes rolled, and you reached for the water glass that Vernon left you atop his nightstand, taking a brief gulp. Most of his glasses were dusty, but the water tasted pure. “I wonder if the specimen will prove his productive nature by making breakfast? Science has to know.”
Vernon pushed himself to sit up, tossing the blanket off his legs.
He ruffled a hand through his fuzzy bedhead, attempting to calm the hectic tangles but somehow only making them worse. “Is that your fancy-smancy way of askin’ me to make you a meal? You’re a demandin’ scientist.”
“Science is always demanding. It’s serious stuff.”
Grinning, you watched Vernon lethargically drag himself over to the kitchenette, pulling out a frying pan from one of the cabinets that he clanged onto the stove. He made you a grilled cheese, paired with orange juice and a vanilla yogurt that you double-checked the expiry date on, the ensemble served to you in bed, with a dramatic bow from Vernon and the flap of the kitchen towel landing over his shoulder. “There you go, Miss. Is it to your utmost liking?” He asked in a quaint, smooth British accent, attempting to mimic a natural poshness.
“It is,” you answered. “Your productivity has been noted.”
Vernon didn’t at all rush you through breakfast, though you suspected he had somewhere to be judging from the change of clothes and quick self-pampering in the washroom. He plopped himself back down on the futon after fixing his whirlwind hair and brushing his teeth. “Mintiness is next to godliness or whatever the fuck,” he had said, sticking a Listerine strip on his tongue.
He drove you home about an hour later.
It was the worst car ride of your life—not that it was actually terrible in any sense—but chiefly because it meant your night with him was over, long gone, flicked away to the ephemeral past. He had been so supportive, so reassuring, so polite, more than you could have expected. You never would have thought those qualities of Vernon when you first met him back in the fall, though time and trust had eased you two closer, and in the process, your understanding became enriched. He was stubbornly himself in ways that others could never grasp or accept, not that it mattered to him.
The good, the bad—it wasn’t separate—but an interwoven whole.
As the car stalled outside the curb to your apartment, you gave the boy an earnest, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Vernon. Seriously.”
“All good.” He shrugged. “Talk later, PJ’s.”
Your heart was heavy, watching him pull away, disappear into whatever venture awaited him next. It felt like your connection was a thread that tied you two together, and whenever he left, the thread was unraveling, being pulled, aching at the strain of your accumulating distance.
Entering the apartment, you jammed to a holt upon noticing Ruby sat on the sofa, arms folded crossly. She was clad in a hot pink bathrobe and her sleek-furred designer slippers, wet hair pulled into a bun, bright white cream smeared underneath her eyes.
She bobbed her ankle up and down.
You smiled at her, sheepish. “Heyyy…”
“Don’t ‘heyyy’ me,” the girl snapped, regurgitating your awkward tone of voice. “My phone has exploded with text messages from Lee, saying how badly he needs to apologize to you—apologize for what—I have no fucking clue! Because you left me out to dry! I’ve been worried sick! And then I realized you’re not even home, you’re sleeping over at Vernon’s?!” She gestured at you, babbling on. “Dressed in your pyjamas?! I mean, walk of shame, much? Please, please, please tell me you didn’t—”
“No,” you laughed, pulling off your lazily-adorned coat and throwing it on the rack, “we did not have sex. All I did was sleep over.”
Ruby furrowed her faint brow, eyes boring into you with the strength of flying knives. Giggling, you dragged your knapsack over to the sofa, plopping down beside her and settling your hand over top hers, which was splayed on her knee. It actually felt nice to get scolded by Ruby, to defrost her mellowness and sense the depth of her care.
She proceeded to dramatically whip her hand away. “I want to be even meaner, but considering I don’t know what happened… I’m dialing back much of the meanness…” sighing, Ruby softened her gaze. “What the hell happened? Lee’s texts have been worrying me to death.”
You hated having to rehash the ugly details. Once already felt like enough, but the second time was just unabashedly painful. Guilt was scribbled all over Ruby’s face, and while it was impossible to blame her, you knew she was deeply upset about being the one to introduce you and Lee. He was her friend, too. Someone she trusted and regarded highly enough to suggest a relationship with her roommate. But you were adamant that she shouldn’t criticize herself so undeservingly, and after the exchanges of comfort between you, the girl was furious, stomping around the living room.
“I should call his mother!”
“I should throw a bucket of molasses over his windshield!”
“I should superglue his law textbook shut!”
You decided it was best to let her vent.
Until Ruby finally came to a pause, dropped open her mouth, and looked at you quizzically. “Wait—you told this to Vernon, too, right? What was his reaction? What did he say?”
“He was a sweetheart. Really nice about everything.”
Ruby jutted out her hip, readjusting the straps to her flashy bathrobe before slicking her hands against her damp hair. “You don’t say?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it either.”
“Where did he go, after he dropped you off?”
You shrugged, settling back against the sofa. “I’m not sure. I assume he has, y’know, drug dealy stuff to do. He didn’t linger, just took off.”
“Oh,” Ruby said with a breathy, faltering smile. “Okay, well, I’m going to, uh, get dressed. We can do whatever you want afterward!’ She scrambled to grab her charm-decorated phone off the coffee table, slippers scuffing fast across the floor as she burst into her bedroom.
Weird.
Holding your breath, you listened intently to the silence.
But then you heard your roommate’s voice echoing at low from her room, and you knew she was on the phone. Using your tiptoes, you pranced over to Ruby’s door, ever so subtly pressing your ear against the crack. Yes, you were being a gigantic sleuthing snoop, but something about it felt warranted.
“Vernon, just listen to me, this isn’t going to help—okay, yes! It’s going to help you feel better, but what about her? You never think things through… I understand what happened, she just told me… he is a piece of shit! I agree with you, but—I care about her, too! You don’t think I want to dent Lee’s face in for how he made her feel? … Please, please, please, for the love of God, you already get into enough trouble! Don’t add another freaking battery charge to your already insane resume of illegal activity! You seriously won’t get out of prison, you idiot! … Yes… Yes, I get it… I know how much you care for her… thank the fucking holy fucking ghost. You made the right choice, okay? I know it.”
Hearing Ruby hang up the call, you sped away from her door and settled back onto the couch, fingers twiddling anxiously in your lap.
Was Vernon going to do something to Lee?
You couldn’t be sure about the situation without admitting you had eavesdropped on Ruby. When she came out from her bedroom, you reminded her she still had cream under her eyes. She started rubbing it in, sighing aloud, like she had just adverted an assassination attempt. You weren’t sure what to think, what to feel, just that you couldn’t shake Vernon from your mind for the rest of the day, no matter what you did.
“Honey Buns, wow, I haven’t had these in a lifetime.”
“Doesn’t that technically mean you’ve never had it?”
Soonyoung’s voice sounded from over your shoulder, followed by the rustling of plastic. “Dunno—they’re good, though.”
You were helping him stock some of the snacks. It was opening and the morning crowd would start trickling in soon. While Soonyoung worked on more of the individually packaged foods, you were refilling the candy bars. The Twix and KitKats were almost completely empty.
“Anyway,” Soonyoung mumbled, “back to my story…”
Since he was stocking the aisle behind yours, you could freely roll your eyes without worrying about being rude, unlike Soonyoung, who would roll his eyes straight to your face. But you always listened to the babblings of his weekend antics because he always listened to your incessant qualms about the universe and your issues—it was only fair. Half the time you tuned him out, anyway. It was typically the same stuff: getting drunk or high, stirring up trouble, running into a handsome guy, and then they’d end up having sex some place unorthodox, like a porta-potty, or a toolshed.
You tore open another box of chocolate bars.
“… and I was, like, starting to get nervous, ‘cause I promised everyone I would get them tablets, but my plug wasn’t answering. So, I had to, like, keep assuring them and shit, right? I’ve had this specific acid tablet before so I knew it was good, but the thing is, I can only get them from this mysterious Chinese dude who kinda looks like a punk rock vampire. That’s beside the point, though. Anyway, at the last second, he comes through—”
“Wait,” you interrupted, turning around and brushing the boy’s shoulder to get his attention. “Are the tablets from Minghao?”
Soonyoung stopped stocking his Honey Buns. He looked at you, sun-bleached eyebrows strung high up his forehead. “You know Minghao?”
“Uh, not really… but I’ve been trying to, uh… it’s complicated…”
You couldn’t believe it! So, maybe it wasn’t Darian that told Minghao about you and Vernon, maybe it was Soonyoung all along. He did have a pretty big mouth… you wouldn’t be surprised if he let something stupid fly off the cuff. It somehow made too much sense.
Even though you wanted to holler, you tried to stay relaxed.
He adjusted his backwards cap. “Shit, you’re trying to buy?”
“No,” you assured, shaking your head. “Not at all. But, uh, did you know he was the one who was spray painting the building? Those octopuses? Octopi? Whatever.”
He scratched behind his neck, adverting eye contact. “Maybe…”
You gasped, “and you didn’t tell me you figured it out?!”
“Okay, okay, okay, before you have a cow, I didn’t say anything because I handled the situation and I just wanted it to be behind us. Once I realized it was him, I just slipped the dude some extra cash so he’d stop with the doodles. And—would you look at that—he stopped!” Soonyoung defended.
This time, you rolled your eyes to his face. “I can’t believe this.”
“I solved the problem, alright?”
“Those doodles had my arms limp and lifeless. I had to work cash hardly being able to lift a damn thing! Do you know how dehumanizing it was to ask men to tilt their beer to the side so I could scan it? I’ve never been called sweetheart, cupcake, and honey more in my entire life!”
“Well, I apologize,” Soonyoung tutted. “But it’s in the past.”
You huffed, turning back around to continue cramming chocolate bars onto the shelf, chewing your inner cheek. But you didn’t get very far in the task. “So, you’re familiar with him? Where does he stay?”
“Fuck if I know,” Soonyoung scoffed, bending down to grab another box and bumping you. “I just meet the dude in random ass places.”
“Does he ever mention anything specific?”
“Like what?” He groaned.
“I don’t know, like, clues to where he might live?”
“Why do you wanna know?” Soonyoung retaliated, laughing as he tore open the box in his hands. “Gonna get him back? Pull a prank on him? Finger-paint all over his windows?”
“No,” you grumbled, pausing to think of a reason. “It’s for… Ruby. She’s interested.” Oops, sorry Ruby, you winced. “They hit it off at the club. Minghao gave her an address on a slip of paper, but she can’t read his handwriting. She has no trail. It’s a real crisis.”
Soonyoung paused. “Really? Why aren’t you mad at her?”
“She genuinely didn’t know, nor did she pretend she never met him!”
He sighed, utterly drained. “Jeez.”
“Yeah. She’s super upset about it.”
“I thought Minghao had a girlfriend.”
“My guess is that they’re broken up,” you attempted to answer quickly, before he could think too hard, unaware of what Soonyoung actually knew about Minghao. “She flew back to China, apparently…”
“Damn… well…” he shoved more packaged sweets onto the shelf, taking a moment before speaking again. You dared not speak. Once Soonyoung lost a thought, it might never return. “One time, he mentioned a trailer.”
“A trailer?”
“Yeah… after we finished our deal last weekend, he told me he needed to get back to his trailer. That’s about it. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Like, a trailer park?”
“Maybe.”
Okay, it wasn’t the best lead, but it wasn’t the worst. You could work with that, even if it was ambiguous. It was definitely more than what you and Vernon had been able to scrounge up the week before. Upon organizing the last few chocolate bars onto the shelf, you heard the tinkling bell above the front door ring out.
“I better get to cash,” you said, ultimately satisfied with your play.
One socked foot was pulled onto the edge of the bench.
You left your elbow propped onto your knee, helping to secure the phone before your face as you scrolled through a citywide map. It was closing time at Mr. York’s, and since you were responsibly finished with all your cleaning duties, you were supposed to be getting ready to leave for the night.
Lara slipped into the locker area, standing behind you. As she fiddled with the combination, she mumbled, “what are you searching?”
You sighed in frustration. “Nothing, at this point.”
She took out her purse and a pair of tall, luxury winter boots from her locker. Realizing the bench was strewn messily in your coat and tote bag, you moved the items aside so she could sit next to you.
“Tonight genuinely sucked,” Lara complained, tugging off her work shoes one by one, letting them bounce rubbery against the tiles. “That fancy business lady—she makes me want to put a shotgun in my mouth.” She then began massaging her feet, blowing a tuft of long hair from her face. “The way she orders me around, makes all these cunty, unnecessary comments…”
“Oh, I know,” you chided, setting your phone aside. “And then the entire group stands out front, smoking, blocking everyone’s way.”
Shoving her foot into one of the black boots, Lara nodded. “I hate the fact she’s becoming a regular...” Lara tugged up the zipper and grabbed the other boot, rubbing some dirt off the white-fur detailing. “You think if I gave Costello a handie, he’d slip, like, a laxative in her food in return? Or something that makes her fade away?”
You giggled, returning to putting on your own boots that you had left scattered on the ground. “He’s really into you. I think it might work.”
Lara shrugged, reaching behind her to snatch a pretty coat out from her locker. “A little too into me. That business lady sucks but at least she gave me a decent tip for once. Costello is useless apart from having good timing on the meat section.” After buttoning up her chic coat, Lara flipped the shimmery strands of her dark brown hair from underneath the collar, sighing. “I’m getting damn sick of men. And women. I am a terrible person.”
“Can’t you stick it out until we can confirm the laxative thing?”
She pitted a very unsatisfactory glance in your direction.
“Only kidding,” you teased.
Lara stood up, grabbing her purse. “Do you need a ride home? Tars is warming up the car. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind an extra person.”
“Sure,” you smiled. “Thanks for asking.”
As you gathered together the rest of your things and shut your locker, Lara picked up your forgotten phone, her eyes narrowing in inspection at the map you had pulled up. “Seriously? What’s this for?”
You grabbed the phone back, stuffing it in your pocket, still disappointed at the sparse results. Lara had to pull you in the direction of the back door when you automatically veered for the front entrance. The parking lot was behind the restaurant.
You were used to the bus.
“I’ve been trying to find trailer parks that are close by.”
She chuckled while shouldering open the door. “Jeez—is the pay here really that damn bad? Don’t you work two jobs?”
“No!” You laughed, following Lara across the empty lot. “It’s for another reason that’s hard to explain. But I’m not having much luck.”
Lara opened the passenger door of Tara’s car, bending down to greet her friend before gesturing to you, standing awkwardly behind her, arms folded to help protect yourself against the biting wind.
You could hardly hear what the two girls were saying—Tara was blasting electronic pop music while taking off her lipstick with a makeup wipe—and you could only hope that maybe she would turn the volume down a tad. Vernon played his music quite loudly, too. Sometimes he would compromise, sometimes not. It depended on how much he liked the artist.
“Hop in,” Lara then said. “She’s fine with it.”
You smiled, pulling open the back door and sliding in behind Lara. It smelled so strongly of her perfume that you nearly coughed.
“Hey, gorgeous!” Tara shouted over the music. “Apologies—the backseat it a little messy—you can just push all those magazines over!”
“Oh, no problem!” You shouted. “Thanks for the ride!”
“What was that?!”
You set your tote bag beside you, swallowing tightly as the music vibrated through the car’s speaker system. “I said thank you for—"
Suddenly, everything went dead silent.
“Gosh, Tars,” Lara grumbled, wriggling out from her coat. “You don’t need it that fucking loud. The concert was five months ago. And there’s a guest in your car. I think she appreciates having intact ear drums.”
You giggled breathily, nervous. “It was a little loud.”
“Don’t sugar coat it,” Lara groaned. “She needs an intervention.”
“Okay, whatever!” Tara yelled, loosening her scarf and pulling out her phone. “I get the point. Where do you live? For the GPS?”
“2269 Roxbury.”
“Perfect—we’ll drop you off first.”
“Oh, by the way,” Lara began, glancing at you through the rear-view mirror, “I’ve seen a few trailers, but it wasn’t necessarily a park.”
You brightened up. “Really?”
She nodded. “Right before it got super cold, my friends and I meshed with this other random group at a bar. We ended up going to a scrap yard, I think it’s called. There were old cars and motorcycles everywhere. A few trailers, too. Anyway, stuff was definitely getting passed around. I tried this LSD gummy and then got on a rusty bike. Got a super nasty cut on my leg. Had to go to the doctor and everything.”
“Oh,” Tara hummed, focused on the road. “I remember that. I had to come pick you up! That cut was awful! You’re lucky you had your shots!”
“Where was it, do you remember?” You pressed for information.
“I remember,” Tara sighed. “It’s along Kichesippi Woods. It’s a big scrap yard that doesn’t really get used any more. If you’re wondering about the trailers, I think there were three. People definitely lived in them. I guess they're used to people sneaking around.”
You were already making notes in your phone, excited to share the news with Vernon later on. “That’s amazing! Thank you both!”
Tara poised a polite expression. “Why are you so curious?”
“It’s a secret,” Lara answered in your place.
You shrugged, smirking ever so slightly. “Something like that.”
Vernon was staying the night at your apartment. He made himself comfortable on the couch, already prepared with an extra pillow and a pink blanket (he usually preferred Ruby’s black blanket that came with a special heating remote, but you thought the fairy pink was much better), in addition to slapping on his casual clothes—grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt—which truly wasn’t that different from his everyday attire. You were anticipating having him over, considering the fact you had been sitting on some very pertinent information all week. While waiting for your tea to finish steeping, you and Vernon were chatting up random topics.
Ruby wouldn’t be home until later.
Vernon had rolled himself a blunt. You never liked the astringent smokiness of the smell, how it stuck to everything, but after enough rendezvous with Vernon, you were unfortunately used to it. Ruby was into weed as well. She always puffed out her bedroom window.
“I’m actually so excited to tell you what I figured out!” You exclaimed, unable to stop fidgeting in your seat on the couch.
He eyed you up and down. “I can see that.”
“No, like, I’m really proud of myself.”
“Congratulations.”
It felt like being a child the night before the big birthday party, knowing your parents got you a specific gift, being ecstatic to rip it open, having an ear-to-ear grin plastered on your face akin to a mask.
Vernon exhaled a cloud of billowing, smooth smoke. He made everything look so effortless. You were a coughing, spluttering mess the last time you tried a basic joint, rolled courteously by your high school best friend. To be honest, you just never had much interest in it. Although you were probably smoking cheap, dull strains.
“When can I know the news?” He asked, keeping the blunt secured between his fingers as his hand fell upon his lap. “Why the big wait?”
“My tea,” you answered. “It has to finish steeping.”
The boy groaned, rolling his head against the sofa, frustrated at the delayed gratification. You looked along the column of his throat, noted the skin's bareness, without dark purplish-brown bruises pressed like flowers. There hadn’t been any marks for a few weeks. At least none you had noticed or seen—not that you were keeping track.
“Who cares?” Vernon grunted.
“I care!” You smacked his thigh with an embroidered pillow, a gift from Ruby’s seamstress mother. “Don’t be so impatient.”
“Is your special tea the equivalent of this?” Vernon inquired, holding the blunt up to his lips. The next time he spoke, the thin smoke crawled out from his mouth, as though he was a fire-breathing dragon. “Then I could understand. You gotta ride the wave.”
“Sure, it’s exactly like that. It’s probably done, actually.” Getting up from the couch, you checked the tea that you left steaming on the counter, stirring the bag around a few more times for good measure before plopping it in the trash. Once you rejoined Vernon in the living room, you snuggled against your end of the sofa, legs stretched out and daring to poke into his space. “Okay, are you ready?”
He shrugged. “Floor’s all yours.”
“Can I please have some more excitement?”
Vernon sighed. He tucked the blunt behind his ear and cleared his throat. Then, the boy was leaning over you, grabbing your shoulders and rattling them. “Oh, please, please, please won’t you tell me your awesome secret!” He fake-pleaded, squinching his eyes shut. “I’ll genuinely kill myself if I don’t get to know!”
Giggling, you pulled up your foot and lightly shoved it against the edge of his ribs, prodding him to sit back down. “That’s much better, although it didn't seem very sincere. Anyway, okay I'll tell you. Whew, this is really good. Okay, okay... I know where Minghao is!”
“Do you?” Vernon engaged, entertaining himself with another intake of smoke. “And where would that be? Burlington Coat Factory?”
“There’s a scrap yard along Kichesippi Woods,” you explained, tightly gripping your tea. “He lives in one of the trailers there. I’m positive.”
“Kichesippi Woods? Didn’t a guy get murdered there last year?”
You leaned forward, willfully ignoring him. “And guess how I figured it out? Through my savvy investigation skills! It was Soonyoung! He gets tablets from Minghao. I figured he was the one who blabbed about us, knowing his big mouth and all, so that’s how Minghao knew I was familiar with you. Apparently, Minghao mentioned getting back to a trailer, so, naturally, I think—” you paused, blowing on your tea and taking a shallow sip to test its flavours before continuing, “—I think he lives in a trailer park, but there’s hardly any around the city.
So, I’m working a closing shift at Mr. York’s a few days later, and I get a major scoop from Tara and Lara. Lara went to a scrap yard with this big group of people to do drugs or get drunk or steal a rusty bicycle or something—I don’t really know—and she tells me she noticed trailers there. Tara backed her up. One has to be Minghao’s! The yard’s along Kichesippi Woods!”
Vernon was squinting at you, his eyes slim and red. You assumed it was a boatload of information to absorb at once, and you hadn’t exactly held his hand and waltzed through everything at a gentle pace. But you had collected all the evidence—even a location!
The boy nodded. “That’s good news, for sure.”
Letting the tea sit between your legs, you clapped at him. “Who’s pulling the weight now, huh? I did all that handiwork myself!”
“Handiwork?” Vernon scoffed, itching his studded eyebrow. “You have destiny on your side. Everyone you fuckin’ breathe around is tangled up in this bullshit, somehow. Not that I’m complainin’.”
You fell back against the arm of the couch, pouting. “Why can’t you let me win? Did I still not do a good job? Did I not help us out?”
“No, 'course you did a good job,” he assured you. “And you helped us a lot. You’re right. I should celebrate your wins more.”
Feeling the hot tea begin to burn your inner thighs, you picked it back up and nodded at him in satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“I’m sure.”
“So, when should we check it out? Tomorrow?”
Vernon shook his head, fixing his tattooed arm around the back of the couch. “Can’t,” he muttered, “I’ve got business.”
“Ugh, you’re so boo.” You frowned, slipping down the sofa. Holding the tea against your stomach, feeling a circle of heat sink through your shirt, you began nibbling your lip, different ideas forming bubbles in your mind as you examined the ceiling. “Maybe I can—”
“Forget it,” he chuckled. “You’re not goin’ by yourself,”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” you corrected him. “The only thing I wanna do is check it out. I can’t help being curious. Maybe Tara would—”
“You don’t go if I don’t go,” Vernon stated, shrugging a shoulder.
Lifting your head to rest against the sofa, you scowled at him. “I don’t think that choice falls into your authority. I can do what I want.”
“Oh, can you?” He goaded, raising an eyebrow. “What a big girl.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Vernon said. “I don’t want you there without me. Minghao’s snakey. I know how to deal with him.”
You sighed in capitulation, wriggling your toes. “Fine.”
He gave you a stern but entreating glance. “Promise?”
Sitting up, you set the tea onto the coffee table. “I promise.”
Vernon held out his pinky finger.
You wrapped yours around his and shook on it.
Curling your legs underneath you, playing with a thread of the pink blanket now pulled onto your lap, you began to smile. “I can't help but find it weird when things actually go my way."
He chuckled. “It only feels weird ‘cause you think the world’s against you. But it’s not.” Vernon exhaled another wispy cloud. “It’s just the world. Plus, you’re high-strained enough to start up a car battery.”
“I am not!”
The boy tossed his eyes in a circle. “Your delusion charms me.”
“Actually, I think I’ve calmed down a lot…” you hummed, winding the thread around your finger. “Compared to when we first met.”
Vernon nodded. “Maybe.”
“You don't believe me? That I've mellowed out?”
“Somehow, I think it's the opposite. You talk a fuckin' lot.”
“I do? All my report cards said I was too quiet.”
“Maybe I just bring it outta you, huh?” He chuckled, letting the blunt nestle between his lips. The papery tip singed its orange glow as he puffed, more smoke drifting throughout the living room. You noticed the burnt odor lingering for longer than usual, though you weren’t particularly concerned. Maybe you were half-high. “Spike?” He was suddenly holding out the blunt, thick in his fingers and packed with an earthly, musty smell, and your heart restricted, frozen at the offer.
“Uh…” you swallowed, a deep fire rising from the base of your throat that made the words difficult to pronounce. “I’m not sure if…”
He moved it away before you could decide, drew in more smoke that soon streamed out his nose and rolled from between his lips like a waterfall of weightless clouds. “I knew your ass wouldn’t do shit.”
“Because you pressured me!”
He almost choked on his own splitting cackle. “Fuckin—how?! All I did was hold the damn thing out in front of you! You fuckin’ weirdo!”
“You set up a pretense for me to be pressured!”
“No—that was you,” Vernon chuckled. “Nice fuckin’ try.”
Grumbling, you stayed hunched over the blanket, continuing to play with the baby pink thread by feeding it between your fingers.
“Unless,” Vernon sang, “you actually did want a spike?”
You glanced up at him, eyebrows knitted together.
He nodded his head. “I don’t care if you do, PJ’s.”
Sighing, you reached out, though you paused midway, your fingers twitching in the air. No—you couldn’t. There was too much unspoken tension with him watching you. What if you started hacking up a lung like back in your high school days? You were never good at holding the breath in—the part that was crucial to feeling the high—without your eyes sprouting tears from the heated dryness.
Then, shaking your head, you refused. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s been too long…” you worried, forgetting the thread and lying back against the arm of the sofa. “I’m gonna look dumb, or something.”
He shrugged. “Who cares? It’s just me.”
“And you’ll make fun of me.”
“Well, I won’t mean it.” He smirked, giving you another moment to twiddle your thumbs and think. Suddenly, Vernon grabbed your knee and squeezed it. “I won’t say a damn thing, okay? I promise.”
“No.”
“Yes, c’mere,” he encouraged. His textured fingertips squeezed into the flesh of your arm, pulling you to sit back up despite all your grouchy, reluctant noises. “Swear I’ll be good.”
Staring him square in his pretty face, you shook your head.
“How ‘bout I make it easier, then?” Vernon suggested an unknown compromise, the dark hues of his golden eyes softening. “You trust me?”
At that moment, your skin thrummed with heat. You felt its pulse, travelling like a crashing ocean wave, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from narrowing as you traced the crests and contours of Vernon’s scheming expression. You coughed slightly. “What does that mean?”
He pursed his lip. “I’m askin’ if you trust me.”
You sniffled, nodded your head. “I do… but—”
“Close your eyes.”
“What? Why? What are you gonna do?” The nervousness of not knowing his intentions caused your mind to flitter like paper birds. You did trust him, but that didn’t exactly quell your timorousness with one easy sweep. “I-I just… you’re making me… nervous.”
“I know,” Vernon said, smiling. “I’m not gonna do anything you won’t like, yeah?” He brushed his fingers along your knee, and you took in a long, quivering breath. “Just keep relaxed. That’s it. And at any point, if you don’t want to, then stop me. Sound good?”
“Okay.” You nodded, your voice a squeak.
He put the blunt between his lips. Grabbing his lighter off the coffee table, you leaned back as he crisped the end with a few sparks, feeling the flame’s warmth ever so gently against your cheeks. Once Vernon was satisfied, he tossed the lighter and gave the blunt a quick, obligatory puff, making sure to politely blow the smoke away from your face. “Alright,” he sighed, “you ready, PJ’s?”
Gulping, the only thing you could do was nod, too afraid to use your voice again in case it embarrassingly cracked. Vernon reminded you to close your eyes. As soon as the room went dark, your heartbeat leapt tenfold.
You felt his hand touch your knee, attempting to soothe you with massaging circles. “Relax, okay?” He whispered. “You’ll like it.”
There was the faintest sound of a crackle as you heard the boy inhale, taking his time to let the smoke settle right. Then, you sensed his fingertips drift against your tingling cheek, curling behind your ear, and your nails scraped the fabric of your pyjama bottoms. He was holding the edge of your face, so close that your atmospheres seemed overlapping despite the sheer, unmoving blackness.
Softly, his nose bumped yours and you gasped. That’s when you felt the fantom breeze—his pierced lips delicately mouthing over your own—his fingers dancing to fasten your chin, the smoke crawling inside you, spilling against the back of your throat like a breath of prickly fog. The sensation was overwhelming. You didn’t know where it came from, but you mewled, wanting to chase Vernon’s touch like a swaying, golden reed. His hand skimmed down your waist, pulled along your thigh, and then the smoke had vanished.
Holy hell—you were going to pass out.
Everything around you felt fuzzy, dream-like.
There was so much heat inside you that it was no wonder your tissues and bones weren’t melting into each other, bubbling, fusing.
But then you realized what had happened. Your eyes flung open, and you scrambled backward until you were pressed against the arm of the sofa, gawking at the clever, smirking boy. “Why the hell would you do that?” You admonished.
Vernon relaxed back into his spot, arms crossed, blunt tucked behind his ear. “I wanted to,” he said. “Made you feel good, yeah?”
Yes, yes! You had never felt anything so electric! Sparks had coursed the lengths of your sensitive skin like flying livewires. They were ticklish and molten and crackling with pleasure.
“No! It did not!”
He bit his lip, shrugged. “Fine, it didn’t.” But then he tilted his head at you. “Thanks for moanin’ into my mouth, by the way. That was hot.”
“Shut up!” You recoiled off the sofa. “No I freaking didn’t!”
“My word against yours, beautiful,” Vernon countered, winking.
“I can’t believe this!” You fretted, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the coffee table, fingernails running against your teeth. “Why on earth would you do that? I don’t understand! Are you trying to trick me?”
He spoke through a haze of smoke. “Trick you how?”
“By damn near kissing me!” You cried. “Why would you do that!”
Vernon didn’t seem as concerned. “You like me,” he stated.
“So?!” At that point, it didn’t even matter. He obviously knew. You were terrible at hiding it—big surprise—but you had gradually stopped caring about how obvious you were being because there had been the boundary of his feelings diverging from yours. You were safe in a world of fantasy. There was nothing else to worry about. He would never reciprocate. “That isn’t something you can do, Vernon! It doesn’t mean anything to you like it does to me!”
“Who said it didn’t mean anything to me?”
Your feet tripped on the shag carpet at the shock of his questioning and you slammed to an awkward, confused stop. He was still reclined against the sofa, hands tucked behind his head, one holding onto his blunt that produced a finite tail of smoke into the air.
“What?” You gasped. “And what the hell does that mean?”
He bit his lip ring, stared at you. “What do you think?”
“No,” you choked, shaking your head. “No, no, no, no!”
“No, what?” Vernon laughed, leaning forward and splaying out his hands. “Why is this suddenly such a bad thing? I can’t like you?”
You sat on the coffee table, squeezing your scalp in agony.
He moved closer to you, reaching his touch underneath your knee.
“It’s not the same…” you sniffled, wiping off your runny, wet nose.
Vernon shrugged, sweetly rubbing your leg. “How come?” He murmured, attentive to your overflowing sensitivity. “Explain it to me.”
You sighed, gulping in a breath. “It just isn’t. When you didn’t like me back, I could like you even more, as much as I wanted! Because I thought you would never like me! But if you’re being serious… then it changes things! It puts… realism… on the table… and there’s just no realism with us!” Tears beaded down your cheeks, but you wiped them away before Vernon could get his hand back to your face, before you could melt all over again. “I’ll want more, I’ll want a relationship. But you won’t because you’ll get bored in a relationship—that’s why you only have unattached sex! And you’re a freaking drug dealer! How am I supposed to introduce a drug dealer to my parents, o-or survive without worrying about you, or stay out of your business no matter how many times you tell me to. I won’t!”
“Jeez,” Vernon chuckled, his voice becoming hoarse from the potency of the Indica. “That was quite the speech.”
“But did you listen?!”
“Yes, yes, I listened.” Vernon put the blunt behind his ear, then eased your anxious buzzing by grabbing onto your shaky hands and surrounding them tightly with his warm, rough, calloused ones. “I listened, PJ’s. Alright? I think you have valid worries. But why do we have to focus on the uncertainty right now? Why can’t we just… I dunno… go where the wind takes us? Huh?”
Your shoulders sunk. “Do you really like me?”
The boy smiled, flashing a glimpse of his sharp teeth as a response.
“Well… I think you’re lying. We’re friends.”
No matter what he told you tonight, your mind was solidified. It was not going to accept that this boy was being truthful. It was not going to accept that your fantasy was threatening the bounds of real life.
Vernon shook his head, moved aside some sooty hairs tickling his eyes. “Y’know what? Sure. We’re friends. Let’s keep it simple, yeah? I’ll just think about you every wakin’ fuckin’ second of my goddamn day, and you’ll think about me, and we’ll just call it even. Right?”
Nipping anxiously on your bottom lip, you nodded. “Right.”
Vernon took the blunt down from his ear. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
Once Ruby came home, she could clearly tell something was off between you, though she refrained from being vocal about it. You were certain she noted how distant you were from Vernon, not just metaphorically, but also physically, cramming yourself against the opposite end of the sofa like you were attached by hot-glue.
Most of your responses were minimal and squeaky. She sent you a text before bed, when you came out from the washroom and screamed at Vernon innocently waiting his turn.
WTF is going on???
You sent her a text back.
I’ll explain tmo… you won’t BELIEVE it…
7 MONTHS AGO.
The next morning, you decided to take Ruby out for breakfast to explain the situation. Vernon was gone by the time you awoke. Strangely, the pink blanket was folded nice and neat on the couch as opposed to the usual lump he would leave behind in his haste. You placed the blanket on the corner of your bed prior to heading out, giving it a long, confused stare.
Ruby loved Get Cracking. It was her favourite breakfast restaurant in the city. No matter your age, they left you pencil crayons and a colouring book to work on while awaiting your food. It made for a very interesting exposé as you shaded in the bejewelled crown atop your princess’s curly hair.
“No… I don’t even know how to start…” you sighed.
Your roommate was colouring a frog perched on a lilypad. “Just come straight out with it,” Ruby encouraged. “That’s the best way.”
“Well, I’ll set up some background first…” you murmured, replacing your bright yellow pencil with a deep purple one to colour in the crown’s amulets. “So, basically… Vernon almost freakin’ kissed me.”
Suddenly, there was a loud, harsh snap. Ruby had broken the lead to her blue pencil. “Uh—” she swallowed, hard, bulging her golden-green eyes at you like saucers “—so much for background information!”
“It gets worse!”
“Jesus. How?”
Collapsing your shoulders, taking a timid glance around the restaurant, you proceeded to lower your voice and whisper, “because, then he told me… he essentially told me that he liked me! I almost fainted!”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. She leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Are you freaking serious? Like, on your life? You’re being serious? He said that?”
You nodded gravely. “No, I’m being so serious. The seriousest.”
“Is that a word?”
“I don’t know! That’s how serious this is!”
She couldn’t produce even a sound. Instead, Ruby dropped her broken pencil and sunk back into the booth like she was just delivered the most devastating news, her tongue circling around her inner cheek. To be honest, you were still reeling from the moment. It consumed your mind without mercy for the entire night. You saw Vernon in your dreams. You touched him. You caressed him. You felt him in ways you couldn’t confess.
After a palatable silence, Ruby shifted from her stony, stiff position that made her seem almost corpse-like. She casted fingers through a silky red streak of her dark hair, puffing out from deep within her chest. “Damn…”
“That’s all you have to say?” You whined. “I need guidance!”
“Well—jeez—I need to process it!” Ruby defended.
“I thought that silence was you processing it!”
“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “That was me talking myself down from buying ten Screwdrivers!”
Squeezing the pencil in between your fingers, you tried desperately not to let yourself spiral. After all, you were the master of spiralling. It wasn’t a hard thing to do, but it was terribly exhausting to come back down and grasp the extent of mental wreckage. Ruby was far better at composure, though she seemed most keen for a drink before you went any further.
You grabbed a pink pencil for the princess’s dress. “I don’t know… all I’m saying is that it’s confusing… if he’s being honest about it, then I don’t understand why he likes me. We’re so different in every aspect.”
Ruby sighed, grabbing her blue pencil and attempting to colour with it again, only to remember it was broken. She took another shade from the assorted cup, blowing some shavings off it. “I’m not gonna pretend to fully understand how the guy’s mind works…” she admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “Ever since I’ve known him, he’s never liked anybody romantically. He’s always been a free spirit, you know? Doesn't like to be tethered. I think the fact you are so different from him, so beyond what he’s used to… maybe it’s refreshing?”
Frowning, you pushed harder on the pencil, outlining the princess’s dress in a darker hue of hot pink. “Yeah, and then he’ll get totally bored of me. I’ll lose my refreshingness! I feel like I’m just a phase, you know?”
“I wish I could give you a clear answer.”
You wished for that, too.
But if someone were to plop a miraculous crystal ball into your hands and harness the undeniable truth, that would be too easy, and your life was certainly not founded on easiness. Sucking in your cheeks, you continued colouring, noting more streakiness through the thin paper as pressure flooded your hand and cramped your fingers.
“How did he try to kiss you?” Ruby asked.
You let the pencil roll away. “It was a tricky trick.”
“What kind of tricky trick?”
The memory remained sharp in your mind. Every little sensation, breath, gliding of fingers, nervous words—you could recreate it with clay and make a damn movie! Having to explain the situation to Ruby turned you hotter than the fresh plate of browned, buttery pancakes the waitress had just delivered to the table.
Ruby pulled the waitress’s attention. “Can I ask for one Screwdriver, if that’s okay? With a raspberry flavour shot?”
As you spilled the warmed, smooth syrup around in circles, you sighed aloud. “He had a blunt, and asked if I wanted a hit. I said I couldn’t because it had been too long since I last smoked—I didn’t wanna look like a gigantic fool—what if I started choking to death or something?” Setting the pitcher back down, grabbing hold of your utensils, you continued. “So, whatever, I let him take control of the situation. He asked me to close my eyes, right? Then… he gets close to me… he has his hand on my face and his lips are like, feathering over mine, and he’s blowing the smoke into my mouth!”
Ruby brought a hand to her face, gasping.
“The worst part…” you whispered, embarrassment fizzling up your chest as you leaned further toward your roommate, “I moaned!”
“You what?!” She shouted, beginning to cough. “You moan—”
Picking up a napkin, you shoved it against her loud mouth before the entire diner could hear your intimate, inappropriate details while in the midst of eating breakfast. She used the napkin to wipe some crumbs off her lips. “S-Sorry—” Ruby spluttered, “—I just—holy fuck. He kinda got you.”
“He was so damn cocky about it!” You flustered.
“Well,” Ruby sighed in a helpless breath, cutting across her pancakes. “That’s Vernon for you. If he gets a reaction, he runs with it.”
Prodding at your food with a fork, you again thought back to the dreams running rampant through your imagination last night. How vivid each sensation felt, to the point that the little hairs on your arms began bristling in response. His rough hands all over you, pulling, kneading, smacking. The ghosted recollection of what it might feel like to be filled by him, a warmth and fullness you couldn't make sense of. There had been sweat shining off your body with the glow of a newborn star. There were moans, loud and then soft, weak.
You hadn’t realized you were staring into space.
Ruby’s lips tightened. “Uh… what exactly are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what your pupils are telling me.” When you didn’t entertain the topic any further, Ruby smiled, her expression comforting. “It’s okay to want him. It’s okay to think about him in ways that feel… not okay.”
You stabbed a sliced piece of banana onto your fork. “How is it okay, though? You always freak out about us potentially having sex.”
Ruby nodded. “Yeah, but that was before I knew all this, how he feels about you. I would hate for your first time to be with someone who isn’t on your wavelength romantically.” She paused as the waitress stopped by with her orange Screwdriver. “Things could have changed once he got to know you. I mean, clearly, they did. It’s just… you might not be ready for the same things.”
“We definitely aren’t. I can’t… be with a drug dealer,” you whispered.
She chuckled. “Most people would probably say the same.”
Letting your chin rest in your palm, you glanced at your roommate from across the table. “Do you think he’s serious? He really likes me?”
Ruby grabbed her beverage, taking a sip. “I know he’s serious,” she confessed after settling the glass back down. “Dude, he was gonna beat the shit out of Lee. I had to talk him out of it. He laughs and smiles so much when he's with you. I think he genuinely cares about you. And I bet you’re all he thinks about.”
You started to smile, your eyes fluttering. “That’s sweet…”
“I really can’t tell you what to do,” Ruby admitted with a defeated shrug, spearing some fruit onto her fork, “since you know yourself best. But I bet the answer will come to you when you’re least expecting it.”
After bringing the sliced banana to your mouth, you began cutting into your pancakes frustratedly, nodding. “My god. I hope so.”
Before you and Vernon could jump into investigating the scrap yard, he told you that he had a deal planned right around lunchtime. Of course, this was mentioned after you had already sat down in his car, and since you weren’t in the mood to bail out into a pile of pebbled, greying snow and concrete, the best thing you could do was begrudgingly cross your arms and sigh.
Now, you didn’t know where you were.
It was a gigantic, empty hanger graffitied to hell with large garage doorways. Probably some sort of warehouse left to complete abandonment years and years ago, turned to an ideal location for Vernon to sell his friends drugs. How forward thinking.
The air was still and frosty, the surrounding land barren, lumped, and dead, with nothing but a coarse field to stare at from across the quiet road. While Vernon sat on the hood of his car, feeling the warmth grumble from the running engine underneath, you were stiffly leaned against the threshold of the garage doorway. Ever since the second incident (taking name after the now labelled first incident AKA the failed confession), you couldn’t help but make it weird.
Vernon acted the same as he always did.
Unfortunately, you weren’t hardwired that way.
Kicking at a stone, you sighed, “when is he coming?”
“Soon.”
“Can I have a time?”
Vernon stared at you. “12:12.”
“No, I mean, like, the time that he’s supposed to show up.”
“Well, if I had the time for that, I would have said it.”
Displeased at the unproductive exchange, you turned around, keeping your arms folded, and took a few steps inside the industrial-sized hanger. There were some gashes in the metallic roofing, letting through thick beams of white light that staggered against the ruined cement floor. You then looked right, saw a huge slew of black, graffitied letters dried dripping above a hole broken through the infrastructure.
WORLD’S LARGEST GLORYHOLE!
Promptly, you turned back around. “What a lovely place this is.”
Vernon scoffed, stretching out his hands behind him. “I know you wanna leave. It won’t be much longer, alright? Moo’s good at that.”
“Not me to me, he’s not. Did you guys not discuss a time? Or do you just throw out arbitrary numbers and show up when you feel like it?”
“Ease the attitude. Damn.”
Your eyes rolled. It was impossible not to give attitude.
Giving attitude was the only way for you to place distance that was more than just physical in between yourself and Vernon. It was your only means of putting up a barbed front. You were not an attitude person by nature. But being around him just pulled it straight out of you like a child yanking their loose, wriggling tooth.
He patted the spot beside him. “Come sit here.”
You made a sour, repulsive face. “Mmm… no.”
Vernon shook his head, chuckling. “I knew you would do this.”
Rolling a rock underneath your heel, you muttered, “do what?”
“Make it fuckin’ awkward.”
“No—” you argued back, instantly tense and hot, “—you made me make it awkward! And since you knew I would be awkward about it, my awkwardness right now is completely and unequivocally your fault!”
Vernon shrugged, pressing against a sore spot on the side of his neck, beginning to yawn. “I can’t be bothered t'give a fuck.”
“Then why’d you bring it up?”
He shuffled backward, reclining against the car’s windshield, tucking his arms comfortably behind his head. “The not givin’ a fuck part didn’t kick in until just now. Can you hit the radio? I want some tunage.”
“Do it yourself.”
“Prick,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
“Idiot,” you mumbled back, punting the rock.
Vernon’s friend appeared about ten minutes later, ripping into the lot with a concerning level of speed. He pulled his all-black car right next to the rumbling Camry. It looked like something salvaged from the early 1990’s with its small, square lights, short hood, and compact structure. Vernon greeted his friend, Moo. He was sporting a thin black zip-up, some track pants, and weathered white sneakers. His hair was a fluffed-out, wispy afro and you were quick to notice that some splotches of skin on his hands and neck were pale in comparison to his dark complexion. Vitiligo. You remembered the name since one of Diana’s cousins had the condition.
Unsure of what to do as Vernon and Moo cordially conserved, you returned your attention back toward the hanger, scuffing your shoes and hearing the consequential echo. Until Vernon called you.
“PJ’s—this is Moo. Old buddy a' mine.”
Shuffling over, you leaned against Vernon’s car. “Hello.”
Moo smiled, sticking out his hand. Vernon always dapped up all his friends, and you assumed it would be no different with Moo, hence his quirky laughter when the attempted handshake was met with you scraping at his palm and clutching his fingers.
“Oh, shit,” Moo chuckled, rubbing his nose as you reclined into yourself, embarrassed. “Didn’t know you were cool like that.”
“I’m sorry. Vernon always does it and—”
“Hey, I’m throwing something this weekend,” Moo suddenly interrupted your bumbling, returning his attention to Vernon. “Kitty’s finally back from Europe and she brought some crazy freak shit they’ve been smashing in those underground clubs. Said it’s cut with stardust. What a fucking liar, huh?” He smacked Vernon’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Anyway, if you’re free, you should swing by.” Moo looked at you. “And you, too. If you're into that”
Vernon nodded, returning the gesture and giving his friend’s shoulder a stern squeeze. “Alright, man. Thanks for the invite.”
Moo waggled his tiny baggies full of white powder, seeming satisfied that he delivered forth the message. “No worries, street rat. I'll make sure this gets to Mish, the lazy bastard.” He plopped back into his car, saluted you both. “Later guys.”
Upon his friend tearing out from the parking lot, Vernon slapped the money against his hand. “Okay, the treacherous, scary deed is done.”
Squirming into the warm car, you asked, “are you going?”
Vernon tucked the money into a black knapsack that he proceeded to toss into the rear of the car. “Yes, yes, holy shit—can you give me a fuckin’ second to at least breathe the air? Jesus Christ…”
“No!” You shouted. “I meant are you going to the party?”
“Oh,” he sighed cumbersomely, puffing out his cheeks. “Uh, probably. And it’s not a party.” He stretched on his seatbelt.
You undid the buttons on your woolly coat. “Then what is it?”
“Nothin’ that you’d give a fancy fuck about,” he chuckled while proceeding to steer the car out from the lot. “That’s for damn sure.”
“Well, what if I want to go?”
Suddenly, Vernon smashed the breaks.
In the midst of putting on your seatbelt, you were shot forward like a rock in a slingshot, ramming into the dashboard. Shaking your head, you glared at him, feeling the crookedness in your arm. “What the hell!”
The boy’s brow was heavily contorted in bewilderment. “Please, tell me you did not just say that, Pyjamas,” he implored. “There’s no way.”
With a grumble, you adjusted yourself back into the chair, ensuring your seatbelt was safely secured before you dared say anything else. Vernon's stare was crisply burning, like sunlight through a magnifying glass, and it became increasingly harder to put a sentence together.
Rolling out your shoulders, you nipped, “stop staring at me.”
“I wanna understand why you wanna go. I mean, it makes absolutely zero fuckin’ sense. There’s nothin’ there that appeals to you.”
“Can you just drive?”
Vernon obliged, peeling out onto the long road bordered by stiff country fields and pearl blue sky. “I think you’re tryin’ to pull my chain.”
“Of course you do.”
He laughed again. “Seriously, though. What’s this about?”
With the industrial hanger being pulled away from your peripheral, you had nothing to stare at but the encompassing fields, prickled and ice-crusted with frost. Honestly, it was quite pleasant to take in such openness after habituating to the crowded city life. Your childhood home had been right across from a farm.
Vernon’s elbow bumped your arm. “Eh? What’s the deal?”
You took in a breath, keeping your tone calm. “I don’t know… I just don’t get the fuss about me wanting to go. I mean, I get that it doesn’t really suit what you think of me… but there’s no harm in trying new things.”
“Okay,” Vernon huffed, “but people say that about, like, tryin’ a new hobby or some shit. You’re wantin’ to put yourself in a position where you straight up know you won’t have a good time. Like, seriously.”
“Because you can only have a good time when you’re high?”
“No—because you’re gonna be around other high people—and as a sober person, that’s gonna suck. It’s gonna suck real fuckin’ bad.”
Your head rolled along the seat such that you were staring at him while he drove, an eyebrow tweaking in question. “And I can only assume you’re going to be in the high population. Not the sober.”
“What the fuck do you think?” He chuckled.
“I still want to go.”
Vernon shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I feel like there has to be specific a reason you’re so against me going…” you hummed in contemplation, crossing one leg over your knee and beginning to bob your foot. “I think I know what it is.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I just told you—you’re gonna hate it.”
“It’s because you want to screw around with a girl.”
The boy cackled, leaning forward in his seat, rubbing a hand through his soft, black locks. “Jesus Christ, you’re killin’ me, you know that?”
“I see…” you muttered, folding your arms. “No denial…”
“Shut the fuck up, honestly,” Vernon laughed.
“Well, if that’s what you want to do, then just be honest.”
“Okay, fine,” he declared with a shrug. “I’ll play your game, PJ’s.”
“There’s no game,” you chastised him, rolling your eyes.
But he ignored your insistence. “Say there was a girl. And I did fuck her while you were there. Loud enough that you could hear every time the bed frame hit the wall. Hear every single one of her moans. Every single time I smacked her ass.” He glanced over you slowly from top to bottom while you sat rigid in your seat, likely taking pleasure from how you squirmed. “How would that make you feel?”
Your entire mouth and throat were papery dry.
Truth be told, you would hate it.
In fact, you would probably start crying. The silence was louder than any crash or clap. You didn’t want to answer the question. You didn’t want him to know how utterly heartbroken that would make you feel. Just the fact that he had even asked such a question, knowing how it would stab you, made you get teary-eyed.
Swallowing gruffly, you squeaked out, “well… if that’s what you want.”
Vernon snorted. “That’s not at all what I want!” He paused for a moment, a sparkle darting through his eyes. “Unless the girl is you.”
You couldn’t help but make a twisted, flustered facial expression.
His hand then found the top of your back and he started rubbing in circles, easing the emotions colliding inside you that had packed into a knot between your shoulders. “If you went and fucked someone else in the house, I’d care, too! I’d fuckin’ want to murder the guy!”
You sniffled. “Really?”
Squeezing your shoulder, he smiled at you, full of confidence and conviction. “A hundred percent, PJ’s. I said I liked you, 'member?”
Shuddering out a breath, you felt Vernon’s touch leave your body, and the loss of physical consolation seemed so cruel. No one had ever communicated something like that to you before. At least not in a romantically-inclined way—Ruby did say from time to time that she would gladly throttle anyone who upset you—and you appreciated the sentiment from both sides of the coin. Maybe Vernon really did feel something for you. Maybe.
“I don’t feel like talking anymore,” you sighed, heavy in thought as the sparse fields started thickening with conifers, casting out the light and pushing in shadows that webbed the dark ground. “Can we sit in silence until we get there?”
“Whatever you need,” Vernon answered, shrugging a shoulder.
The entrance to the scrap yard was very unassuming. It was a mere dirt road that veered off from the pavement, leading downward, between a continuous brigade of tall, still pine trees. You couldn’t help but think back to Lara’s story about being brought here by a group of strangers—you would think you were getting murdered—though you were also a complete worrywart. Lara was definitely more adventurous by comparison.
Vernon seemed pretty assured that Minghao wouldn’t be there since it was a Saturday, and Minghao was apparently a very busy bee on Saturdays, dealing drugs no doubt, or painting buildings—you weren't sure. But soon the dirt road and trees opened up until you came to a clearing. There was a large, tall fence, caged around the scrap yard. Vernon pulled the car off to the side, taking out his keys.
“Is it locked?” You asked.
He pushed open his door. “Probably.”
“So, what does that—”
Vernon had already shut the door.
Grumbling to yourself, you threw off your seatbelt and hurried after him. He was inspecting a large, hardy padlock secured around two posts of the fence with chain links.
“I’m guessing it’s locked,” you sighed.
“No, it’s wide open.”
You scowled at his unhelpful sarcasm. “I was just asking!”
“I can pick the shitty locks, but this isn’t a shitty lock.”
“Shame.”
Vernon looked up. He placed two hands on the fence and shook it, hearing the metal rattle. “Seems stiff enough. And not electric. Bonus.”
Instantly, your stomach surged with trepidation. His thinking was obvious. And you were not mentally nor physically prepared to hop aboard. Taking a step back, you scoffed, “no—no way.”
Vernon laughed, gesturing innocently. “What? I told you it’s not electric! There’s not even any barbed wire up top. It’s askin’ to be climbed!”
You gagged; mouth slacked. “So, what? You talk to fences now? I am not climbing that! It’s dangerous! And tall as heck! I’m not doing it.” For emphasis, you crossly folded your arms and stood firmly in place. “If you want me over that, you’ll have to drag me.”
Rolling his eyes, Vernon mirrored your hardened stance. “Okay, honestly, what did you expect, PJ’s? That we’d just be able to skippy-doodle-doo our way in here? You should have learned by now it’s never that easy.” He waved his hand toward the fence. “Now, stop bein’ a spoiled princess and get your ass over here so we can get this show on the road.”
But you didn’t move. “No.”
“Holy shit. You’ll be fine,” Vernon drawled, his tone beginning to bleed from patience and amusement to annoyance. “Nothin’ is gonna happen. All’s you need is a tetanus shot and opposable thumbs. Thumbs may even be optional.”
“Ah, but I have a brain. You’re better off.”
He seemed done with the stalling. Vernon stalked toward you, eyes steely, his hand grooving around your elbow, beginning to tug you.
“Hey!” You hollered, attempting to thrash free. “Don’t—even—”
But Vernon was strong. He was dragging you a little too easily. “Don’t make me fuckin’ throw you over my shoulder,” he grunted in warning, forcing you to move closer and closer toward the fence.
At last, you capitulated. “Fine, fine! I’ll climb it!” He let go of your elbow, to which you rubbed down your arm sorely. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed. He then grabbed your hand and slapped it right onto the cold fence, curling your fingers around the metal wiring. “You’re more prepared than I am. You’re the rock climber.”
“Don’t make me remember that,” you gritted. “Also, the fact you’re making me go first is so… you should be ashamed, abhorred—”
“Shut the fuck up and do it.”
Upon spearing him a glare, you decided to bite the bullet. At least when you had been rock climbing there was a safety harness, and helmet, and ropes to catch you in the event you slipped. Trying not to harp on the dangers, your teeth clenched tight into your inner cheek as you began to climb, ignoring how horribly icy the metal felt as your fingers wrapped around the wires.
The higher you scaled, the more your heart raced, until you reached the thick bar on top and you had a perfect vantage point across the entirety of the scrap yard. Right in the middle was three RVs. You knew to get over the fence you had to straddle the bar, though the task seemed impossible. Swallowing densely, you took a moment to breathe in the brisk, sharp air, smell the earth and the pine. Grunting and trembling, you managed to get one leg over the bar.
Choosing to peer down at Vernon, recall the safety of solid ground, you gulped. “This sucks ass!”
“You’re doin’ great!” He called, sticking out a thumbs-up to demonstrate his pride. “And you gave me a great view from down below.”
“Shut up!” You nagged him, though you were smiling widely.
Soon enough, your feet were back on the dirt.
Vernon smirked at you from across the fence. “Easy, right?”
“Even easier if you knew how to pick that lock.”
“Boohoo,” Vernon said. “Let me pull out my YouTube tutorial.”
Suddenly, he had hopped onto the fence, and in a few fast, swift movements, the boy was already scaling the top. Once he climbed down about halfway, he leapt off, landing neatly in the spot beside you, clapping off his calloused hands like he’d just shoved a pie into a warm oven.
“Show off,” you muttered.
“Always,” Vernon said with a click of the teeth.
He proceeded down the shallow hill toward the inner bowl of the scrap yard, and you supposed there was no other choice but to follow him, hurrying to match step with his stride. The junk piles were organized for the most part. Broken bicycles, car doors, and odd metal contraptions tossed into one mound, while others were slightly more miscellaneous but seeming tended to. You walked past a sewing machine that didn’t look too rough.
“Oh! Ruby would love this!”
Vernon stopped to glance at the machine. “Yeah? It looks like shit.”
“It’s just dirty,” you answered, nudging it with your foot.
“Let’s go shoppin’ later,” he insisted, picking up your hand and continuing to pull you in the direction of the RVs. “No distractions.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Together, you perched behind a rusted, red-striped fishing boat lifted off the ground by a steel trailer. Vernon let your hand drop, brushing something off his nose. The series of RVs were about twenty feet away, with reasonable distance in between them, their colours mostly ugly beiges and bleached creams with no discernible detail. You expected Minghao’s RV to have some freaky aquatic design painted across it—anything that might suggest which belonged to him—but there was no graffiti in sight.
With your fingers anxiously digging into your knees, you looked in between the RVs and back to Vernon. “How should we do this?”
“Cautiously,” he stated, and you giggled in response.
“That’s not a word I’d expect you to know.”
“Blame yourself,” Vernon rasped. “If you weren’t here, I could go about this any way I wanted. But we’re a unit now.”
“How sweet,” you muttered.
“Okay, this is what we’ll do,” Vernon announced. “I’ll take the trailer in the middle; you take the one closest to us. Start by lookin’ around the area, see if there’s a thing or two that gives Minghao vibes. Try to look in the windows if you can, but be careful, obviously. Listen for TVs, runnin’ water, couches squeakin’, doors openin’—anything that could indicate someone's inside—and we should have a signal if there’s a spat.”
“Like what?”
“How about a whistle? Can you whistle?”
“Barely,” you commented, forming the appropriate shape with your lips and blowing air through your teeth, hardly any noise.
“What the fuck was that?” He sneered.
“I was whistling!”
“You sound like a fuckin’ busted teakettle, man. That got ran over, and dragged for a kilometer. Okay, change of tactic. Ah—can you do this?” He layered his hands together, made a small opening between his thumbs, and proceeded to blow inside, mimicking the elegant sound of a loon.
You scowled at him. “If I sound like a busted teakettle, what makes you think I can make a freakin’ bird noise? Are your neurons okay?”
“Whatever—fuck the signal, actually. Let’s just get in and out.”
Vernon went around one side of the fishing boat while you crept along the other. He was quick, darting off to the central RV while keeping low, and you got the suspecting, blaring sense this was far from his first time hopping a fence or spying through another’s window. Moving slower in comparison, you approached the first RV. Your stomach was an unsettled hive of buzzing, frantic bees.
What if someone really was inside?
The vehicle wasn’t in the best condition. Worn wheels were sagging and the headlights were busted. Treading airy steps, you paced the perimeter of the vehicle. There were lawn chairs spread out in the back, propped between a plastic, cheap table sitting an ash tray and a few crushed beer cans. A makeshift firepit displayed the remnants of ashy, grey logs and charred newspaper, tiny pieces fluttering loose in the chilly breeze like snowfall.
Was this Minghao? Did this seem like him? Beer cans and ash trays?
Vernon knew him better. You should have requested insight.
You approached the RV, gliding your hand along its cold, smooth surface, until you stopped underneath a window. It was too tall to glance in, so you decided to grab one of the lawn chairs for assistance. The fabric didn’t seem very reliable. Letting your foot press deep onto the surface, the entire chair squeaked, seeming to bend inward on itself. But you took a breath, subtly applying more weight until you were fully standing on it.
“Jesus Christ…” you sighed quietly to yourself, fingers clasping the windowsill. “If this breaks, I’m never standing on anything again in my entire life.”
The curtains were closed apart from a tiny sliver down the middle.
It took all your concentration to not make a single noise as you attempted to peer through the opening. From your inspection, no one was inside. There was a sink with some fancy glass cups splayed around it. Basic wooden cupboards, tinted by age. A cuckoo clock near the door. An armchair embroidered by a dated pattern of roses. Whatever’s Minghao aura was, this didn’t seem to match. You thought back to his luxurious, long-swept coat, his chic, cherry-red hair, the chunky rings agleam on his fingers.
Stepping off the lawn chair, you knew this couldn’t be his RV.
You wondered if Vernon was having any luck. As you walked over to the RV centered in the yard, head cocked in an attempt to find where he had disappeared to, the boy suddenly exploded into you, grasping your hand and tearing you flush against the trailer’s wall.
“What the hell—”
His palm pressed over your mouth, muffling your voice.
“Shh!” He whispered. “There’s someone in this one!”
You grabbed his wrist, peeling away the contact. Hiding behind the RV didn’t seem very practical. “And you got their attention?”
“I was lookin’ in the front window, and this cat hopped up on the sill, started battin’ at me through the glass. Then this woman appeared from nowhere to grab him. I ducked. Dunno if she saw me or not.”
“And what are we supposed to—”
His hand was on your mouth again. “Shut up! You hear that?”
You were still as stone, listening. Apart from the blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline beginning to twitch throughout your body, you heard a noise echo from the front of the vehicle, a squeak, as though a door had opened. Vernon slowly removed his hand from your lips. You two exchanged a wrought look. Your chest was heaving in deep breaths.
“Did you see something, Mr. Big? Hm?”
A few seconds later, you heard a sharp, loud meow, almost demanding in its cadence. Vernon was chewing on his lip ring, hands placed flat to his waist. Instinctively, you pushed yourself closer against him, searching for a trace of his warm, smooth scent to keep your heart grounded.
“Okay. Show Mommy where.”
“Fuck,” Vernon cursed. “Little kitty’s gonna bust us.”
You grabbed onto his hand. “What do we do?”
An orange, plump cat with faint burnt stripes had padded its way around the corner of the RV, its long tail sticking up and flicking. Paw after paw, the cat started to approach you in a slow stride, and your nails dug straight into the inked skin of Vernon’s hand.
You knew you should run.
“Go away Mr. Big,” Vernon gritted his teeth and hissed at the approaching cat. But then the cat butted its square, flat head into Vernon’s leg, purring aloud, rubbing its cheek against his pants. You wanted to giggle despite the seriousness of the situation.
“Hey!” A lady stood at the corner, fists on her hips.
You and Vernon froze against each other.
She was older, her hair a greyish-brown, curly mess flipped over to one side, dressed in flipflops with fluffy green fur and a drooping night gown. While the cat continued persuading Vernon for attention, the lady opted to squint heavily at the two of you, the skin by her eyes wrinkling intensely.
“Qian?” The lady barked, her tone strict and cutting. “Is that you?”
You exchanged a worrisome, confused glance with Vernon. He looked down at the orange cat, gulping heavily, contemplating something.
“Qian!” She snapped again, taking a step closer. “Is that—”
“Uh, yes?” Vernon answered, wincing. “It’s me.”
“Who the hell is Qian?” You whispered, squirming with nerves.
Vernon spoke very lowly, “Minghao’s friend.”
“I told you; you can’t give sardines to Mr. Big anymore!”
“My apologies, m’mam…” he stuttered in response.
She paused, tilted her head. “Qian, you sound different.”
Vernon’s complexion turned pale. “Uh, that’s—”
“Your English has certainly come a long, long way. You barely spoke a word of it when I first met you.” She started to walk closer, her flipflops scuffing across the dusty ground. “Is that Mr. Big down there, by your feet? He thinks you’re about to give him another sardine. I left my glasses in the washroom, you know. I thought there was—” she immediately cut herself off, a gasp flushing out from her mouth. “Is that Biyu?!”
Her reference was clearly aimed at you.
Before you could even decide to speak, Vernon beat you to it.
“It is.”
“And what are you doing behind my trailer?”
Vernon sucked in a breath. “We’re—”
“Well, I’m sure Minghao will be impressed! Knowing his closest friend is out lollygagging around with his ex-girlfriend!” She babbled on and on, as though she hadn’t spoken to anyone in months apart from her cat, the words flowing out in a critical, fast-paced tone. “Have you no shame, the both of you? And you thought behind my trailer was a good place to start?”
Vernon scratched his head. “It won’t happen again.”
“I better hope not! Or else I’ll tell him straight away!”
At last, Vernon bent down, picking up the chunky orange cat that had been sitting at his feet, licking a paw. He gave the cat a few scratches behind its tufted ear before handing him off to his owner.
“There you are, Mr. Big,” she cooed. “Come back to Mommy.”
Your lips pressed together tightly.
While she kept the cat wrapped up against her chest using a single arm, bouncing him like a baby, she had suddenly gripped onto Vernon’s wrist. Moving away from the trailer, your heart plunged.
“Lord—when did you get all this ink?!” She exclaimed. Vernon wasn’t given the opportunity to answer. It seemed to be dawning on her that perhaps the young man with golden-brown eyes, facial piercings, an undeniable gruffness in his voice, and plentiful tattoos wasn’t Qian.
She opened her mouth, thin lips stretched, the breath in her throat hitching. “You… you aren’t Qian…” the lady’s words warped with confusion and shock. “And that isn’t…” keeping the tubby cat cradled against her chest, she pushed around Vernon to approach you. “That can’t be Biyu.”
You felt magnetized to the wall of the trailer. Her eyes were slimmed to a permanent squint as she seemed to be taking in your every detail, the floral, piney scent of her perfume overwhelming your senses, the deep wrinkles of her skin twisting. “No! You can’t be Biyu! She’s much prettier!” The lady whipped around, her cat meowing sharply, as she glared at Vernon. “You two are lying trespassers!”
“No, I’m Qian,” Vernon persisted, smiling.
Shooting him straight-faced daggers, you couldn’t believe he was deciding to push his luck. Everything was totally, undeniably screwed.
“You are not!” She stuck a finger in his face. “Who are you?!”
“Woah, woah, woah. I think you need your glasses before you start with the accusations.” He proceeded to shoulder around her, sliding his arm along your waist, as you stood stiffly, still offended that this lady in her lime-green flip flops and dusty nightgown had called you unattractive in a roundabout insult. “They have chains for em’, no? So you can’t lose ‘em?”
She flung out her arm. “Leave! Right now!”
Vernon clasped his fingers around yours, beginning to pull you away. “I’ll get you a pair for Christmas!” He shouted. “You’ll love it!”
You two began running back up the sloping path that had led downward into the scrap yard, refusing to look back. Digging your nails into the warm skin of Vernon’s hand, you grumbled, “why did you push it?!”
“I didn’t push it!” He laughed.
“She figured out we were lying! And then you got smart!”
At the fence, you two paused to catch your breath.
Vernon smirked at you. “Still want that shitty sewin’ machine?”
Your eyes rolled. There was no point in going back and forth, and so you refused to wait for him, clutching onto the fence and beginning to haul yourself up impatiently, feeling humiliated.
“So, that’s a no?!” He yelled as you reached the top.
If you had the sewing machine, you would have dropped it on him.
“I don’t get what you’re so ticked about. We know the last trailer has to be Minghao’s. And, so what we got busted? That lady can’t see two feet in front of her. For all she knows, I’m Willy fuckin’ Wonka.”
“Oh, yeah,” you retorted dryly. “Because who else could it be? A tattooed, face-pierced liar and a random, apparently very unattractive girl sleuthing around Minghao’s home. Oh, wow,” your voice pitched in a sarcastic tone, hands slapped to your face in mock dramatics. “He’ll be so puzzled! Who could it be?”
Vernon kissed his teeth, keeping his sight on the flat, long road that the car shot down. “Minghao’s probably hardly ever there. Can’t see him bein’ real eager to dish about life with his youthful neighbours.”
“We could have so easily screwed everything up.”
“And we didn’t.”
“You don’t know that!” The frustration belted out in a cry.
The boy shook his head, reaching for the stereo. “Let’s just agree to disagree,” he said, reaching for the knob on his radio. A crackle vibrated through the tired speakers; his phone plugged into the radio using a stringy cable that looked like it might electrocute whoever touched it. “I need my brain to be completely empty.”
“Great…” you muttered, head tilted woefully in the direction of your window, the corners still tinged with frost. “I hate hearing, anyway.”
Vernon snorted. “That’s ‘cause you have to listen to yourself.”
If it weren’t for the finest string of self-control that you unspooled from your insides, then you would have kept up the bickering until he capitulated, and that was rarer than a flying pig. At that point of your relationship, it was almost second nature to chastise each other. You still couldn’t tell if it was making you more or less sensitive.
By the time you arrived back to your apartment, you were surprised the universe wasn’t ringing. Vernon loved to blast his music like the angels were eager to hear every word from heaven, though he had played it notably quieter than usual. You tossed him a lacklustre thank you for his chaperoning duties, beginning to shove outside the car, but the boy’s hand was on your shoulder and he was pushing you back into the seat.
“I have work tomorrow,” you whined. “What is it?”
“And you go to bed at three o'clock? Wow, you really are a loser.”
You smacked his arm. “And you made me climb a fence!”
“Okay, you’re not usually like this,” Vernon took it upon himself to point out, leaning against his door while squinting at you intrusively. “I mean, you can be annoyin’ about things, but this is different.” He started rubbing his chin, pinching at his adam’s apple. “What’s the matter?”
The simple question sparked your laugh. “Yes, let’s discuss it.”
He gestured at you, nodding. “Let’s.”
“That was sarcasm, dummy,” you clarified. “Nothing’s the matter, except for the fact I wanna take a hot bath.” Again, you attempted to open your door, but Vernon was quick to lean over, pulling it shut. When you tried again, he wouldn’t let it open even an inch.
“Hey!” You yelped.
“C’mon, talk to me,” he encouraged, his voice warm.
“Vernon, I’m serious. There’s nothing to—”
“Is this ‘cause of the party? The fact I said you shouldn’t go?” He resumed touching his chin, his head tilted in question. “Is that the problem?”
You couldn’t help scoffing.
His eyebrows leapt upward, and he hummed. “Ahh, so that’s it.”
“Well, you know what, actually…” purposefully keeping your delivery soft and vulnerable, you started to entertain him. “Maybe it was the fact your friend was twenty minutes late, you absolutely hated the idea of me going to a party with you, you made me climb a fence, twice,” your tone started to strip itself of the daintiness, “only to potentially ruin our entire game plan! And then I basically got called ugly by some reclusive lady who smells like a funeral home and whose best friend is her cat! And now I know the entirety of No Hands from start to finish and it’s going to keep me up at night because all I can hear is R-O-S-C-O-E, Mr. Shawty-Put-It-On-Me, I be going HAM, shawty upgrade from bologna! And it’s all your fault!” The breath was beating against your lungs, causing your chest to noticeably shrink and expand.
Vernon’s lips twitched into a smile. “I knew you liked that song.”
“It’s not a matter of liking it!” You shouted while rolling down your window using the crank, feeling the chilled breeze. “It’s just catchy!”
“Well,” the boy cleared the rasp from his throat, proceeding to sit up straighter, focusing his attention. “Do you understand why I was insistent you shouldn’t go? Because I know for a fact you’ll hate it.”
“Okay!” You cried out, shrugging. “So I’ll hate it! So I’ll be miserable! Don’t you think I can assume some of that myself? What if I wanted to hear ‘I’d love it if you were there, but you should know…’ blah, blah, blah. But you just shot me down! You made it seem like—like—you would hate it if I were there. That you wouldn’t want to see me at all…”
Vernon leaned forward, shaking his head, while your fingers twisted together anxiously in your lap, your lip quivering, eyes delicately burning.
“No, PJ’s,” he murmured. “Of course not.”
“But that’s what I heard,” you urged him. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Vernon answered. He set his hand atop your wrist, gave you a reassuring, comfortable squeeze. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it like that,” the boy admitted, his voice gritty but gentle. “It doesn’t matter where we are—whenever I see you—I get this soarin’ feelin’ deep in my chest. And then it flows everywhere in my body. Makes me feel like I can grow wings. It’s like… I dunno… you give me a weird high that no other drug could ever do. And I want it more and more, every day.” He paused, his fingers finding their way in between yours, laced together, gripping your sweaty hand so firm and strong. He bit his lip. “I want you more and more.”
Immediately, your face cracked into a smile. All that irritability thinned out, gone like a dense morning fog when the sun catches its blaze. Adverting your timid stare away from his sincere, straightforward eyes that dilated more with every second, you giggled out, “stop…”
He let go of your hand to brush something off your cheek with a few soft strokes from his thumb. “Stop what?” Vernon teased. “Hm?” He then slid his hand around the back of your neck, and you could feel the massaging, warm pressure from the boy’s rough fingertips. The muscles in your thighs automatically clenched. “If you tell me I can’t want you, I’ll only want you more,” he laughed. “You know, I hate goin’ back to my place even more than I did before. Can’t stand the sight of my bed without you in it.”
Your gut was insistent that you give in. But your cautionary heart and mind were ringing the alarm bells. Playfully, you shoved him away, though the sensitive skin of your neck was still sizzling hot from his touch, and you crossed one leg overtop the other, sealing up yourself tightly.
“I’m sure that line was recycled from five other girls,” you mumbled, eyes rolling. “So you can kindly recycle it back into your mouth.”
“But I never meant it with them.”
Your chuckle was short and dry. “Sure.”
“Well… if you want to go to Moo’s shitshow, then be my guest.”
“Really?” You responded in disbelief. “What’s the catch?”
Vernon sighed. “Please bring Ruby.”
“I was gonna do that anyway.”
He leaned over to push open the car door. “You’re fuckin’ free, Pyjamas. Go take your hot bath. Send me a picture, yeah?”
Upon stepping outside onto the curb, you bent down for a goodbye, smiling. “Yes, I will send you a fully clothed picture of myself fresh from the bath with all my acne patches on. I will make it my utmost priority.”
“Can’t wait,” he answered, flashing you a teething, dirty smirk, though his honeyed eyes were far too shining and pure for it to be anything other than his honest excitement. “I’ll text you the info when I know it.”
As expected, Ruby didn’t show as much hesitance to the idea compared to Vernon. She had been attempting to get you clubbing ever since she had known you, and although that triumph was still far away, the opportunity currently presenting itself was much more idealistic. Nonetheless, she was still cautious to indulge you. Ruby didn’t know all of Vernon’s acquaintances—merely a small droplet in a gigantic bucket—but from what she did know, it was enough to prompt her careful lecturing. When you told her that you knew what Vernon was like high, she cackled flippantly directly into your face before highlighting that Vernon dazed off a blunt was much different than him off three lines of coke. You knew she had a point.
The closer it came to Saturday night, the more nervous you became, and the more doubt infested your insistence that had seemed so unshakeable. You thought about how much you still didn’t know when it came to Vernon, the fact you only observed pieces of his life through flashes, like seeing your transient reflection against a speeding car. But now you were taking a much deeper step. What if everything changed? What if you couldn’t handle it? What if this was all just a disguised test to understand if you could really visualize yourself patched into Vernon’s life, despite all the evidence against it? However, you ignored those thoughts very willfully.
And then it was Saturday night.
Ruby was getting ready in the washroom while you went through the clothes in your closest. Your styles and personalities were quite distinguished from each other in almost every sense. When Ruby got ready, she would bring her wireless speaker with her, letting it sit on the sink countertop amongst the widespread mess of her expensive makeup and brushes, singing along to the lyrics of her favourite R&B artists. When you got ready, you pretty much sat in silence at your desk, keeping any touch-ups to your face minimal because you never really learned how to do makeup and it seemed too difficult to figure out now.
You could hear Ruby’s tone-deaf singing. “Can you distract me from all the disaster? Can you touch on me and not call me after? Can you hate on me and mask it with laughter?” Her grating voice was actually pleasantly distracting.
Unsurprisingly, your roommate took her sweet time getting ready, urging you not to worry since, “who the fuck shows up to a party on time?” But once she was done, presenting you the final look, you applauded her prancing around the living room accordingly. Unlike you, Ruby had been experimenting with her hair and makeup consistently, since she was a tween, her flawless skin and thick, loosely curled hair looking like velvet. She then forced you to watch an episode of her soapy drama before booking the ride to Moo’s place, somewhere far, where there was more swamp and grass and mosquitoes than houses and people.
It wasn’t until you were strapped into the backseat that you felt sick.
“Moo?” Ruby squawked, looking down at her phone. “Who’s he?”
You swallowed; your mouth dehydrated. “He’s the host, Ruby.”
“Oh, well, he just requested to follow me on IG. I wonder if Vernon gave my handle to him… he’s a bit cute… but these pictures—feeling myself like I lost my keys—interesting caption. But that Hellcat is definitely not his!” She continued to babble, mostly to herself, during the car ride to Moo’s house. You listened on occasion, caught between engaging her talkative splurges and contemplating how hard the driver might judge you for rolling down the window and upchucking your lunch onto the road.
Finally, you arrived.
“Thanks! Have a great night!” Ruby chirped aloud to the driver who seemed to pull off questionably fast. She started walking up the driveway, but you grabbed her wrist, drawing the girl into a wobble.
“Wait,” you said worriedly. “How do I… look?”
Ruby licked her thumb and smoothed it along one of your eyebrows, and then adjusted the spaghetti straps to the top hidden underneath the long coat you borrowed from the girl’s wardrobe. “Stunning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course!” She exclaimed. Her hands were suddenly gripping your shoulders, her hazel eyes accented by the smoky flare of an umber powder sharpened into knife-like points. “Look, I know it’s easier said than done, but even if you have to fake it, confidence is key! This crowd is definitely not what you’re used to, and even for me this is a stretch, but the great thing about high people, they only care about getting higher. So, in a way, no one cares about you.”
You were able to laugh at her comment. “Makes sense. Thanks.”
Ruby removed her hands from your shoulders. “Besides, as long as you’re there, I’ll be there. If you need me at any point, I won’t be far.”
Appreciating your roommate’s comfort, you proceeded to breathe out your anxious thoughts, even giving your body a jitter to physically shake off the nerves. Together, you walked up the driveway. The house seemed small from the outside. An open window allowed you to hear distant music and excited, jumbled layers of conversation, smell the burnt, stingy aroma of marijuana. Ruby knocked a pattern against the door, loud and certain.
It didn’t take long before you recognized Moo.
“Hey!” He shouted, a beer bottle clasped in one hand, his cheeks rounded in a welcoming smile. “Fuck—uh—you’re Ruby, right?”
Your roommate nodded. “Indeed.”
“Anddd,” Moo sang while turning to you, squinting one eye shut, his forehead creased and his brow raised in thought. “PJ? Did I get it?”
While you did consider correcting him on the nickname, you decided it was best to just stick with what he already knew. “That works.”
“Fuck yeah. Well, enter the pad, ladies.” He stood aside, keeping the door held open as you and Ruby shuffled into the front foyer—a narrow hallway—the walls blanketed in jackets, the floor swathed with shoes toppled over each other.
Ruby shrugged off her coat, chuckling, “are there any hooks?”
“Oh, certainly!” Moo exclaimed just before he set the beer bottle to his lips. “I think there’s one near the back, right on the left!” As Ruby primly set her coat onto the hook, you couldn’t help but note how Moo’s eyes started to drag down her body, practically bulging at her bum. “Damn!”
She turned around, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Sorry?”
“Uh,” Moo coughed into his elbow. “Sorry—just—stepped on something! Can’t lie, haven’t vacuumed this rug in a dog’s age.”
You held your lips in a flat, downturned line.
“Oh,” Ruby hummed. “Good to know, I guess.” She then looked at you, gesturing for the coat folded in your arms. “I’ll find a place for it.”
Moo encouraged you to join him in the kitchen once you were ready, to which he disappeared through the threshold in the slim, dark hallway. Once he was gone, you instantly told Ruby, “he gagged at your ass!”
She tossed the hair over her shoulder, snorting, “I know.”
“Men are pigs!” You quipped.
“And we’re in the pigpen,” Ruby answered, giggling.
The kitchen was just on the other side of the front foyer. It was a fairly small, intimate space, with the dining table opposite from it, and a bigger opening into the living room, where most people seemed to congregate. From your flying, uneasy glances between faces, you had yet to see Vernon, and that seemed to make your stomach drop like a brick. The kitchen countertops were crowded with empty cans, cutting boards, rolling papers, ash trays, and opened bags of salted snacks. Moo swung open the fridge, reaching around inside before he offered the both of you a drink.
“I’ll take anything spicy,” Ruby said, making sure to raise her voice so she could be heard over the living room’s vivacious, bubbly chatter.
You swayed on the balls of your feet. “A water is fine.”
“What about juice?” Ruby offered, brushing down your arm.
“Sorry,” Moo apologized, pulling out a beer can. “We just used the last of the juice for drinks. Cups are to your right. Tap water’s all I got.”
Teeth gnawed at your inner cheek as you opened Moo’s concerningly loose cupboard, pulling down a dusty, plastic cup. You squirmed around him to reach the sink. Water didn’t start spraying from the tap until you had turned the knob several times, to which a rumbling, guttural noise sounded from the pipes. Attempting not to make it obvious, you sniffed the water before drinking it, noting a strong mineral scent.
“So, Ruby?” Moo leaned against the counter. “Is that ‘cause of the red streaks in your hair? Which are very pretty, by the way.”
Your roommate shrugged. “Well, thank you, but I’m pretty sure I was named Ruby before I ever had red streaks in my hair.” She cracked open her beer. “It’s the stone associated with my birth month—July.”
He gritted his teeth, chuckling off the embarrassment. “Ah, you make a good point. I love that. What’s my birthstone? I’m born in May.”
The girl laughed, “I don’t know the others, just my own!”
“See, I’m gonna have to Google that later.”
“Please, don’t hesitate,” she answered, fluttering a sweet smile.
At that moment, someone else squeezed into the kitchen, a man whom smelled like firewood and rich cologne. He was tall, cutting in between you and Moo with the height of his body.
Moo hardly noticed, keeping the sparks of conversation lit with Ruby, while you were ungracefully separated by the stranger digging through the fridge, his large back all you could see. Upon pulling out a silver can, he shimmied his way out. You sighed, plucking some lint off your top, before reinserting yourself into the conversation that you hadn’t been a part of, anyway.
“No, no, that’s my dad’s…” Moo was saying, rubbing his neck.
Ruby cackled. “I knew it!”
“Does this place look like it should have a fuckin’ Hellcat in the driveway? Nah, I got my Nissan fuckin’ Micra. Pussy magnet.”
She sipped from the beer; eyes kept trained to Moo as he only inched his way closer toward her. “Humble king,” Ruby commented.
“If you ever wanna take a spin in it,” Moo enticed, lifting up a shoulder and tugging at his bottom lip, “you can be my humble queen.”
Oh, god.
You were suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to find Vernon, wherever he was tucked away. Dumping the remaining water into the sink and leaving the plastic cup with it, you nodded briefly at Ruby while escaping the kitchen, assuming she knew what you had in mind. Nobody slumped at the dinner table seemed coherent, so you tapped on the arm of a girl sat at the couch, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up at you, her eyes a watery, stinging red. Smoke rolled out ghostily from between her lips.
“Sorry to bother,” you squeaked. “But, uh, you know Vernon?”
The girl nodded. She then dug into the couch cushions, pulling out what resembled a small, black container with an attached mouthpiece.
Swallowing nervously, you asked, “where would he be?”
While she fixed her mouth around the attachment and started to slowly, deeply breathe in, the girl flicked a finger toward the hallway behind her, with a door planted at the very end. You smiled, thanking her, although you weren’t entirely sure what do next. Was it a bedroom? Were you allowed to just waltz in? Could Vernon be in there… with someone else?
You stood at the door, noticing a mild trembling in your hands.
But you didn’t sink into the doubt. Instead, you hailed Ruby’s words of encouragement, straightened out your shoulders, fixed your chin high, and pushed the door open. Simultaneously, you were braced to see the absolute worst. However, it wasn’t what you expected. The room was dark apart from a television’s fuzzy, twitching glow that washed across the carpet and bed in faint, blue hues. Someone was sitting in an armchair poised close to the TV, seeming completely dissonant, a smoking blunt of some sort caught in their fingers. There were two people relaxed on the bed, a cutting board in between them, a woman you had never seen, and… Vernon.
She dipped her head down after arranging a small, neat white line using a pocket knife. Vernon flipped her long hair to one side as she reached the board, sucking the powder up her nostril with a casual, easy quickness. “Fuck,” the woman cursed, her voice gritty, wiping off her nose with a finger and smearing whatever powder stuck across her tongue. “That’s fuckin’ sharp. I'm gonna be on the moon.”
Vernon smirked. “They cut with fuckin' crystals.”
She laughed, flipping back her hair. “That’s pure ice, babe.”
You definitely felt as though you were interrupting something private, but it would have been more awkward to simply stand there, watching, until someone noticed you. Letting the door fall shut, you forced on a crooked smile and stepped closer into the bedroom, clearing your throat to make your presence known.
Both Vernon and the woman looked your way. For a slow, trudging moment, Vernon didn’t recognize you, and he looked annoyed.
She huffed. “Sorry, sweets. I’d give you a lick but this shit cost me a motherfuckin’ arm and a leg to get. You’re better off, anyway.”
The twinkling aura of the light reflected off her arms and her pronounced chest, the skin needled with tattoos that wrapped around her like snakes made of black ink. She had similar facial piercings to Vernon, though her nose was pierced, too. Just from her temperament, you could tell she was a bit older in age, perhaps in her late twenties, and assumed she must be the one Moo referenced in their conversation at the hanger, the one who took that vacation to Europe and was able to scoop something good.
“Oh, what the fuck?” Vernon shook his head. “PJ’s?”
You started to smile, hands wringing together. “I’m here.”
“No shit,” he answered, pushing himself off the bed. Cemented to your place on the shoddy carpet, you let Vernon approach you, one arm weaving around the back of your neck while the other wrapped your waist, pulling you into his firm body. “Didn’t know you were here.”
Timidly, you held onto him, fingers feeling along the fabric of his white t-shirt, your smile refusing to fade. “I haven’t been here long.”
“No?” He mumbled in question, letting his hands fall onto your hips as he began to rescind the closeness. It was right then that you noticed the difference in his eyes—those pupils were extremely dilated—dark like the ocean without any moonlight, almost… shimmering, twitching, coursing with energy that made you stiffen ever so slightly. Vernon sunk his thumbs into the waistband of your jeans, hooking you, dragging you further into his chest. “You look so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, the husk in his voice thicker than usual. “I’ve missed you all week. What kinda bullshit is that, huh?”
You giggled, lips pressing together, taking in the close-up beauty of his gentle features, how such softness seemed to betray him. “Me too,” you answered, sniffling. “I’ve never seen your eyes like this.”
He chuckled. “You’ve never seen me off coke.” Vernon then turned around, gesturing to the woman who was now sprawled on her side across the bed. “Especially the fuckin’ wild shit this lunatic gets. This is Kitty.”
“Uh, hi.” You waved at her, feeling small under her piercing gaze.
Kitty nodded, tilting her head. “Your next girlfriend, Vernon?”
You gulped while Vernon shot back at her, “you’re fuckin’ nasty.”
“Quel surprise.” She winked a hooded eye, tongue prodding along a glimmering tooth in her mouth. “But I guess you would know better than most.” Kitty slid off the bed, proceeding to straighten out her short, skin-gripping skirt that didn’t leave much to be revealed. “I’m gonna use the washroom, you know, to freshen up.” She sauntered past you, out the door, leaving behind a whiff of her strong, powerful aroma, like a dark cherry.
Vernon groaned. “She’s a fuckin’ psychopath.” He returned to the bed, flopping beside the cutting board. There was a baggie left on it.
Continuing to hold your place, you exhaled nervously, looking around the bedroom and its unusual blankness. “Who’s that?” You asked, pointing at the guy in the chair with the burning blunt. He hadn’t moved an inch since you walked in the room.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Vernon answered, coughing against his elbow. “That’s Snozz, Moo’s roommate. Dude’s got narcolepsy.”
Your lips pursed. “Are you serious?”
Vernon folded his arms. “Yeah. Cool, huh?”
“Well… I don’t know… I feel like it’s a bit… inconvenient.”
“So are the pills he pops every fuckin’ week. Dude’s got every battle there is. But we keep an eye on him.” He wriggled up against the wooden headboard, propping an arm across his bent knee. “Now, come sit with me,” Vernon invited, nodding toward the available space. “Hard to see how gorgeous you look when you’re so far.”
While approaching the bed, you couldn’t help but take another glance at Moo’s roommate, Snozz, sunken into the armchair. His head was collapsed awkwardly onto his shoulder, fronds of long, brown hair masking his eyes, a slight fissure between his lips. You wondered how long he had been asleep; his blunt was still glowing but the television was jouncing static.
You sat beside Vernon, the cutting board in between you.
He picked it up. “Don’t need this shit anymore.” And placed it on the adjacent night table. “Unless you wanna finish Kitty’s pixie dust?”
Squishing up your tight shoulders, you shook your head. “Nope.”
Despite the heavy shadows, you could see the soft grin develop on his face, however, you also noticed him pick up the small baggie off the cutting board. There was hardly any powder left inside it, but that didn’t deter Vernon from dragging a finger along the inside of his cheek and using the moisture to collect the rest. You watched him rub the powder across his gums, wondering how much was already in his system, waiting to activate, already activated.
“Shouldn’t you have left the rest for Kitty?”
Vernon cackled, scratching his eye. “Hell no! She owes me. I busted my ass last year to get her the purest shit on the market for New Year’s.”
“Hm.” You nodded, curling your legs underneath you.
He slid down the bed sluggishly until he his head was cushioned on a pillow, proceeding to tuck his arms underneath it. The boy stared up at the ceiling as though it were a night sky scattered with iridescent galaxies, beginning to grin, bite onto his lip, giggle. “She thinks she’s such a peach, gettin’ this fancy European shit for us, but she’s a moocher to her core, always lookin’ for scraps. Damn—fuckin’ Snozz took one line and now he’s incapacitated!” He flung an arm out toward the chair. “He went off his meds for this shit! She should be in here babysittin’ his narcoleptic ass.”
Unsure of what to say, you merely clasped onto your hands harder, smiled like your mouth was being pulled back by someone else’s invasive fingers. This side of Vernon was foreign to you, not to mention extremely unnerving.
“Was Moo alright?” Vernon asked.
For a moment, the unstable catch in his words was gone, and you managed to breathe a little easier. “He was kind,” you answered, smoothing a hand along your jeans. “Definitely more interested in chatting up Ruby.”
“Shit!” He yelled, suddenly slamming upward. “I fuckin’ forgot Ruby’s here!” Rapidly patting down his pockets, Vernon then pulled out his phone, incorrectly thumbing the passcode in several times. You observed him open his text messages, select your roommate’s contact, and type out a string of mismatched letters that he struggled to send her. “Fuck—I can’t believe I forgot she was here! Aw, I miss her, y’know?” He buckled into a concerning haze of coughing and laughing, leaning over his elbow while his back shuddered like shifting plates. “She parties hard. I fuckin’ miss that, dude. I think a bit of you’s leaked into her. Fuck, she used to get so dirty. She’s vanilla now.”
Wincing, you tried not to let your disconcertedness bleed through, although your heart was noticeably heavier in your chest, pumping hard, making the air feel denser to breathe. “Uh…” you prodded in a weak, uncertain tone, nails digging into the bed. “Meaning what?”
Vernon slid off the bed. He started swaying, massaging the knobs of his scuffed, scabbed knuckles. “She has limits now—I’ve gotta be home by eleven, I can only take three shots, I’m just smokin’ for an hour—she didn’t give no fucks about that before.” He marched over to Snozz, removing the dulled, orange blunt from his fingers. “When she worked at Puttin’-Edge, she was a fuckin’ deviant. She’d take almost anything, man. You couldn’t tear her away from the function until she was on the verge of blackin’ out.”
Inadvertently, your eyebrows furrowed together. “That sounds healthier to me. I’m proud she’s winding down a bit. She’s still herself.”
“I know, I know,” Vernon muttered, sounding almost agitated as he puffed Snozz’s blunt. “Not fuckin’ sayin’ she’s a goddamn prude, just that I miss her crazy.” He ruffled a hand through his hair, tousling the black tresses. Then he was pulling a lighter out from his pocket, keeping the blunt held between his lips while he crisped it using the strong flame. “Fuck, I’m stargazin’ now, PJ’s,” he laughed hoarsely around a cloud of smoke.
You didn’t know what to do.
Vernon’s energy was disseminating throughout the room. It was like a sparkler, drawing hectic, amorphous shapes into the dark that remained in place for only a second before fading.
And you couldn’t keep up.
Suddenly, the door burst open. In paraded Kitty, twirling herself around the room, holding onto a small, black box with a mouthpiece, very similar to the girl’s from before. You heard her singing, words slurring into each other, careless in every sense. While you were utterly lost, Vernon seemed to recognize her messily constructed melody, singing along with her as they grooved in circles.
“C'mon, Snozz!” Kitty shouted, dropping to her knees in front of him as he remained fast asleep. “Let’s hear you sing!” She continued her musical number, grabbing Snozz by his shoulders, then holding up his head by tufts of fluffy hair, pressing the lyrics into his ear.
You were dead stiff.
“Don’t be a fuckin’ weirdo!” Vernon cackled.
Kitty tossed her hair back, laughing deliriously. “He needs fun!” She stumbled over to the bed where you were huddled akin to a sopping wet kitten caught in a flash freeze, watching her collapse onto the covers, praying you were invisible. Kitty breathed in, her device crackling, and exhaled a thick, rolling smoke that had a distinct, sweet smell. “Especially you,” she purred, capturing you in her enlarged, misty eyes. “You need fun.”
“Well, actually, I—”
“Vernon and Kitty are in the bedroom!” Someone shouted, interrupting your non-existent rebuttal after popping their head into the room.
And then the floodgates broke. About six or seven people streamed into the dark space, squawking over each other, muddling the air with a concoction of bitter smells and escalating the temperature to an uncomfortable warmth in a matter of mere seconds. Somebody found the remote control for the television. In a few blips, there was a music channel playing, the volume cranked until a consistent, rhythmic club beat was all you could hear. It was terrible. Wanting to spend some time with Vernon away from the chaos had morphed into a gathering for the completely inebriated.
Now, the chaos was taunting you at every angle.
Kitty crawled closer, holding the box between her teeth.
She proceeded to sit clumsily on her knees, legs opened wide, enough to see her underwear if you were curious to look. But she had such blissful unawareness, taking in another huff from her vape, letting the burn settle in her throat before blowing everything out. Your wrinkled, displeased face caught the brunt of a manufactured flavour you didn’t particularly appreciate.
“Seriously, babe,” Kitty drawled, scooting herself closer toward you, her knees nudging yours. “I have tablets. And they’re low dose. Easy.”
“Uh, that’s fine.” Gosh—your tone was so blatantly fragile—it sounded like your voice was thin glass. “I really don’t want any.”
“Yeah,” Kitty laughed, gasping for air, but instead lifting the vape to her round, full lips. “You don’t want them! I can see that!” She took another restless hit. You made sure to hold your breath. “But you definitely fuckin’ need ‘em, baby girl! It’ll take the edge off! I’ll even half the price!”
Abruptly, another body flopped onto the bed, toward the foot. Kitty turned around, and together, you watched a girl climb her way onto a man’s lap, arching her back smoothly as she bent over him, the tips of her fingers tickling down his face before their lips brushed in a kiss.
“Ew!” Kitty screamed around the mouthpiece to her vape. “Get a fuckin’ room, you sick freaks!” She pushed against the girl’s tiny arm, though it was a frivolous, teasing touch without scalding intention.
As you anxiously rubbed the back of your hand against your thrumming forehead, you felt a slickness, quickly realizing that the crown of your hair was dampened with sweat. Vernon blended into the crowd well. It seemed there were more people in the room, and no matter how intensely your eyes sorted between the dazed faces, none were recognizable. You attempted to shuffle off the bed, but Kitty had caught you, luring you sit back down. And you did, despite your gut hollering in vehement protest.
“I wanna know—,” she sang, pulling at a long loop of dyed hair close to her ear, “—and don’t take offense to it, sweetheart. But why come here if you weren’t planning on getting fucked up?” Almost to emphasize her point, she returned the vape to her lips. “Like, are you a masochist?”
Huddling away from a man standing a little too close to the bed, you rubbed along your arm in a pitiful attempt to self-soothe. “I-I, I don’t really…” you couldn’t think, and watching Kitty’s wide, unmoving eyes delightfully swallow your fear had you frozen. “I don’t know.”
“Because of Vernon?”
You couldn’t answer.
She suddenly cackled, head tossed back. The device hissed while she secured her lips around the mouthpiece, sucking in. When Kitty elaborated through a drifting screen of smoke, you couldn’t be bothered to hold your breath at the smell—you needed to breathe—your body wasn’t giving you a choice. “That’s cute,” the girl giggled. “Although, are you sure you’re completely sober? I know Vernon’s type…” her gaze subtly flickered over you in a heartbeat, “and I’m not sure how well you tick the boxes.” She flipped the hair off her shoulder, laughing. “You must be nasty in bed, then.”
When you swallowed, smudging your lips together, they felt drier than old, strained leather. It was near impossible to speak. Every word quivered, leaving your twitching tongue with such timidness and dread. “I-I don’t know…” you laughed brokenly. “I just—I think I’m gonna—"
“Know what I miss most about Vernon?” Kitty interrupted, her head tilting to the side, cheek rubbing her shoulder as though she were reminiscing a memory so magnificent and tender. But then her stare shot toward you, hardened, challenging, devilish. “How he would fuck me until my brain melted.” You swallowed, trembling. “He told me I was the best at taking him, that no one would ever compare.” Kitty started smirking, dragging a hand up her thigh, slow and flirtatious, as though she were retracing a sensual touch. “No pressure or anything!” Her taunting façade vanished, the smirk replaced by a smile, the challenging tone replaced by a nonchalant, almost encouraging warmth. But you knew it wasn’t genuine. Not at all.
“Thanks for sharing,” you sighed, completely deflated.
A part of you bristled with the urge to be more assertive as opposed to reclusive, but it was a very small part, enough to feel yet not enough to follow through with a vengeance.
Understanding the conversation was done now that Kitty had put you in your place with a calculated slash of humiliation, you slid off the bed, pushing around the bodies packed into the room. Regret had never raised so fast from the depth of your stomach. You could taste the acridness tangy in your mouth, feel the moment’s inertia, how the atmosphere seemed to be pulling you down with every step. How on Earth could you think this was a good idea? That you could somehow fit into Vernon’s life like a perfect building block? Were you really that delusional? That naïve?
Entering into the living room, you weren’t able to make it far without someone stepping into your way. So—he had left the bedroom.
“Where’re you off to?” Vernon asked.
You were too miserable to feign any softness. “I’m leaving.”
As you attempted to weave past him, Vernon opposed you. He tucked the blunt behind his ear, the edges of his lips furling into a disbelieving smile. “Fuck, you just got here PJ’s. Can’t be leavin’ so soon.”
“Well, I am,” you answered matter-of-factly. “Goodnight, Vernon.”
Again, he cut you off, stepping into your way. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay… so you’re headin’ out early 'cause…?”
“Because I want to. Now, can you please move?”
Predictably, the boy ignored your plea. He still wasn’t himself, and he wouldn’t be for a while. You didn’t want to speak with him regardless of his intoxication. The stinging, draping heaviness of your misjudgment was like a smothering blanket and Vernon was merely keeping the hot fabric trapped around you. His gaze seemed lost, refusing to connect the pieces.
You watched him shake his head. “No… somethin’ happened. And now it’s got you all upset, and you won’t fuckin’ tell me.”
Groaning, you shouldered past him forcefully. “Thanks, detective!”
He grabbed your wrist.
You whipped around, wresting for it back. “Vernon!”
“Let’s talk outside.” He nodded at the sliding glass doors across the carpeted living room. “No one’s out there. C’mon.” When you resisted his pulling with a deep scowl, he immediately opted for a different technique of zero patience, one that involved sweeping you off your damn feet and carrying you in his toned arms like a newlywed bride.
“Vernon!” You hollered; your cheeks aroused with heat. “Put me—p-put me down—you freaking idiot!” People were looking, but they didn’t seem to assume much, even stepping aside to let Vernon through the open sliding doors onto the cement platform. He dropped you down, and you stumbled, wobbling into a plastic lawn chair. “What the hell is your issue!”
“Okay,” he huffed, closing the curtains before pulling the sliding glass door shut. “Now that we’ve got some real privacy—” he turned toward you, “—let’s talk.”
“Talk about what!” You yelled. “I said I wanted to leave!”
“And you can,” Vernon encouraged, “as soon as you tell me—”
“It doesn’t matter what happened!” Standing behind the white lawn chair to place distance in between you, your head swung adamantly. “I’m glad it happened, actually. Because now I understand how stupid and delusional I've been!” You refused to look at Vernon, flickering your glassy eyes toward a buzzing lantern along the brick, trapped with dead leaves.
“Okay,” he hummed. “About what?”
“Stop,” you demanded.
He laughed, throwing out his arms. “Stop what?”
The answer didn’t come to you.
Nothing was. Inside your head was loud, overpowering static that deflected every possible thought, from the articulate to nonsensical, just like the television inside the bedroom. Not even the brisk, feathering cold of the pure night could penetrate you.
Vernon grabbed onto the lawn chair, moving it aside. You let him press into your melancholic aurora because you would and always have let him do just about anything. He pulled the most delicate strings inside you that you had never sensed before. He sparked feelings your body and mind had never experienced. It was like riding an unbelievable wind that refused to let your feet touch the ground, keeping you petrified but addicted to the freedom. And when you were back on Earth, it wasn’t long before you hated it, before you desperately wanted the rise, the gust, the weightlessness.
He told you that you were like a drug to him.
It was only now that you truly understood what he meant.
But you had never used drugs, and you weren’t about to start.
Vernon stood close enough to breathe you in; his arms folded; his warmth palpable. “Your eyes are all teary,” he murmured with concern.
“How do you not get it?” You whispered while staring down at the cracked slabs of cement. “We’re never, ever going to work. Not as friends, or as anything else—” your voice split, and you needed a moment to pause, reabsorb the pain. “It just won’t ever happen.”
He exhaled deeply, fingernails puncturing into his arms.
You quickly wiped off your own tears.
That was the moment Vernon finally caught your eyes. Everything about his stance shifted. It was like someone administered him a dose of clarity. “PJ’s…” he murmured, grabbing onto your arms, sliding his rough palms down your skin until your hands were gathered in his. “You’re fuckin’ jumpin’ to conclusions, you know that, right?” There was a squeeze against your fingers. “You’re seein’ the worst of everything, diggin’ a hole.”
“How else am I supposed to see it?!” You snapped, tearing your hands out from his solacing, sweet grip, beginning to pace around the cold patches of textured cement. “This is such a big part of your life! You love the freedom, the adventure, the high. You don’t want the lesser, boring, mundane stuff that everyone else has going on. And that’s exactly what I am, what I always will be!” After rubbing away the thin trails of tears scurrying down your cheeks, you bit back a futile, immature whine. “I can’t fit into your life and you can’t fit into mine! It’s that simple! There’s no meeting in the middle, no compromising. Nothing that could ever make us gel!”
Vernon stopped your pacing by shoving you at the shoulder. “Are you fuckin’ crazy, PJ’s?” He deadpanned. “We make us gel! We like each other! You just fuckin’ tiptoe around it, avoidin’ us at every turn. Doesn’t that just enforce our differences even more?”
“Likeness isn’t enough!” You told him, pushing off his hand. “How am I ever supposed to be okay with you snorting coke beside a girl you have sexual history with! How am I ever supposed to be okay that you’re affiliated with all these shady, dangerous weirdos! How will I ever get over the inevitable fact you’ll just get bored of me! We make absolutely no sense!”
Vernon chuckled irritably, tonguing against his cheek. “To you.”
“I-I can’t make it any clearer,” you admitted, exasperated.
“So, what now?” He snorted.
“Now,” you sniffled, wiping underneath your eye, “I’m leaving.”
Vernon removed the blunt from his ear. It was hardly smoking at that point, though he still attempted a puff, shaking his head. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you,” he laughed, exhaling swiftly. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.”
“Goodnight,” you pronounced to the boy sharply.
Throwing the glass door back open, you stalked into the kitchen, finding your roommate in the exact place you had left her, with Moo exactly where you had left him. Their conversation seemed animated and jovial, and you would have felt awful about interrupting them if you weren’t so high-strung from arguing with Vernon.
Every inch of you was vibrating.
You sighed aloud cumbersomely. “I’m sorry if you guys are having fun, but I need to go home.”
They both paused, taking in your appearance.
Ruby raised her eyebrow. “Uh… sure.”
Moo wrinkled his nose. “Damn, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, fanning your sweltering face.
He checked the time on his phone, his expression bulging. “You guys have hardly made a dent here! C’mon! You can’t leave this early—”
“I want to go home!” You shouted, glaring him into a stupefied silence.
Ruby swallowed, unable to hide her shock that such a booming, aggressive statement could come from such a docile person. But it was the flash of desperation she needed to see, immediately understanding that something had gone wrong and you were in the process of crumbling.
“No, we gotta leave,” Ruby said tersely. “Thanks for the drink.”
Moo followed after you into the corridor, his head tilted against the frame. Ruby helped you into her cushiony coat before reaching for her own.
“Can I at least order your Uber?” He offered, hopeful.
Ruby brushed some hair off her lip. “No, it’s alright. I’ve got a friend who’s just coming off work. She’ll be way faster. And no payment needed.”
“Ah, okay,” Moo nodded, his tone dragging with disappointment, although you assumed it was due to losing Ruby and not yourself.
Outside, the cold suddenly felt way colder than it had when you were filled to the brim with heat, arguing. Now, you sensed every nip and bite from the wind. Ruby hurried after you to the base of the driveway, scurrying along the rough gravel as she texted her friend. Once you reached the dented mailbox sticking out from the ground at an odd angle, Ruby had finally caught up to you, the concern in her expression evident.
“What happened?” She asked, frowning.
You didn’t know how to respond, standing silently while the wind whipped the bottoms of your lengthy coat. The only thing you could squeeze out was a self-deprecating croak of regret. “I’m so stupid, Ruby,” you cried, the water flooding your eyes instantly, turning the night a blur. “I always make the dumbest choices!”
“No you don’t!” Ruby was quick to correct you.
“Is this not proof enough?” You rebutted, throwing your arm in the direction of the house. “I mean, what the hell am I doing here? It’s because a made a stupid choice, about a stupid guy, and I followed it, stupidly!”
Your roommate sighed, pulling some fluttering crimson tresses away from her tinged, blushed cheeks. She then stood next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing you against her warm side. Honestly, you weren’t looking for a lecture, another back and forth, a pep-talk about how you were treating yourself too unfairly. She seemed to understand that, opting to comfort you with her closeness instead, and you leaned into her jasmine scent gratefully.
Although, the relief was only temporary.
You could only surmise how much it was going to hurt later.
✧✎ synopsis: post-graduate, your life sucks especially hard. two jobs, a lazy roommate, and an imperceptible social life have dulled you to grey. nothing seems like it's going to change. until your roommate decides to let her plug crash at your place, and you're bribed into a strange adventure that challenges everything you thought you were.
pairing: fem!reader x vernon
chapter word count: 24k
full length word count: 186k
genres/tropes: drug dealer!vernon, reader is a post-grad w/ a flop degree lol, inclusion of OCs, gay!soonyoung for the lol, appearances from other svt characters, opposites attract, romance, teasinggg, tensionnn, unrequited love, angst, adventure, smut, relationship drama, sprinkling of comedy, another excruciating slowburn bc what else? + reader is a tad dramatic/sensitive but that's why i love her :]
(!) warnings: drugs (IE: weed, molly, coke, whippets, alcohol), mention of guns, mention of death/overdose, intense language, an instance of non-consensual touching to the reader by a side character, some toxic & possessive behaviour, degrading, aggression, mentions of physical abuse/harm, dips into grief and loss, fractured family dynamics on vernon's part.
✧✎ a/n: hope u enjoy this chapter!! thx for the support of the series so far! ❤️🔥 we are making headway :]
what to note:
there are seven parts in the series
releases are weekly, ~12am EST, sunday!
inspo playlist!
if at any point you want on or off the taglist, comment/inbox/msg me!
additionally, the chapters/parts are lengthy. the first six parts are between 24-27k while the finale/ending is 30k+!
✎ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07
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9 MONTHS AGO.
“Thanks for lunch. I’ll text you tonight, okay?”
“Hey—my pleasure.” He stuck a light kiss to your cheek. “And sure thing. Not gonna be doing much but studying.” As he was pushing against the door, he stopped to smile. “And thinking about you, of course.”
You shook your head. “Nope, no—too cheesy.”
“I thought I’d try it out, anyway.”
“Go to class! You’ll be late!”
Once he was gone, you disappeared into the employee lounge, which was really just a small office space with a computer area and cubbies for storing personal belongings. You stuck the labeled sandwich into the miniature fridge, beside Soonyoung’s half-finished coffee. Inspecting your cubby, you decided to check your phone, noticing a text from Ruby. She asked if Lee had dropped off your sandwich that you forgot this morning in your rush out the door, to which you replied with a simple thumbs-up.
It was safe to say that things were… different… than they were a month ago. A month ago, you were shredded, like a thin fabric strip to the wicked edge of a gnawing saw blade, and it had taken some very patient and compassionate patchwork from Ruby to help tighten you back together. She was not happy to say the least, when you came home that cold, dark December night, dry-heaving in her bedroom as you messily, snot-nosedly tried to define all your regrets about everything.
She was on the phone with Vernon an hour later, barking at him, “I knew this would happen!” and, “you need to be more careful!” and, “how come you never learn?! Where’s your freakin’ sense?!” even though you supposed it wasn’t really Vernon’s fault at all.
But in the moment, having Ruby yell at him in your honour was quite the remedy for a bruised heart. You felt a little better afterward.
Since then, Vernon hadn’t come by the apartment.
Rather, his presence was replaced by someone else. He was a year younger than you, working hard to study law, and he had been nothing but supportive. Ruby introduced you to Lee—they had connected once at a house party—and she thought he might make a positive addition to the eternal bleakness that seemed to follow you everywhere like a drizzling storm cloud.
There was a lot you appreciated about Lee from the get-go. His discipline, for one. He was quite structured in everything. Solid. He had polished out a routine and he stuck to it piously. Even down to the clothes he wore, socks and all. Lee was also determined in everything, determined to meet with you after your first date together, determined to make space for you amongst his ironclad schedules, determined to communicate every little thing and leave no room for spaces where the unspoken might lurk.
He was not at all what you expected your first boyfriend to be.
It was scary. You took it slow.
But he was understanding.
Wandering back out to the floor, you approached Soonyoung at the counter while he flipped through pages of a fashion magazine. He glanced up at you, started to smile. “That was the boyfie, I’m guessing?”
“Something like that.”
The boy paused. “What’s like a boyfriend?” He let another laminated page slip past his bandaged thumb. “Are you guys not exclusive?”
“We are,” you stated, hands delving into your back pockets. “I just… I don’t know… it feels too quick to put a label on things. I think of him as my boyfriend but it still feels weird when other people say it.”
“Hm,” Soonyoung answered, letting another page to the magazine flip by as he lost his interest on the matter almost immediately. “Well, let’s switch. I’ve gotta do some expiries for Patsy. Cash is all yours.” He grabbed his clipboard, then disappeared somewhere near the back of the store where he could blast music freely through his headphones.
The day was boring. You had organized the aspartame-free gum three separate times, washed down all the shelves underneath the counter of dust, and tinkered with the lottery ticket display until you were officially, undeniably over it. Reaching for a lighter, you flicked the spark wheel a few times with your thumb until a squiggling flame was summoned before your eyes. You watched it flicker, hearing the dulcet hiss of burning butane, cheek slumped against your fist, until the doors shuddered. Cold whisked in from the outdoors. After putting the lighter down, you saw two young men come into the store. In an instant, you stopped slumping and straightened up.
Common Cents had a plethora of regulars—high school students stopping by after class, old men cashing in on their lottery tickets, clerks from the bank and laundromat across the street getting their usual snacks—but these two were strangers.
One was more inconspicuous, with a hood pulled up and a large, baggy jacket to conceal his figure. His walk was a bit clunky, and he kept his head down for the most part. In contrast, his friend was an aurora. His hair was the first thing you noticed—bright red—like a juicy cherry, styled messily yet chic. He wore a long, draping trench coat that flowed around him in majestic fashion, as though he were a king with a luxurious robe, and his fingers were encased in a variety of rings. The red head was taller. Wider shoulders. Thin but seeming nimble. You were staring, a little scared, having never seen them before, but unable to resist your curiosity.
When they spoke to each other, it was hushed.
To your ear, the language wasn’t English. It sounded like Mandarin. They suddenly laughed and the melange of their softer voices picking up volume made you tense. The red head approached the cash register while the other hung back near the tabloid display. You subconsciously placed more distance between yourself and the counter than normal, wanting to come across as unbothered and collected at your relaxed job despite the trepidation.
Gosh—could he not smile? His expression was deadpanned.
He then said something to you in Mandarin.
“I’m sorry…” you flustered, digging into your arm. “I just—I don’t understand. Uh, is there anything I can help you with… sir?”
No response. His eyes scanned the cash register, stopping on the lighter you had been toying with when the duo first walked inside. His fingers skipped toward it, picking the lighter up.
He proceeded to hold it in front of your face, and you gulped. “How much?” The red head asked, his English coated in a thick but still comprehensible accent.
“The Zippos are forty-dollars.”
He turned around and called something at his friend. Once they finished conversing back and forth for a few seconds in their native tongue, streams of fluidness, you were again met with the stony, chilled expression of the red head who set the lighter down. “Wait,” was all he said, disappearing into an aisle.
“Waiting…” you whispered to yourself, clogged with nerves.
A moment later, he returned, placing a package of Arctic Ocean brand sodas onto the counter, in sour plum flavour. They were from the foreign beverage section. Soonyoung loved them.
You gave him a weird, trembly smile. “Is that all?”
“How much?”
Hastily, you rang the items up. “Fifty-four dollars.”
He pulled out his wallet. Right there—right in front of your gawking, appalled face—the man started thumbing through crisp one-hundred-dollar bills until a pink fifty popped out. In combination with a ten-dollar bill, he slid the money toward you. “No change,” he said.
“Uh, okay… enjoy your day.”
Upon pocketing the lighter and grabbing the packaged drinks by the cardboard tab, he beckoned toward his friend, exchanging more conversation that involved some covert but noticeable glances in your direction. You tried to fake like you weren’t paying attention.
“Hey, you.”
“Hm?”
The red head stared you down. “You know Paulo?”
“Who?”
They looked at each other, then back at you.
“Hansol?” He asked again.
“Is that the same person? Or someone different?”
His gaze narrowed, pricking you like a thistle. “Never mind,” he ended up muttering, proceeding to push out the door with his friend in tow.
You shivered.
They must have you confused with someone else.
“It’s only a casual thing. It’ll be relaxed. Don’t stress over it.”
Most, if not always, Ruby failed to convince you to attend anything club or party related. She had been on a pretty hot losing streak for an approximate six months—yes, you were keeping track—and you were confident nothing was going to break your willingness to avoid.
But things were supposed to be different now. Along with a boyfriend came the daunting realization that you couldn’t always put your reclusive desires first. This was a two-way street. An openness to experimentation was critical. In consequence, you let Ruby string you along to a house party that two friends of hers were hosting. You were Ruby’s plus-one and Lee was yours. He seemed eager to attend something that wasn’t a movie in your living room for the umpteenth time, which you could understand, even if you would rather be at home than a stranger’s place amidst the incredibly vengeful cold that was mid-January.
Ruby had been right to some regard—it was pretty casual—there were people drinking beers and playing Monopoly in the living room, while the kitchen was reserved for dangling slabs of hot, cheesy pizza into one’s mouth between personal conversations that you were a notable outsider to.
You and Lee were sitting on the couch. A movie was in the middle of playing when you first arrived—Spy Kids—and you had no idea who initially decided that was tonight’s vibe, but you weren’t complaining.
“I don’t remember the CGI being this awful,” you laughed, watching Juni and Carmen attempt to navigate their submarine.
Lee picked at the bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap, moving around the buttery pieces but not actually eating anything. Eventually, he sighed, and set the large bowl back onto the coffee table. You felt him staring at you in that particular way, when he wanted to say something, although you feigned not to notice, continuing to concentrate on the movie.
“Okay,” he began, “this is a classic and all. But—I don’t know—we can watch this any time. I feel like I’d rather socialize. I mean, there has to be a reason we’re the only two sitting on the couch right now.”
“Yes,” you agreed,, “because no one else appreciates the genius and questionable graphics of the first Spy Kids movie. This is art.”
Lee placed his hand on your knee. You hoped he failed to notice how you tensed. It felt automatic, like you had no authority over your bones.
He stared at you softly. “Alright, you can stay here if you want. Enjoy the movie. But I’m gonna grab some pizza in the kitchen. See if I know anyone. Make my rounds.” Then, he was rising from the couch, dusting off his jeans. “Later, pumpkin.”
“M’kay. Later.”
Sometimes he called you pumpkin. It was a term of endearment that was supposed to sound all cutesy—Ruby had loved it when Lee first came up with the idea—but you still weren’t sure if you liked it or not.
Sitting on the couch in an unfamiliar home surrounded by unfamiliar people who already knew each other hadn’t been that unbearable when you had Lee as a life preserver, but now he was gone, and now you were left to float alone, and suddenly you were drowned with the sentiment that you looked like a gigantic, antisocial, friendless loser. Every laugh that came from the Monopoly game in the corner felt like it was about you. Each person that drifted through the living room seemed to let their eyes linger for longer than normal toward the couch and its only guest. The worst part was knowing that your mind was overthinking, spiralling, turning all your thoughts against you, and being completely powerless to control it.
“Fuck you and fuck your ugly ass real estate!”
You heard a fist slam down hard on the table. Everyone surrounding the board game started cackling and clapping.
Immediately, you shot up from your seat, beelining for a random corridor that led past the staircase, away from the chaos that Monopoly was divulging into and away from your comfort of the Spy Kids franchise. There was a teal door at the end of the hallway, flecking with aged paint, that opened onto the back porch. You shifted aside the fragile lace curtain obscuring the window, sensing the chill from outdoors emanate through the thin glass. There was a bonfire going on. Maybe that’s where Ruby had disappeared to earlier in the evening, although you didn’t quite recognize any faces standing within the fire’s orange, creeping glow.
Instead, you decided to sleuth around the quiet, dark upstairs. It was mostly closed doors that you didn’t quite feel like trying in the event that one of the roommates might get angry with you. But there was one door left slightly ajar, allowing a slim margin of purplish light to splash on the floor.
People were definitely inside—you could hear their distant voices and the muffled, thudding music—which seemed like the perfect place to find your socialite roommate. With a cautious edge, you approached the door, peeking into the room and its violet, galactic-like haze, only to uncover that the quote “casual house party” wasn’t as casual as promised. You saw the organized white lines spread out on the coffee table, the rolled-up bills serving as straws to suck the powder straight to the brain, the heads dipping down in unison.
“Fuck—that’s tingly,” someone chuckled hoarsely.
You gasped. Vernon? Are you fu—freaking serious?
Ruby did not mention anything about him being here! Did she even know he was going? If she did know, wouldn’t she feel obliged to tell you?
“Can I try?” A girl was sliding off the couch and onto the floor beside the tattooed boy, grabbing his thick bicep and squeezing it.
You watched Vernon rub his nose and grin. “This shit will kick you on your fuckin’ ass if you’ve never had it before. I’ll give you a bump.”
“Just a bump?” She started to pout, massaging into his arm.
He bit his lip. “Don’t get greedy with me, alright?”
“Uh, are you going inside?”
You nearly jumped onto the ceiling. A girl was staring at you in question, holding onto a drink. It was one of the roommates hosting the party—Ruby introduced you to her briefly back in the kitchen—though you couldn’t remember her name and she clearly couldn’t remember yours.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I was looking for—uh—”
“Ruby? She’s playing pool in the basement.”
“Cool… thanks…”
She smiled at you, then pressed inside with her drink, making sure to close the door fully this time, until it clicked. Dang. You got caught.
Normally, you would be downright embarrassed. Enough to fizzle into a sad little melted mess on the floor. But whatever embarrassment you might be feeling was totally and unequivocally shadowed over by the emotional blitz wreaking havoc to your interior. You hadn’t seen Vernon since the night you attempted a poorly planned confession of your likeness, and after Ruby had succeeded in cleansing him from your mind with her special friendship powers, you had seldom thought about him.
But maybe that was your issue.
Maybe refusing to think about him was just backlogging all your shame, regret, embarrassment, and ardour, right to the outstretches of your mind where the feelings had been chained away ever since. Except, now the chains had rusted without your cognizance, and everything was swinging free.
There was a washroom on the bottom floor, close to the staircase, which you took refuge in before anyone else could steal it from you. First, you turned on the sink, letting the faucet gush just in case anyone walked by. Sometimes you did this strange heaving thing when you cried, like your breath was desperately trying to crawl out of you and heap all its life with it.
You sat on the edge of the tub, hands steady on your knees, trying to talk yourself away from a meltdown. It didn’t seem to be effective. Damp spots coloured the thighs of your faded jeans and you used the collar on your t-shirt for wiping off your cheeks. Reaching for a mobile shelf of beauty supplies, you grabbed the toilet roll from the top, winding up a thick strip in your hand such that you could blow your stuffy nose. That made you feel better. A little bit. As you stood up to turn off the gushing faucet, there was a few unanticipated knocks against the door. In a panic, you attempted to sort yourself out in the mirror, rubbing away the tear tracks and adjusting your hair in anxious gestures that didn’t really do anything but make it worse.
“Almost done!” You shouted.
Swinging open the door, you inhaled a self-soothing breath.
“Oh, fuck. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Your heart dropped. Again. Honestly, you wondered how many times it was physically possible for someone’s heart to drop before it just stayed there, defeated, on the floor of your chest like a broken vase.
“Uh, well…” you swallowed, rubbed off your chin. “I could say the same for you. I thought maybe Ruby would have mentioned it.”
Lara blew a pink bubble with her gum, then proceeded to pop it, slowly chewing the residue back into her mouth. “I don’t think she knew.”
You nodded. “Oh…”
The girl gave you a very suspecting once-over, her arms folded, hip jutted out to the side. Then, she cocked her head. “You were crying?”
“What? No.”
“About what?”
“I wasn’t crying.”
Lara looked off to the distance. “Tara!” She yelled.
“No—I wasn’t—you don’t need to—”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
From around the corner, Lara’s more likeable twin appeared. The two were even dressed similarly, in form-fitting, long-sleeved black tops and low-rise jeans scooping underneath their toned stomachs. The only difference was their hair. Tara always preferred slick ballerina updos while Lara tended to let her silky locks stream down around her shoulders in earthy rivers.
Lara pointed at you, stated factually, “she was crying.”
“Oh, hello. I didn’t know you were here. I would have—” Tara suddenly stopped, then squinted at her twin. “Wait, what did you say?”
“It’s nothing,” you insisted, betrayed by a crackle in your voice.
Tara fell into a gobsmacked expression. “You were crying?”
Gosh—was it even worth it to keep up the lie? If the word crying became a drinking game, you wouldn’t leave here standing straight.
“It’s not a big deal,” you ended up sighing.
“Oh, no!” Tara lamented. “That’s awful. I’m sorry. Although, crying in the washroom at a party is an iconic milestone in every girl’s life, so in a way, congratulations.” She started smiling at you, seeming pleased.
Lara pulled at her hair, looking at the shimmery strands. She sighed, “I don’t think that’s particularly what she wants to hear, Tars.”
“Oh! Right.”
You shook your head. “Guys, I swear, it’s fine.”
“And that’s the second part of the milestone,” Tara babbled. “But don’t worry—we’re here to fulfill the next part to the prophecy. It’s just—” she stopped to glance around, “—every spill session needs a drink.”
At that very moment, someone walked around the corner holding onto a beer can. Lara plucked it straight out of the man’s hands.
“Hey—what the—that’s mine,” he tutted.
Lara shrugged. “Not anymore.”
“Sorry,” Tara apologized, “we’re fulfilling a prophecy.” She then proceeded to grab Lara’s elbow and your wrist, pulling you both into the washroom. “Thank you for understanding!” The girl shouted before promptly closing the door right into the stranger’s perplexed face.
Feeling even more defeated than before, you opted to sit back down on the tub’s hard, cold edge, elbows digging into your sore knees as you held up your chin and dramatically huffed.
Tara sipped from the drink, smacking her lips, unsure if she liked the beer’s flavour or not. “Eh.” She shrugged. “It’ll do.” After placing the can onto the sink counter behind her, she folded her arms and smiled at you in the same way Ruby did when you came to her with your grievances. It was unexpected but surprisingly comforting. “What happened?” She entreated.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk details,” Lara grumbled, blowing another bubble that smelled strongly of synthetic strawberry.
“Well… whatever you’re willing to share, then,” Tara corrected.
For a moment, you were silent, staring down at the floor’s black and white diamond tiles. Lara and Tara were not exactly the first two people that leapt to mind when thinking of an emotional spill session. That was typically Ruby’s job, though, you had to admit, you felt somewhat guilty about involving her in yet another life quarrel after bawling about Diana's situation and then Vernon’s rejection. She deserved to enjoy some uninterrupted fun.
Lee was surely around somewhere. If he wasn’t still in the kitchen eating the pizza, that is. However, he didn’t know much about Vernon, and for the time being you preferred keeping it that way. Tara and Lara were actually your best bet right now, as peculiar as it felt to confront the fact.
You sat up straight, wriggling out your shoulders.
The two girls stared at you intensely, hanging onto the silence.
“Back in December, I told Vernon I liked him…” you began to hug yourself, gazing adrift at the metal-looped belt hanging low around Lara’s hips. “I got rejected, of course. And things got messy. I saw him for the first time since then, upstairs, snorting coke or something with this girl.” You groaned, shaking your head to cast away the newly established memory, and it fell into fuzziness. “I can’t believe I ever liked him, even a little bit. It was so, so stupid.”
Tara grabbed onto the beer can. She sat down beside you, placing a gentle hand on the top of your spine as you leaned over, sniffling. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re being too dismissive and cruel,” the girl sympathized, continuing to rub along your back. She smelled like a sweet tulip garden.
“But I was being stupid,” you persisted, sucking up your snot. “I knew he didn’t care about relationships or anything… I knew he was like that. I knew he wouldn’t like me but I still—I had to go and ignore everything saying otherwise just ‘cause I wanted to be brave. How insanely dumb.”
“Well, it is what it is,” Lara puffed, leaning back against the sink and pushing the hair off her shoulders. “Someone has to take that first step.”
“Yeah,” Tara agreed. “There’s no shame in that. It’s so hard to do.”
Blinking up at Lara, you removed the tears blurry in your eyes. “I don’t mean to be intrusive or anything… but… did you like him, too?”
She pressed her lips together in a beat of uneasy silence, digging the toe to her white converse sneaker against the fuzzy mat flopped in front of the sink. Lara’s dark, smoky gaze traveled across the differing tiles on the silver moonlit floor until she found her way to you, and suddenly, she didn’t seem so unlikeable.
Lara sighed, “yeah… for a bit.”
You swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry. That you have to hear all this. I’m making it seem so dramatic. This is turning into a rejection club.”
The girl chuckled. She then came to sit beside you on the tub. “I don’t feel that way anymore. You can talk about him however you want.”
For once, you smiled at Lara, and it was fully sincere.
Tara passed you the beer can. You weren’t too keen on alcohol, especially beer, and holding your liquor well had never particularly been a strong suit of yours. But there was a certain tartness about it that rejuvenated your senses as you took a timid sip, slowly beginning to tilt more and more of the foamy alcohol into your mouth until you couldn’t swallow anymore.
Wiping off your damp lips, you exhaled a long, deep sigh. “I don’t think I want to be here anymore. I mean, knowing he’s here.”
“Maybe Ruby can take you home,” Tara suggested.
Lara shook her head. “She pounded three shots of Triple Sec. I don't even know if she would make it down the street.”
Your eyes rolled. “Ah, of course.”
“Well, isn’t your boyfriend here, too?” Tara asked.
“Yeah, shoot…” you mumbled, taking out your phone from your back pocket. He had texted you three times, and then attempted to call you twice, but your notifications were still on silent from work the other day. His last text mentioned going out to watch the bonfire and see the stars. Putting your phone down, you shrugged. “He’s enjoying himself without me.”
Lara and Tara exchanged a wordless glance.
“I’ll call you an Uber,” Lara swiftly announced, rising to her feet.
Your expression widened. “Really?”
“Mmhm.”
“Are you sure? I’ll pay you back.”
She remained dismissive. “Don’t bother. It’s fine. I promise.”
“I’ll tell Ruby you’re leaving,” Tara offered.
Lara walked you to the front door, helping you to find your coat buried somewhere in the hectic closet space, while Tara presumably went to locate Ruby in the basement and relay the news. She popped back upstairs rather quickly, dipping into the kitchen for a moment, only to reappear with a cheesy slice of warm pizza on a paper plate and a water bottle. “Food to cure the heartache,” she said, smiling.
You grinned. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“No worries. You can now officially scratch the ‘I cried in the washroom at a party’ from your list of girlhood milestones. Or womanhood. Whichever.”
Taking a bite from the pizza, you laughed.
Lara inflated another bubble with her gum. “Uber’s almost here.”
“M’kay,” Tara sighed. “We came with our friend. I’m gonna go find him so he doesn’t think we disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
You glanced at Lara. “Are you going, too?”
She shook her head. “I’ll wait until your ride is here.”
“Thanks,” you acknowledged, feeling relieved.
Continuing to fill your stomach with leftover pizza while occupying the front foyer alongside Lara, you watched the back door that was down the corridor—the one that led to the bonfire—wondering if Lee might come inside. You sent him a text that you were leaving, but your boyfriend had yet to respond. While slurping some stringy mozzarella into your mouth, you noticed two people walk about halfway down the dully lit staircase, seeming like they were saying goodbye to each other for the night.
Oh no. You immediately felt dizzy.
Why did one of those people have to be him?
Even worse—why did he have to notice you? He hadn’t at first. But then his eyes naturally lingered and for the first time in a month the boy who rejected you in the front seat of his Camry had you back in his sights. Your entire chest pulled tight like the strings of a bow.
He kept looking at you, those deep golden eyes enraptured as though you were beaming with neon light. You started to tremble.
Lara suddenly shifted from leaning her weight against the door, clearing her throat. “Your Uber’s here.” She looked through the window, tapping her long, polished nail to the stained glass. “He’s in the white.”
“Oh, cool. Thanks.”
“Want me to walk you out—”
“That’s okay!” You called, already whipping open the door, taking your half-finished pizza and cold water with you. “See you at work!”
Lee wasn’t exactly pleased that you left him at the house party without saying goodbye. You agreed. It was an impolite, hasty decision that should have been made using more consideration. Even if you wanted to blame Vernon for completely scrambling your feelings, you had to take accountability. As an apology, you took Lee out for lunch at one of his favourite eateries—No Forks Given—hence the fact they only sold soups.
Your favourite was the broccoli cheddar. He liked the tomato soup for the simple fact it came with a grilled cheese. It was tasty, warm, and rustic comfort food. You couldn’t think of anything better.
Resting his spoon against the half-emptied bowl, Lee took a pause from eating. He glanced at you, smiling, and the dark arches of his eyebrows softened. “How’s the broccoli cheddar?”
You nodded in satisfaction. “Delicious.”
Lee proceeded to sit his elbows on the tablecloth, hands interlocked and thumbs twiddling. There was something he wanted to bring up—you could read it from the distant, absentminded flickering of his gaze—though you weren’t going to coax it out. You preferred to finish enjoying your soup before he dropped any degree of bombshell.
Finally, he sat back, tapping the tabletop with his index finger. “I want this to really work between us,” Lee said. “And I think our communication could be better. It’s something we can work on together. I don’t want you to feel like I’m singling you out or anything, you know?”
Stirring around your soup, you stared down at the bowl. “I know.”
“You’re a great girl. Hardworking, sincere, funny…” the boy began to smile as he looked at you, fondness lightening the harsher contours to his expression, his eyes less like wet slate. “We both could have done more at the party… I shouldn’t have left you alone and you shouldn’t have walked out off a text message. I’d just really like it if we could meet in the middle. You know I love staying in and watching movies with you, but I’d also appreciate doing other things.”
Biting your lip, you nodded. “Agreed.”
“So, let’s keep pushing. We’re gonna be better. Deal?” He extended his hand across the tablecloth, waiting for you to reciprocate.
You eyed the gesture, staring along the boy’s fingers and his wrist. It was haunting—you had gotten so accustomed to examining Vernon’s tattoos over the past couple months that it felt unorthodox to see skin that looked so bare, exposed—and before your mind could choose to wander somewhere hurtful, you quickly lurched a hand over top his, smiling all fidgety.
Meeting your boyfriend’s tender eyes, you murmured, “deal.”
He leaned forward in his seat to stick a kiss on your forehead. Once he was settled back down, Lee returned to his soup, dragging the spoon through the creamy whorls of orange. “When is that art exhibition thing you were talking about? The Winter Wonderland?”
Your shoulders felt tense, so you rolled them out. “Uh, well, it starts this Friday and ends on a Sunday. I have an admission ticket for Sunday.”
“Is it outdoors?”
“No, it’s inside Liuna Station.”
“Oh, m’kay. That place usually does weddings.”
You nodded. “The architecture inside is pretty.”
“I’m glad you’re going,” Lee mumbled around the spoon he fed to his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time. I’ll be studying.”
“I’m aware,” you huffed, smiling. “I won’t be envying you.”
9:00 pm.
You weren’t really sure what you were doing, standing outside the entrance to Liuna Station, pacing back and forth through the pillowy snow as everyone else moved inside. They all did it so easily. Smiling between each other. Brushing snowflakes off the brim of their friends' hats. Happy and accompanied and jaunty. The world came to them so easily but you had to struggle and agonize through everything because that was the only way you knew how to do it, and it wouldn’t feel like you, otherwise.
For a second, you contemplated giving your ticket away to a stranger who might find it worthwhile to walk an art exhibition on a late, cold, night. But then you thought about the money you spent, and the fact you needed to start being more adventurous, and the remarkably thin possibility that you might just run into Diana if she hadn’t already gone. Kicking your foot through the soft snow, you glanced across the building, from its long, wide steps and simplistically designed pillars to the beautiful pots of fresh red and white Poinsettias framing the stairway.
It was strange to do something on your own—something that was away from the regimented timeline you burned into yourself—and quite hard to believe that no one might judge you for it. Watching another group of people trot their way up the smooth concrete steps, you bit your lip and pulled at the skin, almost wishing there was someone there to shake out your shoulders and snap you from your funk. Your nose was getting runny from standing outside in the full exposure of the teething January weather.
You sighed, your breath fogging.
Whack!
Out of nowhere, something particularly cold and hard collided against your cheek, exploding into cascading shards of frozen snow that fell down your winter jacket. You stood there, truly gobsmacked, touching the very hot, stinging skin that was just abused by a rogue snowball.
“Uh—I’m so sorry…”
You met the embarrassed, apologetic expression of a young boy, no older than ten, with a wool scarf wrapped around his chin. He wrung out his hands. “That was supposed to hit my friend.”
Swallowing, you rubbed off your aching cheek. “Um… that’s fine.”
“I’m really sorry. He ducked at the last second and you were—”
“No, really,” you ensured, grinning at the young boy despite the tears prickling against your eyes, of the same frostiness as the snow. “It’s fine. I kind of… needed that, actually.”
He seemed confused, though he clearly didn’t want to stick around and continue staring into the face of the woman he just accidentally ransacked with a snowball. Instead, the boy nodded, adjusted his scarf, and ran off toward the distant bench that his friend was crouching behind.
Pulling out the crumpled ticket from your pocket, you decided it was finally time to pull the plug on your swirl of persistent ruminations. It was time to fake the guise of being cultured and sophisticated at an art show.
Fun.
10:00 pm.
“Thank you for touring! I hope you enjoyed!”
You smiled at the poshly dressed guide standing at the main foyer’s entrance, nodding your head in satisfaction. Noticing a bench rested against the far wall, you spent a moment idling before finally asking her, “is it okay if I sit back there?”
She turned around, following your gaze. “Oh, yeah. That’s totally okay. The show doesn’t officially close until eleven. It’s no problem.”
Again, you smiled at the guide before proceeding your way across the grand, softly lit room and toward the bench, listening to the pattering echo of your shoes against the shiny tiles, how the sounds reached up to the high ceiling and subsequently faded. Upon sitting down, you took a moment to appreciate how quiet it was outside the exhibit. There was hardly any murmur of conversation—just the occasional clicking shoes and distant voices belonging to those leaving the art show—and your mind eagerly absorbed the whispering silence. The exhibit was something spectacular.
By going alone, you were free to spend more time looking at the pieces you really liked as opposed to feeling rushed. You didn’t have any concerns about someone else not enjoying the show, or finding the displays lacklustre, because there was only you, and you had loved everything.
You had taken a brochure from a pop-up stand. It advertised more of Catherine Love’s upcoming shows after providing a detailed description about all the participating artists. Some were older, having over decades of work, while others were just abloom. You came across a familiar picture of a ginger coily-haired girl with rosy cheeks and a crooked tooth—Izzy White—which you remembered briefly from your first-year university days, having run into her at a few parties. Now, she was a featured artist in a Catherine Love show with everyone adoring her sculpting.
You felt a confusing mixture of pride for her accomplishment, but also envy that you hadn’t come across such a calling. Patience was important—you knew that—though it also felt akin to a well running dry.
“So, how did you find the show?”
Nose twitching with an itch, your glance flickered up. At the same time you spoke, you sneezed, and your voice boomed throughout the silent station like dropped crystal: “Di—achoo—ana?!”
She giggled at you, and then reached inside her sable black coat, digging around for something. Then, there was a tissue. “Here.”
You stared at it, blinking once, twice. “What are you doing here?”
“To look at art. Same as you.”
“But—”
“Okay, not to be gross, but can you not feel the snot that’s on your nose right now?” She quirked her head and shook the tissue. “Take this.”
You plucked it, then blew your congested nose, swearing that your ears popped, before you crumpled the tissue up and stared at the girl from top to bottom. Of course, you had hoped to see her, but you always felt that hope was one thing and reality was another. To hope to see Diana was not the same as actually seeing her, because one was more intangible figment and the other was your best friend for all of university standing right before you. She eyed the spot next to you on the bench, her fingertips twitching.
Sighing, she licked her lips and smiled shyly. “Can I sit there?”
“Oh, sure…” you murmured, shuffling aside.
Diana took a seat, tucking her long, fluffy coat underneath her. She was wearing small pearly earrings—her absolute favourite—the kind she chose before doing something extremely important since her mother had told her the pearls were so lustrous because they were filled with luck.
You always thought you would know exactly what to say to her after spending such a long time mourning your friendship. But now, that script had vanished, dissolved to dust, leaving behind the uncomfortable predicament of being present with someone you treated like a memory.
She picked at her fingernail. “Are you… mad… at me?”
Continuing to stare at the floor, you swallowed dryly.
Diana tucked some wispy, loose hairs behind her ear. “It’s okay if you are… you don’t need to pretend to protect my feelings… I know that when you saw me, you probably thought I looked so fragile, enough to pity me.” She started shaking her leg. “I hope you don’t. I hope you’re mad.”
You stared hard enough into the gleaming tile to begin visualizing the softness of your sombre reflection. “I’m not mad… I can’t be…”
She laughed, stomping her foot. “Of course you’re not.”
“It’s true.”
“Well… you should be.” Diana’s hands clutched together in her lap, squeezing tight. “I wish that you were. You’ve always been… you’ve always given up so much of yourself for other people.” She seemed to be staring at her reflection in the tiles, just as you were. “You deserve to be mad.”
At that, your eyes intensely burned.
Something eclipsed past your train of thought: “That’s the problem with you quiet chicks—never say anything your entire damn life—then one day it’s a big cluster fuck of anger and you suddenly can’t tell what’s even supposed to deserve it.”
You straightened up, let your eyes sting, let your throat constrict, let your heart race in your chest like a jackrabbit.
“I was mad. I was furious.”
“Really?”
“Yeah… I wanted to punch and kick and scream. I spent four years experiencing my highest highs and lowest lows with you. And then you were gone no matter what I did.”
Diana nodded. She finally caught your gaze and no longer were you both just passengers cruising down a long, dark highway in the middle of nowhere while your minds spun. You felt connected to the girl beside you.
Her leg stopped jumping. “I just couldn’t tell you,” Diana admitted, biting along her chapped bottom lip. “I couldn’t ruin things for you.”
“I would have done everything to help you,” you firmly reassured.
“I didn’t want that. I didn’t want you to keep giving yourself up.”
You shook your head. “I never felt that way with you.”
“It doesn’t matter. It was about everything else around you. I would have just been another weight. At the time, it felt like the best way for me to handle us—I know it was hurtful and there were a million different ways I could have gone about it and I’ve only continued to make so many stupid mistakes since then—but I felt like I was setting you free and that’s what mattered the most…” her eyes glistened like fresh snow against the black, damp earth.
“Well…” you breathed out, sensitive with emotion, “I was mad.”
Diana smiled. “Good.”
“If there’s anything at all—”
“No, no, no. Stop. There you go again.”
“But, Diana, I just want to know that you’re getting help and—”
“I’m here tonight,” she interrupted, splaying out her hands, a white bandage fixed across her right palm. “I came here tonight to see art, but also to find you, because I had this suspicion you’d go, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything since you showed up on my porch. If that doesn’t tell you something—”
“So, you are getting help?”
She paused to sigh. “Yes.”
You breathed the biggest exhale of relief, feeling your entire body ease from utter rigidity to complete jelly. Unfurling your hand, you stared at the used tissue you had practically moulded into a compact ball. “I came for the same reason… I thought you might be here. Not that I expected anything to really happen. I guess I just wanted to see you out in the world, so I could have some sort of proof that you were okay.” Glancing toward Diana, you searched her black eyes like they were night skies full of shooting stars. “I’m so happy you came. I just wanted to see you.”
She smiled at you, delicate, as though it wasn’t something she ever did and she needed to remember how. “Anything interesting going on?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, in your life. What’s gone on since uni?”
Shifting your feet, you sighed, “not much… working two jobs… living with a roommate along Roxbury. Trying not to run off the grid and go die in the woods so my body can be recycled by the earth. Nothing fun.”
“Are you sure?” Diana questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh…” you trailed off, swallowing thickly, “… yes?”
Diana slid her fingers underneath the bench, leaning forward, eyes fluttering. “What are you doing hanging out with Vernon?”
Immediately, your expression soured, like someone had just squirted pure lemon juice down your throat. You started to cough, avoiding Diana’s curious gaze, and squeezed the tissue hard in your hand. How were you supposed to explain everything to her without sounding somewhat psychotic and stalkerish—not to mention the confusing plunge of falling for him.
You laughed nervously, “that’s a long, long story.”
“Is it?”
“Well… depends on how I tell it.”
“Fair.” Diana nodded.
“I have a boyfriend,” you decided to mention.
“Vernon?”
“No!” You spat out a little too defensively, your face sweltering with embarrassment. “Not Vernon!” You paused to readjust the cadence of your squeaky, high-pitched voice upon hearing it echo back to you off the stone walls. “He’s a friend of my roommate’s. He studies law. His name is Lee.”
“Hmm…” Diana hummed. “Well, he seems smart, then.” She stared at the ground, twisting her ankle back and forth. “Things are going well with my boyfriend, too. He’s been helping me readjust.” You couldn’t help but notice the lack of smile and ease on her face, though you chose not to be nosy about the sensitive topic, even if you were dying to know more.
At that moment, an idea popped into your head.
You switched the crumpled tissue in your hand for the brochure in your pocket. “Well… I’m not sure if you have a job or anything… but I heard that Catherine Love is interviewing for a new assistant. I know it probably seems like too much on your plate, but I would feel bad if I didn’t let you know. You’d fit in so perfectly with all the artsy visionaries.”
Diana glanced at the brochure. It seemed that her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and her eyes filled with a distant sorrow. “I’ve heard.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t see myself doing it.”
“You’d be a shoo-in. But I understand.”
“I think you’d be good at it.”
You laughed, immediately clasping a hand over top your mouth to stop the sound from barreling through the frangible atmosphere. After looking at the brochure again, you met Diana’s sincere expression and giggled at her suggestion. “As if I’d be any good! I wouldn’t even score an interview!”
“That’s not true. You were an organization freak in uni. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make so many spreadsheets. You had one for just about everything—even breakfast! And you’re good at keeping other people on top of things. All those essays you helped me hand in?”
“Those skills aren’t going to translate! Who hasn’t used a spreadsheet? And sure—I helped you with your essays—that was only so I could procrastinate doing my own! Besides, I know nothing about art.”
Diana shrugged. “You don’t need to.”
“She’s an artist herself. She curates exhibits,” you attempted to reason with Diana like she didn’t already know. “It has to be a necessity.”
“You’re thinking too much about what you aren’t instead of what you are,” she insisted, her fingers brushing yours as they clutched the bench.
“Okay,” you huffed half-heartedly, “and what am I?”
Diana’s smile bloomed like the healthy petals of a luscious flower, and you felt your chest begin to warm. “To me,” she said, “you’ve always been a work of art. Anyone who can’t see it doesn’t deserve to know.”
8 MONTHS AGO.
Ruby was needed at work, leaving you alone in the apartment for the day. Lee was coming over later in the afternoon. The three of you were supposed to make pizzas, drink wine (you would probably opt for the leftover pineapple juice in the fridge instead), and watch the newest season to Ruby’s favourite reality television show. Now, however, it would just be you and your boyfriend. You texted him the update this morning, and he sent back a winky face that you stared at for a good few minutes while eating your breakfast, feeling increasingly… less hungry.
While slumped on the couch, you considered reaching out to Diana to potentially fill Ruby’s place. But you never picked up your phone. After that night at Liuna Station, Diana went back to her separate life of attempting to regain her control. It had hurt to say goodbye, and it was even harder to release her from your bracketing arms once you two hugged at the base of the concrete steps, cocooning one another from the blustery cold.
She made a promise to contact you once things were more stable.
You believed her.
Lee sent you another text, his bright notification popping onto your phone screen, though you merely turned away from it and stared out the living room window instead. There was a fresh coating of snow from the night before. You liked watching the different birds chase each other. The male cardinals were big and lurid red, like flashes of a hot summer sunset skirting across the satin white. But you preferred the smaller, black-capped chickadees that hopped around. Sometimes they left their tiny footprints along the snowy sill. Ruby occasionally fed them breadcrumbs if she woke up early enough.
Caught in your daydreaming, you flinched when you heard a few knocks at the apartment door. Immediately lurching to grab your phone, you read Lee’s text message. He was coming over early?
There was another knock. You weren’t even close to ready! Still dressed in your pyjamas (the embarrassing pony t-shirt might you add), teeth unbrushed, hair a mess, and hands all scaly and dry from the terrible, chafing cold, you wanted to explode. Stumbling to the entrance, you had no choice but to suck it up.
“Why are you over so early?” You admonished upon opening the door, sensing your annoyance flare. “We aren’t starting until—”
“Oh—hey, PJ’s.”
Moonfaced, you gawked at him, eyebrows leaping up your forehead like they were being pulled by strings. All the air in your body powdered.
He scratched his neck. “I thought Ruby was—”
Nope. Nope. Nope. You shut the door right in his face.
Then, you were pacing all over the living room, one arm strapped around your chest while you regressed to chewing at your fingernails. What was he doing here, what was he doing here, what was he doing here?! You couldn’t stop berating yourself with the thought, the words cascading out from your mind and inflating like oversized balloons, every letter slowly filling the room with stifling anxiousness until you were back at the door.
You opened it, again. “What are you doing here?”
He dropped his jaw, furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, I—”
No! You slammed the door, again. There was no way you could let him see you like this, in such an unkempt, devolved state. You raced into your room to find a sweater you could at least pull overtop the pony t-shirt, which you now realized had a brown stain on it from spilling Ruby’s leftover coffee this morning. But as you whipped open your third dresser drawer, shifting hectically through the clothes, you groaned. Screw it!
He’d already seen you in the shirt, anyway.
Why did it even matter.
Back to the door. You took a deep breath, opening it.
Vernon had his arms crossed and his shoulder leaned against the wall, seeming wildly unimpressed with your door-slamming routine. Tilting his head, he sighed aloud. “Before I say anything even relatively important, you wanna slam it one more time? Just to see how you really feel?”
“Uh… I’m okay,” you mumbled, full of breathy nerves.
“You sure?” He asked, biting his lip. “Third time’s the charm.”
“No, I’m fine, or… I don’t know. Yeah.”
Vernon nudged himself off the wall, rolling out his shoulders before proceeding to rub all frustratedly along his browbone. “Okay… look… I’m not here to be a bother or nothin’. I was supposed to grab a payment from Ruby today, but she hasn’t been answerin’ my texts. She’s not here?”
“No,” you swallowed. “She was called in.”
“No biggie. I’ll check back in with her tomorrow,” he said, pulling out his phone and sending a text message to someone. “Later.”
Then, he started walking back down the corridor. You panicked. As much as you weren’t prepared for this moment, as much as you swore to never give Vernon the time of day ever again, as much as you crossed him out from your obsessive mind using a thick red marker as though he were a photo in a yearbook, you still…
“Hm. You’re not gonna break in and steal it like last time?” You called to the boy before he could disappear outside, your heart racing.
He paused, turning back to narrow his eyes at you. “Considerin’ you almost broke down in tears bein’ the morality police, think I’m good.”
No, he was going to leave, he wasn’t biting—you saw his hand pushing at the door—and you had no other choice.
“Wanna come inside?”
Vernon cackled, throwing his head back. “Are you serious?!”
Scratching your fingers against the wall, you nodded.
The boy continued chuckling, wiping off his face from what you assumed to be a tear. “Damn, PJ’s. That’s funny as fuck. You smoke now?”
“What?” Your expression crinkled. “No.”
“Well, you’re definitely high if you think I’m goin’ inside.”
“Why?” You challenged him, feeling hurt.
Vernon rolled his honey-brown eyes. “Ruby already made it clear that I should never fuckin’ bother you again. Don’t really feel like gettin’ yelled at after she put me through the ringer the first time. Besides, what’s done is done. We had a compromise. You hate my guts now, I assume.”
Frowning, you stepped further into the hallway. “If I hated your guts, why would I ask for you to come inside? Ruby doesn’t…” you trailed off, staring at the mysterious, long, black skid mark left against the wall that had been there since you moved in. “Ruby doesn’t have to… know.”
“Lookie here,” Vernon cooed in droll fashion, “what a rule-breaker.”
“I’m being serious!”
“So am I. I don’t wanna get fuckin’ yelled at, alright?”
“You know what?! Fine! Whatever!” Feeling your politeness and hospitality slip, all those complicated emotions that overwhelmed you upon first meeting Vernon started remerging. “I was trying to be nice! To show you that I’m not holding any grudges! I thought we could bury the hatchet, or whatever you want to call it! But since you’re being so unbelievably insufferable, and uncooperative, and stubborn about it, you can go… you can go… you can eff off! I officially don’t care.” You marched back into the apartment, seething. But then you couldn’t help from popping your head into the corridor to glare at the boy one last time. “Gosh! You bug me!”
Third time really was the charm. You slammed the door.
Steaming into your bedroom, you collapsed onto the messy pile of comforter and tangled sheets, letting your fingers curl into the fabric and grip it tighter than your frustration could tolerate. Your eyes skimmed all over the bland ceiling, unable to focus, because if you did, the canvas above became filled with flickers of Vernon’s face and the texture of his voice that strummed your emotions like lyre strings.
You grabbed a pillow and smothered yourself with it.
“Hey! PJ’s!”
There was tapping against your window. Gripping onto the pillow, you rolled off the bed and whipped open your curtains in a big gust.
He smiled at you from the other side. “You’re right. Open up.”
“I don’t think I want to,” you taunted, arms stoutly folded.
Vernon shook his head, unamused, his voice sounding slightly muffled through the window. “Yeah, yeah. You wanna make me stand out here in the cold and shiver like a fuckin’ dog. I get it. But I know you’re not really mad.” He smirked. “Open it or I’m gonna find a real big rock.”
“I’m sure there’s a great one inside your head,” you tutted.
“Funny.”
Sighing, you dropped the pillow, undid the lock, and began to slide the window open until it hit the frame, bristling at the chilled breeze now ghosting inside the bedroom. You hated that you had relented so easily, that your explosive rage could be doused by just a single, sparkling, earnest smile from him. The boy crawled onto your desk, then settled back on his feet.
You had picked the pillow up.
He dusted off his hands. “Nice n’ warm in here. Thank—uff!”
Then you smacked him with it.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, shaking out his head. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” you answered, portraying equanimity through a straight face despite your insides shrinking with laughter. “My arm twitched.”
Vernon scoffed, “that’s quite a fuckin’ twitch.”
“Thank you.”
Before you headed into the living room, you shut the window, noticing the vanilla Camry occupying one of the parking spaces.
Vernon was already relaxed on the couch when you wandered out to join him, and his lax, leg-spread position reminded you of exactly how you found the boy the morning he ate your molotes (which you were still admittedly upset about months later). Knees buckled close to the chest and arms tucked around them, you smiled meekly at Vernon from the opposite end of the sofa, trying your hardest not to ogle him after all this time, pick out little differences and study them.
He had taken off his coat, now stuffed behind his back. You swore there was a new tattoo on the side of his bicep but you didn’t want to fixate.
“So… are we just gonna sit pretty in silence, or?” Vernon laughed.
Grabbing tighter to your knees, you flustered. “Well… I was—”
“What’s this buryin’ the hatchet thing you brought up?”
“That was about…” you cringed, “the incident.”
Vernon smoothed a hand along his thigh, chuckling. “The incident?”
Your eyes rolled, impatient. “When I basically said I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same way! That incident! What do you think?”
“Easier to let you say it.” He smiled. You almost slapped him.
Relaxing your knees into a criss-crossed position, you wriggled your toes and held your breath for a moment, urging yourself to unclench. That moment had carved a scar across your memories, and no matter how much time healed the wound, there still lingered the uncertainty it would split wide open again. You wanted to ask Vernon if you were the first girl to confess their feelings in the front seat of his car, but even you knew that was an aimless, obvious, self-sabotaging question that would only pick at the stitches.
Swallowing thickly, you sighed. “I just want to say that I’m sorry for how I reacted. I suppose it was kind of… immature… I don’t know. And I definitely could have chosen a better time to do it, I guess. It’s just, I—”
“Hey, you don’t gotta explain yourself to me, PJ’s,” Vernon interrupted, pursing his bottom lip. “It’s fine. It already happened. Thinkin’ about how it could have gone different won’t do all that much.”
“I know…” you mumbled, rubbing at your wrist while your eyes trailed off, staring into the blur, feeling all your turmoil coalesce. “It was just so embarrassing. Like, why do I do stuff like that? I don’t get it.”
“Whatever.” Vernon shrugged, sticking a hand behind his head. “Embarrassment’s a social construct or some fancy shit like that. I never feel embarrassed.”
That, you actually believed.
Playing with the collar of your sock, your lips pressed together in concentration as you struggled to find the best way to word what you wanted to say next. It seemed futile, so you opted to just say it: “I have a boyfriend.”
Vernon folded his arms low across the chest, nodded his head at you in acknowledgment. “So I’ve heard,” he responded, smirking while you recoiled into yourself, every inch of skin burning. “Friend of Ruby’s, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Some uptight little lawyer dweeb?”
Smacking your mouth in disapproval, you shook your head. “He’s a law student, studying to be a lawyer. He’s really smart, and educated.”
Vernon shrugged all matter-of-factly. “I’m sure he is.”
He seemed like he was waiting for you to go on, to soak him in a bucket of infatuated, giggly, smitten gushing that one particularly can’t help themselves from doing when they undeniably like someone—the obvious glimmer in their eyes, the helpless, tongue-tied rambling—except, you were dead quiet, too nervous to elaborate. You supposed Ruby told him.
The boy stared you up and down in question, continuing to wait, until, “lawyer dweeb have a name?” Vernon offered if you weren’t going to.
“Ruby didn’t say?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Lee.”
He nodded, smiling. “So, that’s your type? If it’s not me—”
“It’s not,” you quickly clarified.
“—then it’s the scholarly gentleman who matches his tie to his socks and brings a briefcase to class. I really appreciate your diverse taste.”
You scowled at him.
Vernon laughed, flippant. “Relax, PJ’s. Just joshin’ with you.”
Tucking your knees back against your chest, you were overwhelmed with a particular feeling—an awful surge of general despair in your stomach that immediately turned paralyzing and rendered your brain to shut down—and the only thing you could do to get rid of it was suck in a big, shaky, long breath.
Sighing, Vernon dug his hands into the couch and shifted a cushion closer to you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers playing with the chained silver watch on his wrist.
“Well, do you feel happy?” He asked.
You wiped off your nose and sniffled. “Y-Yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” You smiled at him, hands locked around your knees.
He cracked his knuckles, laughing. “All you girls say the same shit.”
Your breath trembled and you lashed out at him, knowing your voice was sounding increasingly stuffy with emotion. “I’m glad you’re so educated on what it means to console a girl. Am I number fifty-five?”
Vernon didn’t say anything, only continued to stare back at you, smiling faintly, the warmth of his honeyed eyes more natural than sunlight.
Focusing on some balled lint stuck to your pyjama pants, you picked them off your knee, sniffling again. “I am happy. I am. I’m just… I’m tired.” You kept ripping the lint from your pants, sensing your eyes turn glassy and stinging hot. “I’m so tired of feeling, you know, tired. And like my life is going absolutely nowhere. I’m not trying to sound all unique, and like no one else has ever felt that way, or that I have no one. I’m just frustrated.” Pausing, you looked up at Vernon, rubbing away the tears before they could fall, surprised to discover he was still listening and watching you. Hugging yourself tight, you shook your head. “I feel like I’m going to cry.”
“I can see that.”
You slid a short ways down the couch, studying the ceiling, realizing how messy and confused you must seem, pulled apart like a tapestry undone by just a mere thread. “I’m so…” you gulped, “… pathetic.”
“M’kay,” Vernon chuckled in his raspy tone. “Relax, PJ’s.” He scooted backward, the tips of your toes digging into his thigh. “You need to go outside and catch a snowflake on your tongue or some shit.”
“How will that help?”
“Because,” the boy reasoned, suddenly placing his hand underneath the sensitive bend in your leg, stretching out the limb such that it laid across his lap, “you’re too much inside your head.” His palm then flattened out just above your knee, and you could feel the heat of his rough, calloused skin through your thin pyjama pants.
It struck a charge in you.
The pit of your stomach convulsed and it shot right between your—
“Have you found those other people who owed you money?” You asked, abruptly sitting up, pulling your leg back slightly.
Vernon brushed some dark hairs off his forehead. “Uh, well, I left the city for a bit to see some friends. I’ve done a little digging here and there since I got back. New Year’s gets a little crazy. Demand goes way up. So I was occupied with other things. But I’ll get back to it real soon. Can’t beat around the bush too much.”
You nodded, biting your lip. “Do you… need any help?”
His eyes widened, and he snorted. “From you?”
“I guess.”
But then he started to squint. “Are you serious?”
You stared at him, unable to push the word past your lips. The truth was, you missed sleuthing around with Vernon. It was something invigorating and new to your mundane life and as much as you fretted over it in the beginning, once the thrill was gone, you felt uncomfortably empty, listless, without a spark to hold.
Vernon’s hand was still on your leg.
Suddenly, it was all you could think about. He shifted the warm touch further toward the inside of your thigh as he focused on the nervous teeth worried into your bottom lip and you felt like melting, dripping ice cream, all over the sofa.
But then someone knocked.
You squealed, jolting in place. Unfortunately, you already knew who it was. Excusing yourself from the sofa, you wobbled up to the door and decided to just open it rather than internally dwelling because your mind was too mushy for anything else.
“Pumpkin!” Lee greeted, planting a kiss on your cheek before beginning to unwind his black scarf. “Sorry I’m late—ran into a buddy at the gas station and I legit couldn’t get away from the guy—but I managed.”
Lee took a few steps into the apartment, his scarf finally undone, which he hung on the hooks alongside his winter jacket. It took him a moment to process that it was not just you, and once his attention settled on the sofa, he immediately stiffened, casting a few slow, trudging blinks. “I had no idea you were having someone over,” Lee laughed, lightly guiding fingers over his combed hair. “Uh, hello.”
Vernon had his arms folded again. “What’s up, lawyer dweeb?”
Your boyfriend furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”
But you had already cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry about that. It wasn’t planned. This is Vernon,” you gestured toward the couch.
“Oh,” Lee lilted, “Ruby’s friend.”
Nodding, you held onto his shoulder. “Vernon, this is Lee.”
“Lee, huh?” Vernon hummed. “You look like much less of a dweeb than I was expectin’, actually. Guess I need a new name for you.”
“Well, Lee is fine,” your boyfriend nervously chuckled.
Your eyes rolled. “He likes picking stupid nicknames.”
Vernon grabbed his jacket, stretching his arms through the holes as he got back to his feet. “Alright. I won’t linger. Lucky you guys.”
You weren’t expecting Vernon to stay.
Dually, you didn’t want him to leave.
Being the polite, well-mannered young man your boyfriend was, he formally stuck out his hand for Vernon to shake, standing tall and broad. But the exchange didn’t seem to unfold the way Lee intended it to, and you could tell from his expression of befuddlement as Vernon clasped onto his hand and dapped him up instead. You remembered him doing that to you.
“Nice to meet you, Suits,” Vernon said with a slippery little smirk and a bit more sharpness than usual in his copper eyes. Before he left, he grabbed onto the collar of Lee’s shirt and pulled it down flat for him, to which your boyfriend immediately tensed, smiling all crookedly.
Lee nodded. “Yeah… you too.”
“M’kay, later, PJ’s,” Vernon mumbled.
He was out the door before you could respond.
Silence hovered in the air for a few seconds, though it felt more like something else ridiculously long, and when you met Lee’s eyes, you noticed that tweak of confusion hadn’t quite eroded from his features.
The boy rumbled his throat. “So… that was Vernon.”
You sighed, staring off into the corner. “Yeah.”
“Wow… I had no idea… I had no idea he looked like… that.”
“Like what?”
Lee laughed to ease the situation, shaking his head. “No—just, like—I’ve never seen him before, that’s all. I didn’t know he had all those tattoos and piercings.” He was pacing in meandering circles, but came to a stop. “And… he called me Suits… like, the show?” His nose scrunched.
“As I said, he loves a good nickname.”
“What’s your nickname?”
You gestured at the shirt currently dressing your body. “PJ’s.”
“Oh… well, that’s—I’ve never seen you wear that—it’s cute—wait—so does that mean you know Vernon, too?” Lee asked.
“A little,” you lied, and you hated yourself for it, but you just wanted the conversation to be over. “Only because of Ruby.”
“I assumed that,” Lee responded.
You grabbed his arm and began tugging him toward the kitchen, willing to put the weird confrontation behind you, praying that Lee wouldn’t dissect any further.
“C’mon. Who cares. Let’s make our pizzas.”
Ruby was in bed much earlier than usual. You figured she wouldn’t be all that energetic considering how late she stayed up the night before, entertaining the city’s newest karaoke bar with her friends. She ate dinner (the thin crust, extra cheesy margarita pizza you made in her honour) then disappeared straight into her bedroom, to which you heard snoring sounds as you cleaned up the kitchen for the night. Ruby only snored when she was incredibly tired. You probably wouldn’t see her until noon tomorrow.
After Vernon left, it was difficult to throw yourself into being ebullient and present for Lee when all you could think about in the back of your head was the tattooed boy. Lee had admittedly tried coaxing you into a kissing session while the pizzas were cooking in the oven, but you managed to escape it with a fragile excuse that you would get too distracted and burn them. Your boyfriend didn’t seem convinced, but he relented, and you two stuck to watching a movie instead, hands kept square in your lap.
Even now, as you stared into the shadows of your dark, unmoving bedroom, Vernon was still finding his way to you like a lost ship following the foggy beam of a lighthouse.
Every time the wind blew drafting snow against the window, your chest spiked with the hope that maybe he was outside, tapping to get in. Whenever your phone buzzed with a pointless notification, his text message was the only thing you wanted. It was borderline tormenting. Even if you could fall asleep, he would probably wander into your dreams and infect your heart with his ache.
So you chose to go for a walk.
Opening up your closet, you pulled out the biggest, puffiest coat you could find, alongside the thickest, woolliest hat and its large fluffed pompom. You wrapped up your chin and mouth with one of Ruby’s long scarlet-coloured scarves. Taking a look in the mirror before you left, you wanted to laugh at how rounded and unrecognizable you were, bundled up behind all that clothing.
But it was too cold to take any chances.
The furthest you were willing to walk was Cedar Point Park. It took about ten minutes to get there, a bit longer if you were slow and hobbling akin to a penguin, much like yourself.
Nobody was outside with you given the time. You loved the emptiness. The air was frosty and sticking to your eyelashes, keeping you wide awake with every step, while the sky was glass clear apart from some thin, fleecy clouds blowing across the moon. Broken ice crunched underneath your boots, some of the shards getting kicked along the sidewalk until they slid too far away for you to care. You felt like you existed inside a water globe, where the only company was you and the ambient, pearled glow of the moon that brushed all over the frozen ground.
Snow was thinly coated across the large sign to the park.
You traced a smiley face into it with your fingertip.
Finding one of the park benches, you wiped it off as best you could and pulled down your coat before taking a seat. You didn’t plan to sit there long, especially since the park was right beside one of the city’s bigger lakes and it turned the wind that whispered across its surface even icier. But the sight was beautiful to admire, and watching the haloing lights dance in the white surfs of dark water made you feel the same as coming across an exceptional art piece. Like there was something unspoken inside you that was finally coming to life, taking shape, and keeping you connected.
Once you decided it was time to leave the park, you took a shortcut by walking through the parking lot that food trucks usually swarmed during the summer and early autumn. Tonight, there was only a single car. You stopped dead in your tracks.
It was the vanilla Camry.
With the light on inside, you were able to identify him behind the wheel, though you had no idea who the blonde woman was that was leaned over the console, mouthing against his lips. You should have left, ran away—slipped on a chunk of ice and glided all the way home if that’s what it took to pretend this never happened—but you found yourself staying for a horrible reason that you could not pinpoint. They didn’t at all seem cognizant that you were there, standing at the edge of his floodlights, unabashedly watching them pleasurably slip tongue into each other’s mouths. The blonde started pulling off her blouse to reveal the black bra underneath, and then you stared, horrified, as she maneuvered over the console to sit herself right in Vernon’s comfortable lap, lips drifting back to his like a dance.
You refused to breath upon hearing the distant squeak of a window rolling down, and then you heard his voice, rough and agitated.
“Hey, asshole! Gonna stand there all night?!”
The girl was uncaring and only continued to mark his neck.
“Fuck off!” Vernon yelled again.
You were so wrapped and bundled that you knew it was impossible for him to tell it was you—not to mention the fact he was clearly focused on other, more pertinent matters—but that didn’t stop your heart from expanding with adrenaline, nerves, fear. The surging hormones twitched into your limbs and suddenly you were scrambling out the parking lot, breathing heavy into the scarf that you ended up pulling off your nose once you were a good ways from the park. Chilly air felt damp against your warm, flustered skin, though you heaved in as much of it as your lungs would take.
Upon getting back home and nearly tripping to get your boots off, you beelined for your bedroom, ripping the thick clothes from your radiating body until you felt less constricted. Flopping back on the mattress, you stared at the ceiling, forehead creased in abundant thought as you attempted to decide what it was you even felt, watching Vernon yet again swap spit with another girl. You couldn’t understand why you were so surprised. In reality, there wasn’t all that much you truly knew about him, and what you did see likely just scratched the surface of his delinquent, lecherous behaviour.
Your phone buzzed.
The light stained against your face as you squinted at the text.
It was from Vernon.
were u serious about helping me?
Your mind went blank. It took a moment to respond.
yeah
Vernon shot you a few texts back.
k
we’ll talk more about it later
didn’t think u would be awake
Your toes curled.
just can’t sleep
He answered again.
same
You always thought you would make a foolproof liar, despite significant childhood evidence proving otherwise. Unfortunately, years of burying your feelings wasn’t exactly the same as lying. One seemed like a necessary sacrifice to avoiding conflict while the other was just blatant deception because you couldn’t be bothered to explain yourself.
Maybe, in a way, there was some hand-in-hand.
Whatever it may be, you just knew it felt horrible to text your roommate that you were meeting up to grab lunch with an old friend, when in reality, you were slipping into Vernon’s car like an ashamed fiancé cheating on their partner. Ruby wasn’t home, anyway. She was helping to set up for an event at her work. Not having to lie to her face definitely made the deception easier, as long as you didn’t spend too long staring into your wormhole of a phone screen that wanted to crush you with pure guilt.
“Damn. It’s not like you were sworn to the truth and you lied under oath or some shit,” Vernon chuckled, finding amusement in your peril. “If it fuckin’ bugs you that much, tell Ruby what you’re up to.”
“But what about you? I thought you didn’t want to get yelled at.”
“I’ll get yelled at if it means you don’t implode from guilt. You’re like the Titanic if the Titanic sunk from sendin’ a stupid text message.”
You sighed at his offer, shaking your head and sliding deeper into your winter coat, phone now stuffed inside a pocket. “No… it’s fine.”
Vernon shrugged. “Whatever, PJ’s. Don’t say I didn’t try.”
For the first time ever, you were finally going to see Vernon’s apartment. You were really starting to believe that he didn’t live anywhere, instead taking to the couches or spare bedrooms belonging to his plethora of connections. The drive was longer than expected—about forty-five minutes spent on a congested, rainy highway—before he took an exit you had never heard of, and you were suddenly surrounded by rugged, dull, fenced buildings and bridges coated in competing graffiti. You didn’t say much during the car ride, though your fingers twiddled around anxiously in your lap the further he progressed into the colourless stiffness.
He turned into a parking lot belonging to a small building, only four simple levels, where you could see broken, tattered screens and curtains just barely holding up behind the dusted windows.
“Home sweet home,” Vernon chided as he shut off the car.
You joined him outside in the light rain shower that slicked the sleet ground. While walking toward the building’s entrance, a small dog started barking erratically from behind a window on the bottom floor, its paws scraping against the ruined shutters, lips pulled back and tiny teeth bared.
“That scared me,” you laughed, pressing closer into Vernon’s side.
He touched your back, helping you up the slippery steps. “Yeah, she can’t see shit since she got cataracts. Barks at just about fuckin’ everything.”
“Oh, no! That’s sad. Do you know her name?”
“Uh… Petunia? I think. Don’t worry. Her owner spoils her.”
When you looked at the front entrance, you paused. There were double-doors, but one had a piece of bright plywood fixed against it, held by tape, while the other had a hole smashed through the glass window.
You shot Vernon an apprehensive glance. “What happened there?”
“Someone lost their key,” the boy said, completely insouciant, like this was the umpteenth time it had happened. “And then lost it again.” He reached carefully through the shatter in the glass, flicked something, and then pulled his arm back out, opening up the door. “After you, PJ’s.”
“Uh, thanks…” you murmured in uncertainty, noticing a broom kept in the corner with a neat pile of glossy shards swept underneath it.
Vernon quickly tapped at your elbow, already beginning to jog up the stairs. “I’m top floor,” he said, about to disappear around the corner.
Refusing to get left behind, you hurried after him, continuing to lose your breath per every staircase that you climbed, stepping around enigmatic stains in the carpet and concerning dark spots of possible wood rot.
When Vernon came to his door, he wasn’t the least bit laboured, unlike you, who was eagerly unzipping your coat, heart pounding.
“Ready to see the crib?” he teased, biting his lip.
“I’m ready to see a glass of water,” you panted thickly.
Vernon pulled his keys out from the lock, knocking the door open with his elbow. “A glass of water awaits you inside the crib.”
In any capacity, you weren’t sure what to expect of a drug dealer’s bedroom, but stepping into Vernon’s bachelor suddenly made sense. It was mostly confined to a single room: his bed was in the far corner, pressed up against the left wall, while the futon and flat-screen television took up the central space. The right side of the room was the kitchen area, with an oven, microwave, sink, fridge, and limited countertop—not that you anticipated him to be doing much cooking—whereas the washroom was likely behind one of the room’s two shallow corridors. You stepped inside quite timidly.
Vernon kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket across the futon, striding his way toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfy.”
Easier said than done. You removed your boots next to his, placed your coat one of the hooks jutting from the wall, shifted your feet a little ways further into the space while you marvelled his myriad of personal knickknacks and decorations. There was an empty fish tank sitting on an antique-looking bookshelf before the windowsill. The walls cornering his bed were obscured with wrinkled, sun-washed posters, some from what you assumed to be video games or movies, while others had model images of scantily dressed women.
A random skateboard was left by the futon, while there were various dumbbells scattered around another shelf with its drawers half-pulled open, lumps of clothes peaking out. There were some bongs on the coffee table.
Expected.
“Here’s your water, your majesty.” Vernon handed you a glass.
You nodded, smiled, sounding flustered. “Thanks...”
“Well,” he encouraged, sticking out his arms. “Thoughts?”
“It’s…” you couldn’t stop tracing your eyes over every inch of floor, wall, and space that you could find. “It’s nice. I didn’t expect much.” Taking a sip of water, you pointed to the fish tank. “Where are all the fish?”
“That’s not mine.”
“Oh.”
As Vernon walked toward the futon, he stepped on the skateboard and gave it a good shove, sending it underneath his bed. “There’s some shit in here that doesn’t technically belong to me, but it’s basically mine now.”
You smiled, holding the glass close to your chest. “Stolen?”
Vernon shook his head, taking a seat on the coffee table. “Nope.”
He didn’t say anything else about the matter, so you assumed that was all you needed to know. You smirked at the books. “Those definitely aren’t yours…” then, you glanced toward his bed. “Bikini girl probably is.”
“Probably?” Vernon raised his eyebrows.
“I meant definitely,” you corrected yourself, smiling.
“That was a gift. It would be a shame not to hang it.” When he spotted you still hovering by the entrance, a socked foot tapping against the floor as you absorbed all the detail, Vernon gestured you over.
“I’m just looking,” you retaliated, sitting down on the black futon, though stopped yourself as you began to lean. “Woah. Why does this go back so far? I feel like it's gonna swallow me.”
Vernon grinned. “It’s for optimum relaxation.”
You sat on the very edge. Taking another sip from the glass of water, you felt Vernon’s eyes sticking to you in a way that was quite distracting. Upon swallowing, you blinked at him. “What?”
Elbows rested on his knees, he smirked, and every ounce of composure you had collected was dust. “Why are you so awkward?”
“Awkward?!” You balked at him. “Why would you say that?!”
Vernon laughed, casting his hands backward through his soft, shiny hair, the strands loosely falling right into place like airy silk. “Like—I dunno—why are you so closed-up? Your arms are practically bolted into your fuckin’ sides. The way you’re sittin’ right on the fuckin’ edge of the sofa.” He cracked his knuckles. “You look everywhere but my eyes.”
You clung to the glass like it was a life preserver holding you above thunderous water. “I’m not allowed to check things out? It’s my first time here! What the heck am I supposed to—”
Vernon removed the water from your firm, knotted grasp, setting it beside him on the coffee table. Then, your anxious shoulders were being squeezed in his warm hands as he pushed you to slide back on the suede futon. Your mouth opened with a harsh, reactionary criticism, but it fell apart on your tongue the second Vernon grabbed your stiff legs and pulled them out straight, your ankles now crossed and sitting comfortably atop his lap.
He leaned back on the coffee table, raised an eyebrow. “Better?”
Your fists clenched at your sides. “That was the most—”
“Relax your hands. You'll get fuckin' arthritis.”
Uncontrollably, you groaned, but listened to him. “Why can’t I just sit here awkwardly? What was the issue with it?” You quipped, instinctually moving your legs such that they could curl back underneath you.
But Vernon grabbed your bare ankles in his calloused hands, beginning to tsk his teeth at you. “No issue. Just thought it’d be beneficial to know it’s unnecessary to have a stick shoved up your ass twenty-four-seven.”
Your arms crossed and your eyes rolled. “Don’t talk about—"
“Don’t talk about your ass?” Vernon interrupted, chuckling.
It was much easier to look at the water stains browning the ceiling rather than him, pretending to seem furious and disgruntled as you usually did in response to his antics. But you weren’t furious. You were panicking that he could see through your nerves so easily, that he could read the awkwardness from your body language like a book, and how entertaining it must be to him, observing you fluster and fidget whenever he so much as brushed his skin to yours since it gave you the same sensation as a static shock. Was it wrong to admit that you wanted him to touch you more? Until you couldn’t breathe because he was all that your senses could distinguish?
You thought about Lee.
Why couldn’t you ever think about your own boyfriend like that?
“Okay—fine—be awkward all you want, PJ’s,” Vernon relented, moving your ankles off his lap. “Wanted to see if I could help, is all.”
Your stomach sank.
Vernon dipped into the spot beside you. “Let’s talk business.”
“Okay…” you sighed, curling your legs underneath you, attempting to put on a focused front despite your mind whirring like a motor.
He looked at you. “Honestly, why do you wanna help me?”
Your muscles seized. “Uh… what do you mean?”
“Well, what the fuck do you think I mean? You couldn’t stand me bein’ around. You’re always so worried about everything. You couldn’t stress enough that I was ruinin’ your life.” He laughed, shrugging. “So, obviously I’m curious. Why the help?”
Pushing at the cuticle to your thumb, your reasoning performed the most sickening belly-flop, and you had to struggle for an answer that you yourself didn’t know how to explain.
You smiled meekly. “Why not?”
Vernon scoffed.
You began to raise your voice. “Why does it matter?”
“Why can’t you just tell me?” He countered.
“Because… I… I changed my mind…”
“Yeah? About what?”
“It’s not important.”
“Ah,” Vernon groaned, pushing himself off the futon and wandering in a circle around the coffee table. “Were you born with a gene that just makes you naturally frustratin' and vague?” he taunted, hands settled on his waist “Like, you're startin' to piss me off, Pyjamas.”
“Dido,” you nipped back. “Can we move on? Please?”
He continued to stand for a few more seconds, seeming baffled at your stubbornness and polarizing secrecy (which might have really just been the depths of your insecurity refusing you to confront your true feelings to someone so uncouth). Eventually, however, Vernon capitulated, and he was back to sitting on the coffee table after shifting his bongs aside. You were all wrapped up again, arms bracketed tightly around your knees.
“Okay,” he sighed. “But so you know, the reason I’m bein’ this nosey is 'cause things are a little different this time. You’re actually gettin’ dragged into some real beef—not just pansy shit—so there’s that.”
You glowered at him. “Like… I could get… hurt?”
Vernon shook his head, crossing his inked arms. “I would never let anything happen to you, PJ’s. Alright?” You hated how much your chest soared upon hearing that, even if it was something he would have said to anyone else. “But, y’know, there’s definitely a need to be cautious.”
“Sure.”
“Okay—without gettin’ into all the bits and bobs—this fuckin’ sneaky asshole basically wiped a bunch of product that I was supposed to move. It was never his. He was never supposed to get it. But as I said, he’s a sneaky asshole and he sold it all. That puts me out about ten-thousand dollars,” Vernon spat with annoyance, shaking his head.
“Ten-thousand dollars?” you gawked at him. “For real?”
“Yes, for real,” he insisted, his voice thick with grit. “That’s why I need t’know if you’re actually serious. Honestly, I could use the help.”
The circumstances were definitely different as compared to getting back four-hundred dollars from harmless Diana. The lower parts of your stomach ferociously twisted, and you started massaging your abdomen. This wasn’t something you should be doing.
This was dangerous.
“Well… what do you know? What’s his name?” You asked.
Vernon took out his phone, scrolling down. “Minghao—I have his number in my contacts but it’s dead now—he’s some lanky Chinese hipster runnin’ around with his spray paint. Damn Nosferatu.” The boy laughed, licking along his glittering teeth. “He hates me ‘cause I may have smashed his girlfriend. But, y’know, tough. She told me the combo for his safe after they got in a big fight one night. I don't know if they're together anymore. Doesn't really matter. She doesn't concern me.” He shrugged. “The combo’s the most useful, anyway.”
“Hmm…” you hummed, fingers tapping against the futon. “You say he spray paints? What does he… spray paint… exactly?”
“Uh,” Vernon rubbed his chin. “Squids or some shit.”
“Wait—you mean octopus? Octopi?”
“Sure. It’s somethin’ like that. It used to be this thing, like, people could know where to meet him for a deal if they saw his graffiti. Kinda like when people throw shoes over an electric line. But I don’t think he does that anymore. It’s just to tag shit… yeah… it’s probably an octopus. They're freaky lookin' too.”
Your expression popped to life with a connection. “Comment Cents used to get tagged with an octopus. It was dark greenish, kinda blue, with huge yellow eyes. Soonyoung and I had to clean them a few times. Get the paint off.” Never would you have thought something as innocuous as a spray-painted octopus might have such an intense backstory. “Also… does, uh, Minghao, have bright red hair?”
“Dunno… it’s been a minute since I’ve seen him… but—the spray paint—you’ve seen his creepy little octopus drawings? Seriously?”
You nodded, pressing your fingers hard into your knees. “We haven’t gotten graffitied in a while, though. I think it’s because we got so good at taking them down. I think it gave me accidental biceps.”
Vernon grinned, becoming increasingly excited. “If he was tagging your building that means he’s still in the city. His girlfriend’s flying back to China… she’s out of the question for any more information…” he hummed, slimming his golden eyes in thought. “But if we could find someone he dealt to recently… maybe that would work.”
“I think I talked to him,” you said. “These two guys came into the store back in January. They spoke in Mandarin to each other. One had bright red hair. He was tall, a bit thin. He bought a lighter and some drinks. His style was kinda gothic, I guess.”
“Actually?” Vernon deadpanned. “He say anything to you?”
You leaned back against the deep-set futon. “He asked me if I knew somebody… or, two people, maybe… I think one of the names was…” you sat up, wracking your memory’s fine lines. “Paulo? I said no. Then he brought up the name Hansol, and I also said no.” Cocking your head at the boy, you examined the faint furrow of his eyebrow, his forehead wrinkling ever so slightly before he wiped a hand down his face, removing the expression.
“That was definitely Minghao.”
“Who are those people?” You asked him after a dilated pause.
Vernon sighed. “You’re lookin’ at one of ‘em.”
“Paulo?”
“No!” He exclaimed, beginning to laugh hysterically at your immediate assumption. “Do I look like a fuckin’ Paulo to you?
“I don’t know!” You cried. “Maybe?”
“Hansol, alright? He corrected you, frivolously rolling his eyes. “It’s my first name. Vernon’s just a middle name. Hansol Vernon Chwe.”
“Wow. I would have never guessed.”
He huffed as though you were being sarcastic. “Yeah. Does it completely change your perception of me now? I’m a stranger?”
You nodded, smiling at him. “Definitely.”
“How would Minghao know you…” he murmured to himself.
You shrugged, perhaps not as concerned as you should be. “If you’re… Hansol… then who’s the other guy? Is he your friend?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Vernon dismissed. “How do you think he knows you? Enough to understand that we've been hangin' out. I can’t imagine he stalks me… although I would be flattered.”
“He must have a connection with someone we’ve seen.”
“Y’know what? It has to be Darian… that dude’s a druggie if I’ve ever seen one. He probably let something slip to Minghao when we showed up at his doorstep. Now Van Gogh’s scopin’ out the sitch.”
You pushed against the futon to sit up properly, folding your legs at an awkward angle. “Darian told us to never bother him again.”
“Who gives a freaky fuck?”
Biting your lip, you nodded. That was an obvious answer.
Vernon got up. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a can of something carbonated, indicated by the fresh fizzling sound it made when he broke open the tab. You watched him sit on the edge of his unmade bed, sipping at the drink, before he cast you a smooth grin.
“You’re the key.”
Your shoulders hunched. “The key to what?”
He swirled around his hand in the air. “All this bullshit. You were friends with Diana, you’ve ran into Minghao. You’re the key, PJ’s.”
“I’m the key to your web of criminality? How enriching.”
“Whatever—we know what we need to do—revisit our movie theatre friend,” Vernon implied upon taking another drink. However, his phone started buzzing on the coffee table before you could discuss the task any further, and he was quick to pick it up and excuse himself into what you assumed to be the washroom. “It’ll only take me a few minutes,” he said.
Left alone in Vernon’s apartment, you edged off the futon and approached his messy bed. It seemed like he hadn’t actually slept there in quite a while, thus you wondered if it was more efficient for him to crash at his friends’ places in the city, where he could be closer to his clients. You straightened out his patterned bedsheets a little, though you immediately despised yourself for doing so—like he needed you to take care of him.
His night stand was small. There was a green analog alarm clock set to the wrong time, alongside some thin, square sheets of rolling papers. You noticed a picture frame propped up behind the clock, and after quickly checking over your shoulder to ensure Vernon was still occupied in the washroom, you grabbed the photo. Using the hem of your t-shirt to remove the dust from the glass, you realized it was Vernon in the picture, though a much younger version, with long, rummaged black curls and uneven teeth clamped by metal braces. His smile was big and gummy, his arm curled around a baby girl nestled into pink cloth dappled by glitter-thread stars.
You thought it could be a sister.
The assumption stung, and you didn’t know why.
Hearing the washroom door click, you hurried to place the picture frame back in its original spot, praying that Vernon wouldn’t notice you had cleaned off the dust. It seemed doubtful. Nonetheless, you hopped onto the sheets, folded your legs, and pretended to be staring at his posters.
“Sneakin’ through my shit?” he queried.
You ignored his question. “When’s the last time you were here?”
“About a week ago,” the boy answered, flopping onto the mattress and taking up space beside you, prompting you to move closer to the wall.
“Do you… like… keep your merchandise here?”
Tucking an arm behind his head and sipping at his drink, Vernon nodded in overdramatic fashion. “Oh, of course I do. There are bricks of coke under the washroom sink, and downers in the ceilings.”
You glared down at him. “I was just asking.”
“I think you don’t use your head when you ask questions.”
“Like I know anything about your seedy little drug life,” you mumbled, absentmindedly picking at some threads along your jeans while glancing at the posters taped to the beige wall. Bikini girl was staring straight over your head, her hands propped to her hips, smiling like she knew exactly how attractive and blemish-free she was. “Can I ask you something?”
Vernon’s voice sounded from behind you. “Ask me what?”
“Am I actually awkward?”
You heard him guffaw. “Well, yeah. A little. But who cares?”
Twisting your torso around, you stared at the boy as he relaxed against his pillows, captured in a sea of pale, winter sunlight shining through the apartment windows.
You sighed. “And do you really think I’m frustrating?”
“Does the fuckin' sun rise in the sky?”
“Oh.”
“Okay, look, more than half the time I’m just teasin’ you, you know that, right?” He affirmed, proceeding to sit up against his pillows, his hand landing on your shoulder. “Don’t take it so fuckin’ serious.”
You smiled to yourself as he shook you.
“We’re all a little awkward. Not everyone makes it obvious.”
In an instant, you had whipped around, mouth agape. But then Vernon was firmly gripping your arms, slamming you back onto his bedsheets, where he dropped one of his pillows onto your face.
“It wasn’t about you!” He laughed as you held the pillow down over your flustered expression. “It was a general thing. Project much?”
You sensed the mattress dip as Vernon adjusted himself next to you, feeling the heat from his body radiate. But you kept his malleable pillow cushioned against your face, since it was much easier to stare into complete darkness than risk just one single look at him, packed so closely beside you.
Of course, it didn’t help that his pillow smelled exactly like his skin.
Or maybe it did. You weren’t sure.
Soonyoung tossed his head back, groaning, and closed the gigantic book of crossword puzzles that he was working on. It randomly appeared in the office one afternoon, and since then, you and Soonyoung had taken turns solving the puzzles when operations were particularly slow.
He rubbed along the bridge of his nose. “Okay, we’ve just been going in circles for the past thirty minutes. You obviously feel shitty about lying to your roommate and to Lee. There. That’s it. That’s the answer.”
“Yes, but—”
“No, no!” Soonyoung whined, rubbing down his face. “I can’t hear another but! It’s starting to not even sound like a word anymore!” He reached for his coffee that he’d been clinging to all morning, easing his frustration with a brief sip. “Just tell them you’re hanging with Vernon.”
It wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear.
And it hadn’t been the answer you wanted to hear for the past half-hour, hence your insistent monologuing gilded by the hope you might find a miraculous alternative to: the truth. Soonyoung was frequently bogged in your complaining, but that was only because he felt like a neutral party. None of his friends were your friends, you only crossed paths at work, and your lifestyles were completely different in every sense. Sometimes his perspective was appreciated. Other times… you weren’t sure. Maybe you just wanted to blabber about your issues without hearing a solution.
You crossed your arms. “But it’s not just hanging—”
“It’s not just hanging out; you’re helping him get back the money he’s owed. Trust me, I have the story down pat,” he exasperated.
Remaining silent, you stared at the lottery tickets.
Soonyoung tapped his pencil against the puzzle book. “You know what you’re doing? Making mountains out of molehills. You’re looking at one problem and giving it the weight of one-hundred problems. That’s not good for your mojo. Or your skin. Do you need a facemask?”
“No,” you nipped, “I don’t need a facemask!”
“Well, if you ever want one, just let me know. I get about three every time I order off this skincare website. I only use one a week.”
You touched at your cheek in thought. It felt drier and less bouncy than usual. The pores of your nose were rough under your fingertip. Either it was the weather, or the stress was physically sucking the life out from your collagen—likely a combination of both. Soonyoung excused himself to the washroom. Alone with the puzzle book, you opened it back up and decided to resume the crossword that Soonyoung abandoned, ticking the pencil through the prompts he’d already completed, letting your mind wander.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“You do, huh? Does it have anything to do with those middle schoolers you were talkin’ to earlier?”
“It could. It could also not.”
“Well… feel like sharin’ with the class?”
Shaking your head, you smiled at Vernon. “Nope.”
“Oh, c’mon! That’s dumb!”
“No, it isn’t. You’re gonna sit pretty in the car. Darian will likely tolerate me much more than he would tolerate you—no offense—so, just keep the heat running.” Tossing the end of your woolly scarf over your shoulder, you grabbed onto the door handle. “If I’m not back in half-hour, then text me before you come barging in and trudging things up. I actually prepared for this.”
Vernon scowled at you. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
With a pursed lip, you glanced upward. “Uh—that you lack delicacy, I guess? You don’t always think things through?” You shoved the car door open, the wind unapologetically whipping snow currents through the parking lot like billowing boat sails. “Anyway, just stay here! And pay attention to your phone!”
“Yes, Captain,” Vernon muttered, slouching back in his seat.
After bumping the car door shut with your hip, your hands nestled straight into the pockets of your long puffer coat. Nose buried into the thick scarlet scarf wrapped around your chin, you stalked toward the movie theatre and its fluorescent, blinking signage that pierced through the wispy grey shades of a bitter and frigid evening. Once you were inside, you took a moment to adjust the scarf such that it partly masked your lips as well as pulling at your knitted hat to help obscure your features.
You nervously eyed the clerk scanning ticket codes off people’s phones, though attempted to relax your quickened breathing by rehearsing the practiced script in your head, lips moving subtly, softly. Obviously, you were a very poor liar.
Vernon told you it was a skill, something you could learn, much like artistry with coloured pencils, or cooking increasingly complex dishes. He told you that lying wasn’t always bad—sometimes lies were necessary—as long as they didn’t hurt people. He told you that moderation was important.
Don’t get too obsessed.
Don’t weave something you couldn’t keep up with.
You were simply a novice in a masterclass.
“Hi! How’s your evening going?” The clerk asked in his uppity voice, smiling at you widely as you approached him.
“Going well,” you answered. “I’m actually new. Supposed to start tonight at four. Uh, is Darian here? He said I could get a uniform.”
“Oh, okay.” The clerk seemed surprised, beginning to glance around the theatre, down the long hallways. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
You gulped; breath muffled against the scarf. “Taryn.”
“And you’re supposed to start at four?”
“That’s right.”
He nodded, adjusting his embroidered cap. “Okay. I think Darian is helping clean up one of the messes in theatre eight. A bunch of kids spilt, like, soda and crap. Are you okay with waiting ‘til he gets back?”
Your mouth quivered with unbridled nerves.
When you gave those middle school boys five dollars each and a half-eaten package of bubble gum, you hadn’t actually expected them to follow through on the bribe. But they were middle school boys after all—they probably would have made the mess regardless of your influence.
The truth behind the truth was that you had actually tried reasoning with Darian alone, after you bumped into him at the pharmacy—you were picking up one of Ruby’s prescriptions—and Darian was right in front of you. Perhaps it was fairly poor judgement to strike up a conversation with the guy whose porch you were standing on nearly two months ago, interrogating him about drug money, after stalking him back to his house, although you were so impressed with the universe’s odds at that moment, you didn’t waste a second pondering the logistics. Predictably, he wasn’t very tolerant or willing to engross you, giving you his back after a few minutes.
You also contemplated reaching out to Diana for information, but it didn’t seem… appropriate… to pester her about her boyfriend when she had made it clear she was working through some deeply personal issues. Now, things had to be done the quote, ‘hard way.’
Vernon had no inkling of your previous misstep and he didn’t need to for dignity’s sake. Consequently, you considered it a necessary lie.
The theatre was uncomfortably warm, especially if you were dressed in a heavyset coat, a winter hat, and a long, draping scarf smothering your face. You were beginning to overheat the longer you stood under the spotlight, though you continued engaging the clerk. “It is okay if I wait in the office? Or is there anyone who could get me set up with a uniform?”
“Well…” the clerk looked backward at the concession counters, where everyone was purchasing popcorn and snacks. “I’ll grab my supervisor, how’s that? She can get you a uniform in the office.”
“Sure.”
You idled for a minute or two, observing some film posters.
The clerk returned with a young, rounder woman, wearing a keyring through the loop on her black cargo pants. She smiled at you, even shaking your hand in a firm grasp. “You say you’re a new hire?”
“Yes. Taryn.”
“And you’re sure you’re at the right location?”
“I’m sure. I interviewed with Darian. I don’t think I’m on the schedule yet because it’s just training stuff. Darian said he’ll sort it out.”
She glanced at the clerk, shrugging, and your stomach writhed with cramps of anxiousness. Thankfully, however, she bit the line. “I didn’t get the memo. But, uh, okay. Come with me to the office.” She gestured you to follow her. “I’m Priscilla, by the way. You said your name is Taryn?”
“Correct.”
She took you to a metallic green door behind the concession counter, sticking one of her numerous keys into the lock and grunting as she pushed with her shoulder. “It’s heavy,” Priscilla warned, holding the door open for you to enter the office. “I’ll grab a uniform.”
While she busied herself with opening some drawers across the room, you immediately began scoping the space for anything notable.
“Here you go. These look about your size?”
“Oh, perfect,” you complied, smiling. “Thank you!”
“I’ll grab Darian. I don’t think he knows you’re here.”
“Sure. No rush.”
Priscilla heaved against the door and disappeared.
The instant she was gone, you left the crisp uniform clothes atop a random cabinet and rushed toward the desk, lifting up files, sifting between papers pinned to the bulletin board, checking various sticky notes spread out along the walls. But none of it was what you actually needed—until you grasped onto the rolling desk chair and felt waterproof fabric under your touch.
Darian’s jacket.
Your hand stuffed quickly into one pocket, and you pulled out some boxed cigarettes. Then, you tried the other, and to your success, you had retrieved what you desperately hoped was his personal phone. The lock screen was a blurry photo of Diana that seemed candid, taken when she wasn’t paying attention. There was no passcode, which seemed quite odd for someone who was supposedly contacting a drug dealer, but you didn’t allow yourself to panic even more than you already were. With your thumbs trembling, you began pressing Minghao’s name into Darian’s list of contacts, but there was a rolling sound just outside the door that petrified you into dropping the phone between the desk and filing cabinet.
“Shit!” You whisper-shouted, only to slap a hand against the scarf’s soft material a second later, freezing in place. “Sorry!” The apology wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, though you couldn’t help but imagine your mother gouging at you for the incongruous slip of language.
That’s what you got for hanging out with Mr. Potty Mouth.
After brushing the phone out from the slim space, you were shaking like a frail leaf remaining on a naked tree branch in post-autumn. Minghao’s name was again typed into the search system, only for the list of results to shorten each time until there was nothing but gaping white space. You heard muffled conversation outside the door. Though the entirety of your chest felt electric with anxiety and your mind was paralyzed, you managed to open his text messages and research the name. Still, there was nothing.
Minghao didn’t seem to exist at all in Darian’s phone.
Before you could get sucked into even more disaster, you left the phone back in his coat pocket, then pressed your ear to the metallic door and listened for anyone conversing close by. It was silent. Refusing to squander the perfect opportunity to escape, you shoved all your weight against the door until it breathed. Darting across the theatre like a passing shadow, you were back outside in the cold. The lashing wind had never felt so refreshing.
The second you were inside Vernon’s car, you tore off the scarlet scarf, yanked the winter hat onto the floor, and unzipped the puffer jacket, shrugging out from its humid confines until your skin felt free.
He turned down his radio.
There was a plethora of organized playing cards spread out across his dashboard. At least he could keep himself company.
“What the fuck were you up to?” Vernon engaged, letting his eyes peruse your flustered appearance. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“I don’t think Darian knows Minghao,” you exhaled while uncapping your water bottle, wetting your throat with a massive sip.
“Uh, okay? And you came to this conclusion through…?”
You wiped off your mouth and stared at Vernon. “Pretending I was new employee, getting let into their office, and checking Darian’s phone.”
“No… you’re not serious…” he responded, beginning to squint at you, his dark brow furrowing intently. “There’s no way your goody two-shoes ass did all that. What did you actually do?” Vernon laughed, collecting his playing cards back into a pile. “Get locked in the popcorn machine?”
“I swear—that’s what I did—and it’s why I’m so sweaty! I had to layer up so I wouldn’t be easily distinguishable on the cameras. I didn’t even use my real name. Darian left his jacket in the office and his phone was in the pocket. Diana’s picture was the lock screen!” You reached for the seatbelt, pulling it across your chest and buckling it. “By the way, we can never go back there, for real. They’ll put my picture up on the wall! And I strongly recommend that we leave now before it gets any worse!”
“My, my, PJ’s,” Vernon chuckled, rolling his tongue against his cheek, grinning and seeming impressed. “Fuckin’ colour me surprised or whatever the fuck the sayin’ is. That’s some real daredevil shit.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Y’know, I can’t even be mad you didn’t find anything.”
Rolling down the window, you shoved your head outside, eyes fluttering shut as the chilly wind whispered along the sparse parking lot and feathered against your fiery, glistening skin. After taking in a deep breath, your phone pulsed, and you pulled yourself back inside the car.
You sighed, “Ruby says they finally restocked her favourite flavour of ice cream—the Red Velvet Brownie—she’s asking me to grab it.”
“Where does she think you are again?”
“Helping Tara practice her interview. I said I’d be home around five o’clock… any chance we could swing by the grocery store?”
Vernon shrugged. “Your wish is my command, fellow felon.”
“Don’t start.”
On your quest to the frozen dairy section of the grocery store, Vernon managed to get distracted every five steps. You were never one to get swayed by purposefully placed marketing displays, though Vernon was the exact opposite: “I had no idea there were cinnamon bun flavoured Oreos now!” and “these ice cube moulds are in the shape of stars—that’s kinda cute—and these ones are paw prints!” followed by “this mop has a compartment for… oh… okay… so you put the cleanin’ fluid in that part and it sprays it when you squeeze the handle… that’s kinda fancy and shit.”
You thought you might have to attach a leash to him and physically drag him to the dairy like an owner walking an overly-curious puppy.
It seemed more efficient to let him wander. While Vernon felt very motivated to smell the plethora of wax cubes in the sanitation aisle, you had finally made your way to the dairy section. Ruby sent you a photo of the ice cream for reference. Red Velvet Brownie had been her absolute favourite flavour ever since you’d known her. She told you that the tubs had coupon games. Once you ate to the bottom, you might be able to win free ice cream.
As you wandered past the refrigeration units, you eventually came to a pause outside one in particular, where a young boy was standing on his tiptoes, stretching out his short arms to a shelf just shy of his reach.
“What are you trying to grab?” You asked him.
He stared at you for a moment, probably attempting to compute if you looked normal enough to trust in the absence of his parents. However, after a frustrated sniffle, he pointed to the shelf: “I want the ice cream.”
You opened the clear door and grabbed the frosty container from inside. It was the only one left on the entire shelf. “This?”
He nodded immediately. “Yes!”
While turning the container to read the label, your stomach dropped. It was Ruby’s most cherished Red Velvet Brownie that she had been struggling to find for months, and here you were, handing it off to a little boy because you just didn’t have the heart to take it away. You knew it was obviously the correct thing to do. Besides, who in their right, morally-conscience mind would take ice cream away from an innocent child?
“Woah, woah, woah—what the fuck is this?” Vernon was suddenly behind you, to which you assumed he was finally satisfied with smelling every single wax cube there was to offer. “PJ’s—what are the fuck?”
You glared at him. “What do you mean? I’m giving him the—”
“No, no, no.” Vernon shook his head insistently. He then kneeled down in front of the little boy, whose big eyes hadn’t swayed from Vernon since he rudely introduced himself. “Okay, listen. You don’t want this flavour, alright? Red Velvet Brownie—it tastes like pavement—you’d be better off with—” Vernon opened the freezer and pulled out a different flavour at random, the container decorated with an animated monkey swinging on a vine. “Monkey Go Bananas. It’s chocolate peanut butter.”
The little boy blinked helplessly, staring over his shoulder before looking back at Vernon. “My mom eats Red Velvet Brownie all the time…”
“Did she smoke her tastebuds off?”
“Vernon,” you growled, digging at his shoulder. “Just give the kid the ice cream. We can look somewhere else. It’s not a big deal.”
He suddenly popped back to his feet. “How dare you, you foul woman!” Vernon ripped the Red Velvet Brownie from your hands. “How dare you try to poison the youth with this toxic garbage!” He then turned back to the little boy, crouching down again, sticking out the container of chocolate peanut butter. “Don’t let them lie to you, alright? Monkey Go Bananas. That’s the good stuff. It’s like… when you’re lyin’ down in a pasture at night, and there’s nothin’ around you but soft, long grass and moonlight. And you’re off acid. And it feels like you’re floatin’ up into the clouds, like the wind is carryin’ you, movin’ you with its gentle, breezy hands. It’s—actually—let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Red Velvet Brownie is the Spaghetti Monster and Monkey Go Bananas is your iPad. Does that make any sense?”
You thought you were going to fizzle up and melt into the floor.
The little boy gulped, taking the container of Monkey Go Bananas wordlessly and scurrying away down the aisle. Seeming pointedly satisfied with his eccentric performance, Vernon stood up, handing you back the ice cream. You made sure to give his shoulder a tough, scolding shove.
“No need to thank me,” he sighed aloud. “But you should.”
“Red Velvet Brownie is the Spaghetti Monster and Monkey Go Bananas is your iPad? Are you serious?” Your words burst into laughter that you failed to swallow. “And then you start talking about an acid trip?!”
“Whatever,” Vernon dismissed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets as he shook his head. “Ruby gets her ice cream.”
“You need to be locked up.”
“And you need to let loose,” Vernon proclaimed, walking backward until he reached a pole with a phone system attached to it. He took the phone off the receiver, beginning to poke his finger against the buttons, and you heard a static hitch in the speakers above. “Attention shoppers, we would like to notify you that a lifeless wet blanket has been located in the frozen dairy section. Please proceed with caution or else you might find that the blanket will attempt to slowly drain your zest for life until—”
Shoving the ice cream back into the refrigerator, you barged up to him and attempted to wrestle the phone out of his hands, though he twisted away from you, giving you his hard back.
“Shoppers! The wet blanket is on the attack!” Vernon grunted into the phone, his raspy, strained voice echoing throughout the entirety of the store while you curled your arms over his shoulders from behind, practically pressing all your weight against his spine. “I-I repeat, the wet blanket is—”
You managed to tear the phone away. Sliding off his body, you slammed the device back onto the receiver and seethed at him, every fibre of your being thrumming with hot, heavy adrenaline. “What the heck is your problem?! Why can’t you just be a regular person for five minutes?!”
He tweaked his eyebrow. “And is that rhetorical, or?”
“How do you even know the freakin’ code?”
“Friend a’ mine used to work here.” Vernon proceeded to the phone, picking it back up. “It’s easy. Star sign, seven-one-tw—”
You jerked the phone away from him. “Enough.”
“Ouuu,” Vernon sang in mockery, pursing his lips. “I’m truly afraid right now.” He started snickering, taking step after step closer into your space as you clutched the phone. “Why don’t you make an announcement yourself. Say whatever you want. Say I’m a security threat, that I sell drugs, I swindled some kid out of his ice cream. The world’s all moisture.”
“What?” Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “you mean—the world’s your oyster.”
“Oh—how does that make any sense?”
“How does moisture make any sense?”
Vernon readied his finger on the last button he needed to press, his eyes alive with a thousand complex shades of shimmering copper, like a stunning mosaic, his smirk pretty and pink. “Well?” He taunted.
You gulped, feeling the immense weight in your throat. Heartbeats reverberated throughout your chest. It was a dare that fit the ranks of high schoolers messing around with their validation-seeking friends, but to you, it seemed so much worse. Tightening the phone in your hand, you were about to nod and succumb, do something silly and stupid because that hadn’t ever been you and you had never wanted it to be until this very moment.
“Hey! You two! Are you messing around with the phones?”
Dropping the device from your hand, it started bobbing up and down, suspended on its coil, as a man stood at the end of the aisle squinting harshly at you. Judging from his uniform, you suspected he was a manager of some sort. You were ready to fall to your knees and start apologizing for every poor choice you had ever made, although Vernon wasn’t nearly as willing. He grabbed the ice cream from the fridge, clutched onto your wrist, and began tugging you away from the manager who was swiftly making his way in your direction. Vernon dragged you up the store toward the doors, pulling you around shopping carts and in between startled strangers.
“We didn’t pay!” You cried out to him.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ten-dollar bill that he slammed against the sensor of the automatic door with an impressive leap.
You laughed, “how did that stick?”
“Dunno—I think it had gum on it,” he answered with a shrug, only to slide his fingers through yours, continuing to haul you outside the store and into the zapping cold of dark winter.
Attributed to Vernon’s questionable challenging of the speed limit, you managed to return home at the time you promised Ruby. He didn’t park in the lot like usual, rather he dropped you off along the curb, waving you goodbye before he sped into the foggy, onyx evening like a comet passing through the Earth’s atmosphere. You smiled, and the smile remained faceted to your expression as you entered the apartment with a cautious twist of your key. Suspecting Ruby was in her bedroom, you spent a moment taking off your winter dressings before you knocked on her door, ice cream in hand.
She called out to you, and you slipped inside.
“Here’s your precious treat,” you enticed, waving the tub around alongside a spoon you grabbed from the kitchen because you already knew she was going to waste no time. “The very last one in stock.”
“Get out!” Ruby gasped, beginning to pop the lid off delicately with her long, freshly done nails. “This flavour is crazy popular. Thank you.”
You sat on her bed, watching as she carved the spoon through the surface to scoop up a perfect dollop of ice cream. “No worries.”
“How did it go?” Ruby mumbled.
Pulling your legs into a criss-cross, your head tilted. “How did what go?” Until you remembered that you were supposed to be helping Tara with her mock interview for the assistant position under Catherine Love. “Oh—it went well. Tara’s really well-spoken. And she thinks quick on her feet.” You detested lying straight to your roommate’s face. The words felt so clunky and awkward coming out from your mouth, like you were attempting to speak with a swollen, engorged tongue. “Enjoying your time at home?”
Ruby nodded. “I watched a lot of TV.” She scooped out more ice cream very meticulously. “These bites are the best! Look at the red velvet!”
“I love the chunks.”
“So—” she swallowed around the spoon, “—you were helping Tara practice for her interview… but Vernon’s car dropped you off?”
“Uh…” you didn’t know what to say. This was exactly why you hated lying! The lie itself was terrible in principle, but getting caught directly in the lie was borderline torturous. Your body flushed with heat. Clothes stuck to the slick of your skin. Ruby licked off her spoon, eyes unwavering. “Okay, okay, okay. Yes. I got a ride home with Vernon. You little stalker.”
She shrugged. “I mean, I already knew you were lying. You’re pretty bad at it,” Ruby giggled. “But why not tell me you’re hanging out with Vernon again? Like, what’s going on with you two?” She lowered the ice cream to her lap, head tilted quizzically. “I thought you were—”
“It’s… complicated,” you winced, staring down at your crossed ankles, fingers beginning to pull lint from your socks because it was much easier to converse without Ruby’s bright hazel eyes staring through you like a human window. Your chest clenched tight, your heart feeling squeezed.
Ruby tucked some dark brown hairs behind her ear. “It’s complicated?” She echoed. “Wait… oh my god—does that mean you fucking fucked him!” The girl slapped her ice cream onto her night table, beside a salt rock lamp. “Oh my god, please don’t tell me you fucked him!” She shouted while grabbing onto your arm and fiercely shaking it as though you were a candy-filled piñata.
“No!” You yelped. “I did not—I didn’t—no! We didn’t have sex!”
She collapsed back on her haunches. “Then why is it complicated?”
You whined, biting your lip. “It just is.”
“Because you’re still into him?”
“Ruby!”
“It’s okay if you are!” She reassured you, pulling the blankets back over her legs. “Listen, I’m not trying to make you feel any sort of guilt! And I certainly don’t want you feeling like you need to lie. You two are hanging out again… that’s fine… I just don’t want you to get hurt!”
That, you believed.
Ruby had given Vernon quite the verbal browbeating the last time. She knew you were more delicate and sensitive than most, your feelings fragile like a glass flower, easily shattered and incomprehensibly difficult to repair. You knew she wanted to ensure you weren’t walking blindly into another pretense for disaster.
The thing was, Vernon himself was a disaster. He was a gigantic storm sucking up everything into his chaotic winds and there was no possible way for you to be around him and somehow come out unscathed.
Your head buried into your hands. “What if I do still like him?” You lamented, your throat getting congested. “What does that say about me?”
Ruby scooted closer to you. Her arm laid across your shoulders and you smelt the jasmine of her hair. “If you like him, then you like him. It’s not like we can control where our heart goes and what it does, y’know? Making yourself feel bad about it is only going to confuse things…” she leaned her cheek against your head, taking in a deep breath, absorbing your agony.
“Why do I like someone who doesn’t like me back?” You croaked, rubbing underneath your nose. “I just have no experience in what it actually means to like someone. How do I even know that it’s real? That I’m not just latching onto something tangible for the sake of wanting to feel the same things as everybody else? Am I just being… y’know… stupid?”
Ruby laughed. “That’s what a crush is! It makes you do stupid things! Befriending someone like Vernon for instance. He goes against all your principles but you still want to be close to him.”
“Then…” you hiccupped, “having a crush is totally screwed up.”
“It is,” Ruby agreed. She squeezed your far shoulder. “But if you do really like Vernon, then you need to have a conversation with Lee.”
Upon hearing his name, you couldn’t help but sigh. Ruby was unfortunately, poignantly right. It wasn’t just for you to continue being with him when you were completely charmed by another boy. The reason you had even dragged the relationship out this long was because you felt that you weren’t trying enough, that you weren’t working through the rough patches to see the greener grass. You continued hoping that your feelings would one day catch up to step in tune with his, but instead, they lagged farther and farther behind. Lee didn’t deserve to be strung along.
You were going to make it right.
Screw making it right!
You had never felt so incapable in your life. It was one thing to vouch for righteousness, but it was totally different, sitting on Lee’s bed while he dutifully finished reading the chapter to his gigantic law textbook, agonizing over how one even goes about breaking up with someone. You didn’t think it would be a walk in the park, although you imagined it going much better than… this. The second he pulled you into his apartment, made you a hot chocolate, and exclaimed how eager he had been to see you, the words, “this isn’t working out,” morphed into, “I’ve missed you, too.”
The hot chocolate was wrapped in your hands, the mug maintaining its warmth. You had taken two shaky sips from it since you arrived around twenty minutes ago, after assuring Lee that you were completely okay with waiting for him to finish his homework. You had been in his bedroom a few times in the past. It was much different than Vernon’s space. Everything was extremely minimal: grey walls lacking any pictures or posters apart from some small shelving units containing a few academic trophies; an Ikea night stand with nothing but a lamp and a book he liked to read before bed; a barren windowsill; an organized desk with a professional monitor that seemed to attract most of his attention.
Walking into Vernon’s bachelor, you understood almost immediately who he was. But Lee wasn’t as forthcoming. You felt like you were sitting in a vapid model bedroom rather than a space someone actually lived in, the only sense of warmth coming from the mug in your hands.
At last, Lee pushed out his desk chair, rubbed fingers through his black tresses, and sighed, “all done!” He stuck a pencil in the textbook before closing it. “I’m gonna run to the kitchen for a second—need anything?”
You shook your head, smiled. “Nope.”
The moment he slipped out the door, you left the cocoa on the night stand and collapsed back against the bed, silently screaming into your hands, hot, frustrated breath running between the lines of your palms. What was so difficult about this?
Why did it feel so horrifically impossible?
You pulled the phone out from your back pocket, contemplating the idea of sending a “SAVE ME” text to Ruby. She had three official boyfriends. The first was during high school, which she dumped via text message because it was high school, while the second boyfriend appeared amidst university. They mutually split before he moved back to Egypt with his younger sister. The last boyfriend didn’t last particularly long—Ruby pulled the plug during a dinner date—the claim being that he had the personality of “tap water” and was only interested in pleasing himself during sex.
As you stared at the screen, biting your lip, the door swung open and closed again. Lee crawled his way onto the bed so he could lay beside you, prompting you to quickly hide your phone back in its pocket.
He tilted his head against the pillow, softly smiled at you while his eyes drifted along the edges of your face. “I really appreciate you stopping by to see me,” Lee murmured. “I’ve never read so fast in my life.”
You stared straight ahead, down at your feet. “No problem…”
Silence clung between you. It was the most nauseating, anxiety-inducing silence you had ever braced through, and the intensity of your boyfriend’s wandering eyes plucking you over from top to bottom only shrunk the room in size. He proceeded to prop his head up, an elbow digging into the pillow. You needed to stop prevaricating. Every second that you refused to speak just smeared layer after layer of thickening pressure into the atmosphere, like buttering bread.
Lee’s fingers pressed against your arm. “Everything okay?”
“Uh… yeah… I just feel nervous, y’know?”
He chuckled. “I can hear it in your voice. Nervous about what?”
“I guess, about us.”
“Hm… go on…”
You found refuge in his ceiling, plain like milk.
There was hardly anything else for you to look at apart from him, and that might make you explode. The breath returned to your lungs slowly. As your chest sharply rose up, you felt the boy’s fingers drift from your arm to your waist, and suddenly, your chest refused to fall back down. Your lips fell open, quivering, “I was thinking… that…”
The boy’s head dipped to your neck. You sensed his mouth graze against the skin, the heat of his breath—the kind of sensations that submit your body into a deep haze when it’s a special person you desire, but turn to something gut-dropping otherwise. Lee began to kiss your neck. His fingers traced the hem of your t-shirt. There was nothing but weighted, immovable fear keeping you flush to the mattress as his lips danced to your jaw.
“Thinking what?” He whispered by your ear, the proximity to his voice staunching your blood. “Thinking about…” Lee began plunging his hand from your waist toward the apex of your thighs. “This?”
Your paralysis snapped.
Shooting up in his bed, you shook your head, fingers fleshing through the grey comforter. “No—Lee—I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He pushed himself up. “Can’t what?”
You scooted closer toward the end of the bed, refusing to spare him any glance, afraid that he might seem annoyed, upset, disappointed. “I can’t do this—I have to tell you something.” Burning a panicked gaze into your wriggling toes that you clamped in between your hands, you inhaled, fighting to see it through. “Lee, I really wanted this to work, but I think—”
“Woah, woah. Relax for a sec.” His touch adorned your pinched shoulders. “Lie back down, alright? Let’s talk this out more.” When you didn’t budge, the boy sighed. There was a fleeting skim of his palm traversing down your spine, and then, he was abruptly pressing himself into you, as though he were going to cage you there, hold you down. “No!” You screamed, flinging yourself off the bed.
“What the hell?” Lee gawked. “Okay—I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t going to—I just wanted you to relax so we can talk this out!”
Heart pounding in your chest, you snatched your knapsack off his floor, tears racing to your eyes alongside a grizzly heat. “No! That’s not how you relax someone! You don’t—you don’t grab them and try to—” your words were failing, globing up, like wet paper, and you couldn’t be bothered to waste one more minute inside his apartment. “Don’t follow me!” You shouted while rushing toward the door. Hastily and with little coordination, you dressed back into your coat, feet jamming into your shoes that you didn’t bother bending down to relace. “Just let me be! I want to leave!”
“I’m sorry, okay?” He whined, trailing out from his room.
You shook your head. “I don’t care!”
Everything felt appalling. You wanted to unzip your skin like it was a costume and climb outside of it. Even when you had marched far down the street from Lee’s apartment, leaving the building a tiny spot against the bleak horizon, the distance still felt wholly inadequate. What gave him the impression you were seeking intimacy in that moment? Could he not sense how brittle you had felt? It must have been like caressing straw!
You knew Lee had been getting increasingly frustrated with how often you tended to rescind from physical contact. The most you could ever get comfortable with was a simple few kisses or a cuddle. Nonetheless, you didn’t exactly think that gave him the authority to… push things. He never came across as someone who would corner you. Were there signs that you had missed? Was it because you felt confused in the relationship, rendering you incapable of asserting what you wanted? Were you… blaming yourself?
Upon reaching for your phone, you ignored Lee’s numerous text messages that popped up second after second. Ruby was in the middle of work. You had taken a very ugly bus ride to visit him. There was only one person you could think to call, though the likelihood of him actually being available to answer—if he even cared enough—seemed infinitesimal.
But you were desperate, alone on an unfamiliar street, and struggling to withhold all your tears because the wind just might freeze them against your skin. Pressing down on his contact, you waited.
It took a moment, but the line crackled.
“Uh… PJ’s? What the ff-fuck you callin’ me for?”
You swallowed. “Are you busy? I need to ask a favour.”
He didn’t respond. You removed the phone from your ear, paced a few steps, and then returned it, listening intently. There was a rush of breath through the speaker, a grunt, and a sound you almost didn’t care to describe apart from the fact it was very wet… and suctiony.
Pausing, you grimaced at the phone. “Vernon?”
“Yeah—sorry—what the fuck did you say? You need what?”
Then, your entire face twitched with rage. “Are you getting sucked off?!” You shouted, ignorant to the people brushing around you on the sidewalk, looking back in question, curiosity, disgust. “What the hell?!”
“You’re fuckin’ pissed when I don’t pick up—pissed when I do—what the fuck’s goin’ on?” He sighed. “You get arrested for jay-walkin'?”
As if it could get any worse. The seal broke. Tears flooded your eyes. You were going to rot here, weren’t you? And nobody would care!
Rubbing off your dampened chin, you spat into the phone, “you know what?! Never mind! Go finish getting your dick sucked!” Plopping yourself down onto a cold bench, you continued sobbing. “I’ll find my own way home! Sorry to inconvenience you, asshole!” The line went dead. You didn’t care that you had cursed.
If your mother wanted to descend down from a cloud and reprimand you in that stern, unforgiving manner, tease into your childhood guilt, then that was the least horrible thing that could have happened.
Fortunately, you could have the bench to yourself. No one seemed particularly interested in sharing a seat with the snotty-nosed girl whose face was glistening over with remarkably persistent tears. Arms crossed, legs folded, hugging your stomach, you leaned over, sniffling. Your phone proceeded to vibrate.
Pulling it out, you read Lee’s name.
It felt like a sucker punch. But then his call was replaced by another, and between the two options pulsing in your hand, you chose the latter.
“What?” You snapped at him.
“Okay, PJ’s, I’m sorry. I’m really fuckin’ sorry.” There was rustling in the back, as though he were putting on a coat. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“I already told you, go finish—”
“I’m leavin’, okay?”
You didn’t answer, chewing your lip instead. He had certainly moved quickly to reconnect with you. As frustrated as you were, your priority was getting off the street corner. Your pulverized feelings couldn’t be contained and they were squeezing out from around your bones.
Vernon inquired again. “Where are you?”
Silence followed from your end. Suddenly, you couldn’t speak.
“PJ’s? C’mon. Please, just fuckin’ tell me. I’ll come get you. I don’t care if you’re halfway across the country, alright?” There was the sound of a door closing, his footsteps heavy along a wood floor. “Don’t do this to me.” You swore there was a slight, emotional crack in his voice. “Where the fuck are you?”
You glanced at the tilted street sign. “Clarence Street… um… r-right outside the…” turning around, you looked at the shop. “It’s a coffee place, Jitter’s. There’s a dental office right across from it, Kirk’s.”
“Okay.” His sigh was strung with relief at your cooperation. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Why don’t you go inside the coffee place? Get something to eat?”
“I don’t wanna be in there. I’m a freakin’ mess right now.”
“Please? Can you try?” Vernon attempted to gently urge you. “See if there’s a nice corner you can sit at by yourself? I just—” he paused, and you heard the sound of a door slamming. “I don’t want you to sit out there on the street when you’re alone. It’ll give me a heart attack. Does that sound necessary??”
You laughed a little. “Are you making this about yourself?”
“Oh, yeah,” he answered, and you could hear from his tone that he was smiling. “Definitely. You know my obsession with the spotlight.”
“Okay…” you looked back at the coffee shop, sniffling. It seemed full, but you knew it was better than the street. “I’ll go sit inside.”
“Thank fuck,” Vernon breathed. “I’ll be there soon, yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Before heading inside, you did the best you could to wipe off your face using a coat sleeve—not that anybody would really care for your wellbeing without feeling forced—and headed into the coffee shop. Despite the lack of attention you were attracting, there was a lingering fear that everyone had heard and witnessed your tantrum outside, and now they were pretending to feign ignorance out of pity. You knew that wasn’t true. But your body treated the delusion like fact. You could hardly stare at the barista behind the counter without suspecting her smile was hiding her disgust.
“What can I get for you?”
Skimming the array of pastries behind the glass, you stopped on one at random. It was powdered in icing sugar and decorated with bright strawberries. Tapping on the display, you mumbled, “can I have that one?”
“Of course,” the barista answered, using tongs to pick out the pastry and neatly slide it within a white paper bag. “Anything else?”
You shook your head. It wasn’t for you, anyway. Ruby could eat it later. But you figured it was best to purchase something before sitting down.
Finding a more secluded table, you waited there for Vernon.
Anytime the front door swung open, your head snapped to see who was coming inside. There was a young man who entered, slightly resembling Lee in his face and stature, and you felt fainter than vapour. Still, you continued waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It must have been twenty minutes!
You checked your phone—only five.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
You slammed your head on the tabletop and soaked in your pain.
Sometime later, there were vibrations from your phone. You picked up the call instantly, rubbing the centre of your throbbing forehead.
“Yo, PJ’s, I’m out front. Still inside?”
Shooting up from your seat, snatching the bagged pastry off the tabletop, you nodded. “Yes. I’m coming.”
“Alright. Peace.”
There he was—that dingy vanilla Camry—you had never been so thankful in your entire life to throw yourself inside a drug dealer’s car. He turned his reverberating music down, watched you buckle up.
A pause. And then, “uh… you good?”
“No.”
“Figured. Where to, Miss?”
“Back to the apartment.”
You wondered if he was going to ask questions—they would go unanswered; you weren’t exactly in the mood to replay the specifics—but he didn’t say a word until you were stopped at a large intersection. “Uh, you care if I turn up the music a little?”
Huffing out through your nose, you shook your head.
Vernon reached for his stereo, resuming the volume until you could clearly distinguish the unique cadence of an early two-thousand’s beat. It was louder than what you preferred, though it did help silence your mind. The boy began tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, in tune with the rhythm.
“Ever heard this song before?” He asked.
Temple pressed against the window, your chest sunken, you croaked out a resounding, “no.” Traffic started rolling again and you had to remove your head from the glass, instead pooling back into the seat like a big blob.
Vernon continued drumming his finger to the wheel. “I Luv Your Girl,” he said confidently, like that would somehow trigger you to remember a song you had never heard before.
“That’s nice,” you sighed, uncaring.
“It’s kinda a T-Pain vibe, right?”
Another red light to stall at. Vernon removed his hands from the wheel. He began grooving his head, quirking his arms in a silly way. You half-glanced at him, raising an eyebrow as he became more immersed in the beat and his motions turned smoother, almost liquid-like.
“Call it envy, I want her on me,” he sang, a surprising softness layered in his usually throaty voice. “Up all in my head, now she in my bed.”
You smiled, biting at your sore bottom lip.
“Got her on patron, she actin’ real bad, girl chose me, don’t be mad.”
Then you were giggling, the tears in your eyes gradually drying.
“I dunno,” Vernon shrugged, suddenly dropping the R&B popstar performance that you were enjoying. “It’s good. Makes you loose.”
You nodded. “It’s not bad.” After the afternoon had taken a turn for the worse, it felt like such a relief to laugh. There was a lightness breaking in through all the emotional haze in your chest. It made you realize that you didn’t want to be alone, sitting still at the apartment until Ruby returned from work. You wanted company. Shifting awkwardly in the front seat, you stared down at your unlaced shoes, lips parted in nervousness. “Uh… it’s fine if you don’t want to… but you think I could stay with… you?”
When Vernon didn’t answer, you forfeited a brief glance in his direction, your eyes careful not to linger.
Vernon swallowed. “Uh, you wanna stay… at my place?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
“Like—what—for what? For a few hours? For the night?”
You hadn’t actually thought about it. It seemed inconvenient to stay for just a few hours, only to have him escort you back home. If you looked deeper at what you needed, then… you would have to admit that you wanted to stay the night. You wanted his company. You wanted his goofiness and warmth and attendance. You wanted to be in the presence of someone who promised you safety, even if he was mildly (varying to ridiculously) annoying at times. Ruby wouldn’t like the choice. But she wasn’t an obstacle right now. Would Vernon agree? That’s what worried you most. It filled your stomach with the waves of a ferocious, dancing ocean.
“Well… I guess… could I stay the night?”
Vernon bit his lip, letting it slip through his teeth. “Sure.”
You froze. “Really?”
“If that’s what you need.”
“No, no, no, yes. I mean, yeah! No, yeah! I just don’t want to be alone, so… I’m not trying to impose anything, or—”
“Hey, you don’t gotta explain yourself,” Vernon said. “All good.”
summary: "you know,“ you say, aware of how close your faces suddenly were, feeling your heart speed up again. "i can’t keep patching you up forever. you’re gonna have to learn to use your words properly soon.”
“yeah, i know,” he says softly, getting even closer to you than you thought was possible. your lips were mere centimeters apart as he smiled at you, a soft stretch of the lips you’ve only seen directed towards the likes of doyoung or yedam, but never at you. “thankfully, until i do, i have you to nurse me back to health, right?”
you know he’s teasing, he always is, but you can’t help but wonder if his question holds another meaning. “yeah, i guess you do.”
tags: park jihoon x reader, gang!au, nurse!reader, brother!junkyu
warnings: mentions of violence, recreational drug and alcohol use, swearing
✧✎ synopsis: post-graduate, your life sucks especially hard. two jobs, a lazy roommate, and an imperceptible social life have dulled you to grey. nothing seems like it's going to change. until your roommate decides to let her plug crash at your place, and you're bribed into a strange adventure that challenges everything you thought you were.
pairing: fem!reader x vernon
chapter word count: 26k
full length word count: 186k
genres/tropes: drug dealer!vernon, reader is a post-grad w/ a flop degree lol, inclusion of OCs, gay!soonyoung for the lol, appearances from other svt characters, opposites attract, romance, teasinggg, tensionnn, unrequited love, angst, adventure, smut, relationship drama, sprinkling of comedy, another excruciating slowburn bc what else? + reader is a tad dramatic/sensitive but that's why i love her :]
(!) warnings: drugs (IE: weed, molly, coke, whippets, alcohol), mention of guns, mention of death/overdose, intense language, an instance of non-consensual touching to the reader by a side character, some toxic & possessive behaviour, degrading, aggression, mentions of physical abuse/harm, dips into grief and loss, fractured family dynamics on vernon's part.
✧✎ a/n: woowee :3 part two! don't have much to preface except for ty for reading and i hope u enjoy! this is acc one of my fave parts bc it's like the first clear shot into mc and vernon's dynamic.
what to note:
there are seven parts in the series
releases are weekly, ~12am EST, sunday!
inspo playlist!
if at any point you want on or off the taglist, comment/inbox/msg me!
additionally, the chapters/parts are lengthy. the first six parts are between 24-27k while the finale/ending is 30k+!
✎ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07
PS: please note that i block contentless blogs who like my posts!
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“Hey, where were you last night?”
Damn it.
You thought you might be able to avoid breakfast without your roommate digging into your absence, but you thought wrong. Ruby had been napping when you left for Herongate, and she was still asleep when you returned later in the evening, but you supposed all it took was one bleary trip to the washroom for her to realize that your room was oddly empty on a Saturday.
Standing over your toast, you made a stupid blip of blankly holding the peanut butter while your mind flurried like snowflakes. Not only were you lacking an excuse, you were quite terrible at lying on the spot, and having Ruby leaned against the counter a mere few feet away, licking expired Nutella off a spoon, didn’t exactly give you much breathing room.
Shoving the peanut butter back into its cabinet, you realized you might not need to lie, but rather omit detail instead. “Uh, I decided that I would go to Herongate. Remember how much I loved the big globe?”
Ruby suckled off the spoon, head tilted. “That’s all you did?”
You avoided eye contact. Picking up your plate, you nodded in response and beelined for the couch. Tossing the spoon into the sink, Ruby followed suit, bouncing herself into the spot right next to you.
Flicking through the different streaming apps on the TV, you could hardly think about what you wanted to watch. Ruby was digging her green-gold gaze right through your cheek, a smile creeping bit by bit along her mouth the more you continued to ignore her in obvious fashion. You were halfway through an episode of a new Netflix drama, so you decided to throw that on, hoping that the noise would fill the stiflingly awkward space between you.
Readying the toast before your mouth, you were just an inch from taking a bite, though Ruby’s grin lingering outside your peripheral was like an invisible force preventing you from following through.
Slapping your toast back down, you shot the girl a scowl. “Okay! Enough with the ogling, already! I can’t eat my breakfast when you’re looking into my DNA.”
“You’re lying to me, roomie,” Ruby sang, her voice gilded with smugness. She pinched your cheek. “You’re lying and it’s oh so cute.”
Swatting at her hand, you grumbled, “lying about what?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know.”
You were digging a hole. Still, you couldn’t admit it. You couldn’t frame it into words that you were helping Vernon. “Well, you seem much more informed than I could ever be, so how about you tell me?”
Ruby paused, tilted her head. She had her knees pulled up to her chest with her hands clasped around them like a toddler huddled on the classroom carpet during storybook time. “Okay,” she popped out nonchalantly. “I know you went to the mall to see Vernon.”
Dread sluiced throughout your body. You snapped to stare at her.
“Am I right or am I right?” Ruby goaded, wriggling her thin eyebrows. As if you didn’t hear her the first time, she shook your shoulder sternly. “You went to the mall to see Vernon!” And then she was soaring to her feet, jumping around in circles on the couch while singing, “you went to the mall to see Vernon! You went to the mall to see Vernon!” as though you two didn’t pull this sofa off the street after the woman before you warned it was broken underneath. Her voice mirrored the cadence of a teasing schoolgirl.
With your face turning to flames, you grabbed the back of Ruby’s knee and squeezed at the fluted bones until she buckled back down to the cushions.
“I can understand that this is very cathartic for you, but I swear, it’s nothing like what you’re thinking. I’m doing this solely to get him out of our house.”
“I’m aware,” Ruby admitted, folding some hair behind her ears. “I talked to him on the phone at like, four in the morning. You’re gonna help him find Diana, and if you succeed, then he’ll stop coming here.”
Jeez—had he really aired the entire comprise just like that? You thought Vernon might be more gracious in allowing you the latitude, but here you were, crediting him for thoughtfulness he clearly didn’t have. It was worthless to fight it.
You sighed, “that’s the premise.”
Ruby simply hummed.
You looked at the plate of toast sitting in your lap, the peanut butter melted and runny. Settling it onto the coffee table, you then leaned back into the sofa with arms folding across your upset stomach.
“Oh, come on, Miss Dramatic. Loosen up,” Ruby laughed, curling her knees underneath her and grabbing hold of your elbow. “Don’t take my teasing too seriously. I understand why you’re doing it…” you felt her nail brush some stray hairs from the surface of your hot cheek as she stared at you. “I’m happy, honestly. You need to get out more—and I mean getting out in a way that doesn’t revolve around work—and Vernon’s good at getting people out of their comfort zone. Just… you gotta be a little careful with him.”
“I think I could figure that much,” you huffed, pulling at your pony-adorned t-shirt. “Promise that you’ll bail me out if I’m arrested?”
Ruby chuckled, squinching up her nose. “Of course! But that’s not what I mean…” she swallowed, and then proceeded to sit straighter against the sofa, hands collecting in her lap. “What I mean to say is that Vernon is… well… he’s quite charismatic, let’s say that. He’s one of those guys that make you feel really, really good and that’s great! But you can’t… misinterpret it.”
“Misinterpret… what? What are you saying?”
She stared at you, teeth worried into her bottom lip, almost like she was gazing upon a fragile little bird who had never left its twigged, tufted nest. Yes, you needed it spelled out because you refused this inscrutability and the nauseous flailing of your stomach.
“He’s not a relationship guy, is what I’m saying.”
Oh, you thought.
A beat of silence, and your expression faded.
Oh, you thought again.
“No, no, no, no, no—” the protests flew off your tongue before your mind could make sense of what you were thinking, “—no, no, no. This is not—I’m not—I would never even—” you took in a large breath, having moved yourself to the very edge of the sofa such that you were half-hanging off it at that point. “That’s not my intention at all, Ruby. This has nothing to do with… with trying to make something out of it… I’m not trying to be in a relationship! Especially with Vernon. No, no, no. Gosh, absolutely not.”
“Alright,” Ruby answered, shrugging. “I hear you. But I just thought it might be worth it to let you know. ‘Cause I’ve been there.”
“Been where?”
“I crushed on him at one point,” she admitted, and your mouth felt like grainy stubble. “When we first started messing around. This was back when we worked at Putting Edge. But I realized pretty quickly he’s not that type of guy. Not about relationships at all. Which is fine. It didn’t keep me down for long. It helped me learn to separate my feelings from sex and everything.”
“Oh…” you nodded, grasping tightly at your shorts.
“Vernon just has this weird, charming aura that somehow flips a switch in people. Girls flock to him. I’m not saying all girls. I’m not saying you. Anyway, I don’t want to smother you. You get the point.”
“Yeah, I get the point…”
How could Ruby think that was even something worth bringing up to you? It was almost insulting. Vernon was the exact opposite of everything you sought for in a person, let alone a romantic partner. He was a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. Your decision to help him find Diana was motivated by very little apart from needing him gone and out of your life. All he did was disturb things.
Nothing would change that.
Nothing.
“Are you sure you don’t need directions?”
“PJ’s, I told you a zillion times. I don’t need any directions. Society did just fine and dandy without super-thinned pixelated screens tellin’ everyone where to go. We used maps and shit. And my map is my memory.”
“Well, that was the… never mind.”
“The what?”
“Nothing… you just missed the turn.”
“See—I don’t even remember takin’ that turn. In fact, I think that’s a new street. Yeah… that street definitely wasn’t there before. Crazy.”
You knew it wasn’t the grandest idea, letting Vernon rely solely on his patchy memory to find the Thai restaurant in question, although it had been a losing battle since you first strapped yourself into his car. The directions were open on your phone, and it was almost comical—silently watching Vernon ignore every turn, reroute, and roundabout that the GPS could possibly suggest—all in favour of his memory that was apparently so magnificent, he was an hour late to picking you up.
So much for having his number.
After your very thorough and investigative research, (which required about ten operational brain cells and being quite handy with the Google search engine), you were able to conclude the Thai restaurant that you and Diana ate midnight supper at was called Burning Dragon. They had quite a few locations dotted around the exterior of the university campus, but you picked the one that felt the most right, and Vernon seemed more than convinced once you told him the street name. You weren’t exactly sure what you two were meant to uncover, though the mystery was proving tempting.
“Fuck, I should have filled my tank,” Vernon groaned, head thumping back against the seat rest. “Look out for any gas stations.”
You picked at the edge of your phone case, smiling. “Well, not to be that person, but if you didn’t take so many… unnecessary turns—"
“Woah, woah, woah.” He jammed the breaks upon reaching the crosswalk, crowded groups shuffling. “But you are bein’ that person.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You know, you’re pretty damn chirpy for someone hitchin’ a ride in my car. Street’s right there. Don’t trip over the curb.”
Crossing your legs and folding your arms, you hid the stupid little grin you refused to let him see in your shoulder. His ego didn’t need any extra quenching from your metaphorical watering can.
Vernon rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, thumbs then proceeding to tap the steering wheel. “God—these people walk so fuckin’ slowly. C’mon, Mr. Briefcase… I know you’re not too eager to get those divorce papers home, but let’s trot with some urgency, here.”
Your eyes rolled and you sarcastically lipped, “yeah, how can these random people not sense the dire nature of our situation? It’s like they have no idea or inclination into our lives. It’s making me sick.”
“Feel free to roll down the window.” Vernon smirked.
“Ah, yes. The joy of a window that actually opens,” you mumbled an ode to the horrible memory of being trapped in Vernon’s stuffy back seat while he drove home you and Lara from Mr. York’s.
To your utmost relief, Vernon finally managed to find the restaurant a few more confused turns later. The parking lot was decently crowded for a Saturday evening. As you two walked around the front of the building, you paused to look at the artwork in the window frame—the hand-painted dragon, detailed from thin red brush strokes vibrant against the clean glass—and sighed at how different things felt. Vernon didn’t seem quite as interested in the nostalgia. The boy was already inside the restaurant waiting to be seated as you soon joined him, leaving the brisk wind of November behind.
“It’s warm as fuck in here,” Vernon said, biting his lip.
You shrugged. “It smells good.”
“So, let’s figure out how we’re gonna do this,” he murmured under his breath. “Charge the kitchen? Kidnap a server into the closet?”
A hostess began approaching you with a pinned-up smile, to which you elbowed the boy in his rib. “How about we get a table first?”
“How borin’ of you.”
“More like how perfectly legal—hi!” You were quick to heighten the octave of your voice and mirror the hostess’ welcoming demeanour as she invited you into the dining area, presenting a booth against the window. It was comfortable seating. Artistic lanterns provided a hazy sort of red glow that you remembered enjoying.
“I’ll be your server tonight,” she announced, sliding two laminated menus down onto the dark wood table. “My name’s Cindy. Can I start you guys off with anything to drink? Some waters, maybe?”
You nodded. “That would be great!” Once she disappeared into the kitchen, you removed your wool coat, letting it bunch behind your back. Then you inhaled. Smelled grated ginger and tangy broths.
“Damn. She look familiar at all?” Vernon inquired.
“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t remember our waitress at the time. That wasn't really our point of focus.”
“So, what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Gee, I don’t know. That’s a tough one.”
“Okay,” Vernon sighed, leaning himself against the window and plopping an elbow onto the table. “That’s not what I meant, PJ’s.”
You picked up the menu. “Let’s not rush into things, okay? I’m surprised you’re not hungry. There’s some really good stuff here.”
Vernon didn’t seem entirely pleased that he was now subject to spending an hour with you, eating cheap Thai food that he never tried before, rather than getting his answers served to him on a silver platter. You tried not to take his sparse enthusiasm as an insult, knowing you weren’t exactly Vernon’s ideal portrait of fun, nor the first person to come to mind when considering how he might spend a Saturday evening. But he mimicked you, picking up the creased, aged menu and flapping it lifelessly before his face.
“I’m getting the Khao Soi,” you said. “It’s delicious.”
“M’kay—looks good in the picture,” Vernon answered. “I’ll try it.”
After being served your waters and having Cindy take down the two orders of Khao Soi, you couldn’t help but awkwardly twiddle your thumbs at the situation. You were nervous. Your stomach was in knots. Your palms were getting damp. And you hated that the feeling was only stoked further every time you looked across the table at Vernon. His crisp white t-shirt hugged his torso so fittingly, and the thin gold chain around his neck was a nice pop of colour you hadn’t noticed before. With his slightly mussed-up hair and faded pink cheeks, your heart tightened like someone was squeezing it. You gulped down a heavy lump when he finally put his phone aside and settled his arms onto the table, demonstrating his collages of tattoos.
“You’re right,” he huffed. “I am hungry.”
“I knew you would be.”
He smiled at you.
Your knees pressed together. “So… um… how did you get to know Ruby so well? I heard you worked together. Putting Edge.”
Vernon leaned back, tilting his head. “You really wanna talk to me about your roommate right now? You can get the scoop from her.”
Jeez. That felt humiliating.
“Okay, well, I just thought that—”
“Why’d you and Diana fall out?”
You stumbled. “F-Fall out? We didn’t fall out.”
Vernon raised a shoulder. “What would you call it, then?”
Folding your arms and scooting back into the booth, you spent a moment eyeing the table, becoming insecure at the confrontation. You studied its numerous scuff marks. Someone had poorly etched their name against the edge in pale, carved lines. “It’s just… I feel like saying we fell out implies there was a fight. And there was no fight.” Sometimes you wish there had been. “It was more like a fizzle.”
“Hm,” Vernon hummed. “Someone has to start the fizzle.”
“Yeah… I definitely got fizzled on.”
Vernon laughed, “damn.”
“But, like, at one point, I was also getting in on the fizzling. Because it kinda sucks to talk to someone who doesn’t wanna talk to you. I felt like, weird, about always being the one to reach out to her. It’s like when your absent father tells you the phone works both ways. Except you’re not eight years old. You’re basically adults who should be able to communicate.”
“So, you got no closure about it,” Vernon stated. “That sucks.”
“Yeah…” you exhaled, running your thumb along the stranger's name, feeling the subtle grooves, remembering how defeating it all felt. “When there’s a big fight, at least you have something. You can point at it and blame it on everything. But when there’s no fight, no tension, no nothing… all you can look at is mismatched pieces that won’t give you an answer no matter how you arrange them.”
“Sure,” he agreed, shrugging. “But you can’t dwell on it forever.”
A bit later, and your waitress was returning with two hot, steaming bowls of Khao Soi that made your grief become a little less harrowing. As eager as you were to eat, you watched Vernon slurp some of the noodles and broth first, gauging his reaction. You felt unusually happy when he proceeded to wipe off the corner of his mouth and nod in satisfaction.
It somehow made your own Khao Soi taste better.
By the time you finished eating, it was pitch black outside as wind winnowed down the street in aggressive lashes, although it only made the interior of the warm restaurant and the glow of the red lanterns feel that much cozier. You were fiddling with the paper wrapping that came around your chopsticks, giggling, as Vernon recounted the story to how he got that gigantic, ugly crack in his phone.
“Once I realized I dropped it, I had to slam the car in reverse and fuckin’ sadly backtrack along the side of the road. Shit was all smashed to hell. But I got lucky. Last time I ever gave his ass a ride again.”
You smiled, rolling the paper into a ball between your fingers. “I feel like you’re trying as hard as possible to blame this on your friend, when you were the one who decided to stick your phone out the window.”
“He basically forced my hand.”
“Not really!”
“Alright, pipe down. You weren’t even there.”
With the tip of your finger, you sent the tiny paper ball flying smack into the boy’s forehead, chuckling as it bounced off and fell under the table.
“Okay. Someone thinks she’s a big girl, huh?”
You smiled at him, smitten, your cheeks hurting. “Precisely.”
Cindy suddenly came by the table with the printed bill. “I’ll be a second, I forgot to get change,” she said, smiling, while sliding it toward Vernon. He quirked an eyebrow at her once she walked away, only to pick up the receipt and gag at it. “This shit isn’t separate! Why did she put our orders together!" He sat back against the booth. "And then fuckin’ hand it to me? What the hell is this?”
Covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, you watched Cindy return to the table. “Okay, are we ready to pay?”
Vernon scratched his temple. “Uh, so... the bill isn't separate.”
She nodded very matter-of-factly. “Yes!”
He sighed. “Well… it’s just that—”
“Oh, shoot. You guys aren’t together? My mistake! I thought—”
“No, we’re not.” Vernon shook his head. “But—fuck—y’know, it’s fine, alright? I’ll put my gentleman pants on. I’ve got some cash, here.”
“That’s fine!” She chirped. “Again, I’m really sorry.”
You smiled at her. “It’s perfectly fine.”
Vernon opened his wallet. He smoothly slid out the correct amount of bills to the waitress and told her she could keep the change. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest after observing the magnitude of money he had been sifting through—where was all that cash when he needed a cinnamon bun and didn’t even have a five-dollar bill on him?
“Hey—” Vernon then knocked your ankle under the table and swayed his head toward Cindy, “—fuckin’ ask her,” he whispered harshly.
“Oh, uh—hey! Can I ask you something before you go?”
She turned back, smiling. “Sure.”
“Well, I’m sorry if this is a weird question… but do you or anyone you work with ever remember a girl named Diana? Diana Basu?”
Cindy paused, biting her rosy lip, as she thought. “Diana Basu?”
“Yeah.”
“Right when I started working here, a year ago now, there was a girl named Diana. She was a server. But she ended up… um… leaving.” Cindy used quoted fingers. “I don’t know where she went afterward. Maybe another server would know better. Is there a reason you’re asking?”
You swallowed, and it tasted like sour sap. “Uh… she’s just an old friend that I haven’t heard from in a while. I’m worried about her.”
Cindy frowned, fiddling with the plasticky bills in her hand. She then glanced around the dining area, at the guests gently blowing steam from ornately painted bowls or sharing quiet conversation. “I can ask for you, if that helps.”
“Yes, that would be amazing!”
“Okay, be right back.”
Vernon grinned. “Nice work, PJ’s.”
“What do we do once we get our next lead?”
He picked up his drink, sipping from it. “What do you think?”
“What if it’s a dead-end?”
Settling his cup back down, Vernon shrugged. “What if it isn’t?”
You gulped nervously. “What if—”
“Enough with the what if’s,” he interrupted, crossing his arms and letting his head thunk against the booth. “You need a downer?”
While waiting for Cindy to come back, you stared past the dragon painted to the window and at the dark city street. At least you had one single tidbit of information. Diana used to work at Burning Dragon. The job seemed uncharacteristic of her. She was shy and socially anxious. But you supposed she was probably trying to accomplish the same thing as you, and money was quite influential when you were particularly lacking it.
“Okay, I got some info from my friend who worked with her—” Cindy announced as she returned to the table, “—so, they don’t know where she is now, unfortunately. But I bet you her ex-boyfriend might. His name is Kenta. My friend knows him. He works at that indoor climbing gym, Rocky Road.”
“Sweet,” Vernon exclaimed. “Appreciate it, Cindy.”
“No problem. I hope you guys find her.”
You truthfully didn’t know whether to agree or disagree.
Back outside in the nippy cold, you fixed your wool coat back on, huffing out a visible breath that the wind picked up and carried away into the black night. Together, you and Vernon headed into the parking lot, thinned out of vehicles, mostly drifting with trash.
You both huddled into your coats as he let the car warm up.
“That went better than expected,” he said, checking his phone.
“Rocky Road?” You moaned as your nose pressed into your thick wool collar. “Where the heck is that? Are you Googling it?”
“No.” Vernon shook his head.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Hey—you’ve got a phone, huh? Why don’t you try takin’ it out, openin’ up the freakin’ internet, and Googlin’ it your damn self?”
Your eyes rolled. “Okay, fine. Don’t need to be so callous.”
Vernon scoffed. “I don’t even know what that fuckin’ means.”
“Okay… it’s not far… but it’s obviously closed.”
“We’ll regroup then.”
Sighing, you clicked your phone off and shoved it into your pocket, stretching out your legs as much as you could manage. The heat blowing back into your face was making your eyelids feel particularly heavy. Your stomach was warm with flavourful soup.
“Guess I gotta take your ass home,” Vernon mumbled.
You nodded. “That would be nice.”
“I can’t believe I paid for your damn fuckin' dinner.”
In response, you cackled, nibbling on your cheek. “Hey—I saw all that money in your wallet. Don’t act like I was breaking the bank.”
“What colour do you think looks best on me? There’s this dark purple, kind of aubergine-coloured. And then… there’s this one. A nice cheeky bright red. Both satin. The red has the plunging neck.”
Tara grabbed a dark olive trench coat from her locker, fitting her slim arms through the holes as Lara shoved a phone in front of her face. She squinted at the pictures her friend swiped in between while continuing to collect her things, humming thoughtfully, until she came to an opinion. “I like the aubergine better. It grips your silhouette. It’s mature but still sexy.”
“Hm,” Lara replied, staring at the photos. “You think?”
“Yes. And it totally compliments your hair.”
“Alright, I can see what you’re saying, Tars.”
You were listening, although you hadn’t said anything. After untying the laces to your work shoes, you slid on some fresh wool socks and promptly crammed your feet into a pair of black boots. Lara almost clipped you in the back of the head with her purse as she swung around, lowering her phone right before your eyes and subjecting you to develop an opinion. Why she would even care what you thought seemed unusual, but then she opened her mouth and suddenly it all made sense.
“What are your thoughts? Which would Vernon like better?”
The scoff you held back tickled your throat like dust. Convincingly, however, you coughed it away. “Uh, they’re both gorgeous.” You weren’t lying—Lara was just a naturally beautiful woman—she had those long, toned ballerina legs, supple curves in all the right places, and the most healthy, dark hair to frame her delicate, willowy features. Reaching for your coat, you shrugged. “But, you know, it’s Vernon. I doubt he’ll honestly care about the outfit. I think he’s just more interested in the underneath.”
Lara giggled, moving the phone away from your personal space and back into her own bubble. “I’m sure there’s truth to that. But I feel like I should start taking us more seriously. I guess the purple is better for dinner.”
At that, your eyes mooned. “Dinner?” You gasped, finally getting up from the bench and turning around to face the Lara and Tara twins.
They were leaned against their lockers, smiling at each other.
Lara nodded. “Yes. I’m going to ask him out to dinner.”
“Oh…” you exhaled, feeling your skin dramatically warm as all the individual blood vessels contracted. “That’s… wow. I hope it goes well.”
Turning back around to hide your twitching, restive face, you retrieved your bag from the locker, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you couldn’t help but recall Ruby’s warnings to you about the boy. He was not the relationship type. He didn’t care for commitment. He was just there for the physical deed and wasn’t the type to nurture come morning time—no breakfast in bed or hot baths—just a cold dent in the wrinkled bedsheets where he once laid was the only tribute to his presence.
But Lara’s tone had been optimistic. You didn’t want to be the pin that popped her balloon. It could be that she was changing his mind.
“Well, I’ve got to catch the bus,” you said while waving goodbye to your two coworkers, still relaxed against the lockers and looking at more outfit photos on Lara’s phone. “I do like the purple by the way.”
She smiled quite brightly in response, a stark contrast to her usual gloom while being confined to work, tucking hair behind her ear.
“Thanks.”
You had never been to Rocky Road before, nor had you ever heard of it until hanging out with Vernon at the Thai restaurant last week. An indoor climbing gym wasn’t exactly enticing to you. It likely stemmed from a childhood memory: your twelfth birthday at one of those fun centres that always smelled like pizza and had flashing lights and loud arcade noises stimulating you from every corner. They had a small rock wall that you climbed to press a button and win a stuffed toy. You were about halfway up the wall, when out of nowhere, this awful, paralyzing fear found its way into your chest and gripped you like a second skin, making you afraid to move even an inch. Too nauseous to climb back down, an employee had actually sent your mother up the wall to help soothe you, since you refused to be aided by anyone else. Blubbering into her arms, they gave you a toy seal.
To this day, you never understood where that fear came from.
But it had certainly made you wary of becoming a rock climber—not that it was ever something you legitimately considering being.
For some reason, Vernon had you two sitting inside his car, watching the building from across the empty parking lot. Just about everything was dressed in a very thin coating of midnight snow, though it was beginning to melt as the sun garnered its strength. The time was just creeping up to ten in the morning on a slow Saturday.
You didn’t peg Vernon as an early riser, yet he was acting more awake than you were. While fighting another yawn, your head limply fell to the side in order to stare out the car window at anything even relatively interesting to keep your mind alert, opting to watch tiny droplets of water bulb from thin, naked tree branches. At a certain point the sun had crawled directly into your eyes, and you let them flutter shut a little too easily, enjoying the heat soak across your face like a cat warming up its thick fur.
As you were right on the edge of sleep, you heard a few solid knocks tap against Vernon’s window. It was enough to have you bursting awake, sitting up straighter than a hair, realizing there was someone at the car. You were sure it was a man, unrecognizable to you, wearing a large winter jacket and a toque practically pulled down over his eyebrows. Vernon then proceeded to open his window, a gust of cold air flowing into the vehicle, finding you in pinpricks.
“What’s up? Cash?”
“Yeah,” the man mumbled, handing Vernon some coloured bills that he flaked through. “Swear it’s all there. Counted it like ten times.”
“All good,” Vernon laughed, opening the middle console and depositing the clean money inside. “Here.” He handed the man two small baggies of something you could hardly see. “Go crazy, Mish.”
“Thanks.” He pointed at Vernon in recognition, smiling with his teeth that clearly needed some work. The man’s eyes quickly shifted to you for no less than a second before he wandered off into the lot.
It took you a moment to even process what happened.
“Uh, Vernon?” You side-eyed him, too appalled at the circumstances to even turn your head. “What the heck was that?”
“What the hell do you think it was?”
Digging into your thighs with blunt fingernails, you snapped to look at him, still slack-mouthed. “You just made me an accessory to a drug deal!”
Finally, he turned off the car’s exhaust. The lack of rumbling made the atmosphere silent and fragile. Vernon adjusted his jacket and shrugged. “So?”
“Uh—what do you mean so?! So, I could get arrested! So, I could go to court! So, I could get a criminal record! Is that enough so’s for you?!"
“Shit. It’s ten in the mornin’, alright?” Vernon winced, wriggling a finger into his ear. “Why are we shoutin’? I’ve got tinnitus now.”
Arms folded, you huffed, the clear blue sky acting as the perfect canvas to picture your life going down the drain. Though, you couldn’t imagine losing a whole lot. “I’m surprised you even know what that means.”
“Ouch. Rude.”
Your eyes rolled. “Oh, like you care.”
“Nothin’ is gonna happen, PJ’s. That’s Misha. He’s a good dude. We used to work together back at the golf place. I wouldn’t have done anything with you in the car if I didn’t think so, alright?” He sighed.
Flicking off your seatbelt, you groaned. “How is it so possible for a point to go so entirely over a person’s head? I mean, was that cocaine?”
“It’s—”
“Actually, don’t tell me. Don’t ever tell me.” You stuck out a hand to prevent him from going any further. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”
Inside Rocky Road, you were greeted by a single employee seated behind a service desk, sipping from a coffee cup. He glanced up through his glasses. “Good morning. Are you two here for a climbing session?”
Your brow furrowed. “Well, we’d really like to speak to—"
“Yes,” Vernon cut you off. “We’re here for a climbin’ sesh.”
You shot him daggers, lips pushing together in fury.
The employee made a click with his mouse. “Okay, I’m assuming it’s the ten-fifteen slot. And who is your instructor for the session?”
“Kenta,” Vernon said.
Another click of the computer mouse, and a quick flick of the scroll wheel. The employee smiled again. “Oh—you’re Justin and Taryn?”
“Damn right.”
“Okay, can I get you to sign in right on this sheet? If you go through those doors back there, that’s the gym. There’s also a locker room just down the hall for any items you want to keep safe, although you do need to supply your own lock. Kenta should be there shortly.”
“Cool, thanks.” Vernon grabbed the pen attached to a paper weight, proceeding to scribble something onto the attendance clipboard.
You were going to explode at his nonsensical charade.
What was the purpose? In that moment, you were rooted to the floor, refusing to sign the clipboard as your heart boomed in your chest and your eyes burnt him up.
“C’mon. Sign it,” Vernon urged, pointing his head at the sheet.
Your fingers balled into compact fists. “Vernon—”
“Vernon is meetin’ us after, alright?” He answered, gritting his teeth slightly and raising his brow. “I know you’re scared, but this will be fun.”
“In what world?”
“Sign it,” he was on the verge of growling, shifting his eyes incredibly suggestively at the clipboard. You wanted to tackle him.
“It really is fun,” the employee added, bringing the coffee cup back to his lips for a sip. “Lots of people are scared, but end up loving it.”
You weren’t in the mood to fight the situation any more than you had been in the mood to be a witness to a drug deal, which you attributed to morning slurry. Sighing, your hand stuttered as it reached for the ballpoint pen, adjusting it between your fingers in a transient second of contemplation and forthcoming regret. You proceeded to make a scribble under Vernon’s. A weight sat in your stomach.
While walking into the gym, you elbowed his side. “I hate you.”
“Hate’s just as passionate as love, baby girl,” he snickered.
You took a deep breath. That was all you had.
Vernon threw off his jacket into the corner. The gym was rather large, with somewhat scuffed but still shiny wooden floors that reflected the fluorescence overhead. Different rock walls of various heights and complication surrounded you, prompting your nervous gulp as you unbuttoned your coat and apprehensively shimmied out the sleeves. Letting it lump overtop Vernon’s, you cradled yourself while peering around, noticing it was only the two of you inside the gym.
Walking up to the nearest wall, Vernon put his hand on the protruding grip and tugged it. Then, you watched him raise a foot to tug off his brown Marten, followed by the other, which he carelessly tossed aside. Little by little, Vernon started to climb the wall, leaving you to anxiously pace around while fretting about how terrible the entire compromise was. “I can’t believe this,” you groaned. “This was such a dumb idea. What are we supposed to do if those people actually show up? We’re impersonating them! Isn’t that a crime? Gosh. Add that to the list. At this rate, I’m gonna be living the rest of my life in the slammer! With nothing but a sad little tin cup to rattle for dramatic effect. Ugh… I shouldn’t have followed you! I should have just spoke for myself! I’m so pathetic. I—”
“PJ’s, look! I’m almost at the top!”
Tilting your head back, you glanced skyward up the wall, grimacing as you noted just how high Vernon had climbed during your rant.
“What the heck are you doing?! That’s beyond dangerous! Get down!”
“This shit is so easy.”
“I don’t care! Get down!”
Surprisingly, Vernon heeded your braying and slowly began making his way back toward the floor. When he was close enough to safely push himself off, Vernon was dropping down with a thud.
You glared at him. “You’re so irresponsible, it’s insane.”
“I’ve got crazy grip strength. Think I’m part gorilla?”
“Part lunatic, more like.”
Vernon smiled. “That works, too.”
Across the gym, two doors pushed open with a metallic squeak, and in walked a young-looking man dressed in athletic wear: dark shorts and a compression shirt. He was tall, with very straight but nicely styled black hair, and the kind of the muscle you would expect from someone who enjoyed climbing rocks every day. Strung over his shoulder was a large duffle bag.
“Hey!” He called. “You guys are the ten-fifteen?”
Gosh. Were you really going to play along?
Vernon nodded. “Yeah. Took a crack at the wall already. Got pretty far up with just my hands. How ‘bout that, huh? You’re Kenta?”
“Sure am,” the man answered, letting the bag slip off his shoulder and hit the ground. He smiled. “Remind me of your names again?”
“Justin.”
You were silent for a moment, fingers curling at your sides. Unable to look Kenta in the eyes, you stared off to the side, mumbling, “Taryn.”
“Cool. Alright, well, you guys signed up for the hour-half session. I’ll introduce you to some of the equipment in this bag here, and then we’ll get you up on this wall to the right for practice. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll move onto some more fun walls. They’ve got obstacles and such.”
Kenta unzipped the bag, pulling out some tangled harnesses and protective helmets. Your stomach was shredding itself into pieces. Did part of your plan really need to involve climbing a rock wall? Vernon hadn’t wanted much part in playing along at the Thai restaurant, yet here he was, grinning, as Kenta discussed the equipment and safety parameters. Maybe rock climbing was some weird objective to scratch off his bucket list.
You had no idea.
“Who wants first?” Kenta asked.
Vernon raised his hand. “I’ll do it.”
Once he was prepared, helmet strapped on and harness secured, Kenta gave him some chalk to help with managing the grips. You stood back, chewing on your lip, while Vernon proceeded up the wall quite easily with Kenta holding onto the ropes.
“First time climbing?” Kenta spared you a soft glance.
Folding your arms tight, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. But once you get past that resistance in your gut, it’s pretty fun. Your friend’s doing a great job.” He pulled more of the rope through his hands as Vernon progressed further up.
“I just have a bad memory of it.”
“Really? That’s a shame.”
You didn’t want him to pity you too much. “It was a long, long time ago. My twelfth birthday, actually. But I was a super dramatic kid.”
“No worries,” Kenta answered, smiling. “Do what you’re able.”
He seemed sweet. And his defined, handsome face was certainly a pleasure to look at. You thought he was a wonderful candidate for Diana’s boyfriend—kind, physically fit, and very pretty—although you had never known her to be with anybody in particular when you were friends in university. She had silly crushes now and then, but the girl’s shyness always held her back from initiating anything.
You could relate to that.
“Alright! Got it!” Vernon shouted from the top, triumphant. “Is this the part where I get to feel like James Bond comin’ back down?”
Kenta laughed. “Everybody loves it.”
Holding onto the rope, Vernon pushed off from the wall as Kenta helped to gradually lower him to the floor. “That was tight,” he said, unbuckling his helmet and ruffling out his smushed hair. “N’ thanks for not droppin’ me on my face. My shit’s in its prime, y'know?”
“No problem. It’s my job.”
“M’kay.” Vernon proceeded to smile at you. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
He thrust his helmet into your chest. “C’mon, T-baby. Wall’s not gonna climb itself. Stop geekin’ out and go touch the stars.”
Begrudgingly, you soured at him. “Don’t T-baby me.”
“Okay. How’s World’s Biggest Wimp instead?”
“You better hope you’re never in a situation where you need to climb something and I’m the one holding your ropes. I’m not going to let you down all nice and gentle. I don’t think I’ll let you down at all.”
“Assumin’ you could even hold me in the first place.”
“Listen, I’ll—”
“Okay! Our time is precious.” Kenta edged you away from Vernon and gave you a harness to wear. “Let’s get you ready.”
Chewing the interior of your cheek, you turned your back as to avoid seeing Vernon’s antagonizing expression. While placing the helmet atop your head and clipping the strap together, Kenta helped you step into the harness, making the necessary adjustments until the material felt tight but not uncomfortable. He then attached the appropriate latches to the carabiners. Lastly, he offered you some white chalk to dust on your hands, thin and powdery.
It was the beginner wall, strictly for practice, but that somehow didn’t make you feel any better. You walked up to the grips, swallowing hard enough to break a hole through your throat, and contemplated which one to try first. Out of all the things you could find yourself doing on a Saturday morning, rock climbing was just next to skydiving.
How you’d much rather be wrapped up in bed, toasty, content, and not perspiring at the thought of reliving a humiliating memory from a childhood birthday party. You reached for a pink grip, letting your fingers anchor into its mould.
Wherever she was, you hoped Diana might appreciate all the effort you were putting into finding her—having her ex-boyfriend assist you up a rock wall under the guise of being a complete stranger—just to coax out even a breadcrumb of knowledge. Sucking in a deep breath, you began to climb, choosing each grip you picked with the meticulousness and care of a brain surgeon.
“That’s it!” Kenta called. “Take your time! You’re doing great!”
When you reached the halfway point, you refused to look down for even a second. Your profuse sweat was wearing the chalk off your palms and the grips were feeling increasingly slippery, though you continued climbing.
“C’mon, PJ’s! You’re almost there!”
The bones of your fingers ached as they curled loosely around another grip. Unfortunately, the harness only supported your weight so much, and your upper body was feeling the strain. Wedging your foot atop another tiny rock jutting from the wall, you stretched out your arm as far as it would go to reach the next closest grip, whining at the burning physicality.
Vernon cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out to you as though you couldn’t hear him perfectly fine already. “Ain’t gonna lie, our hour'll be up if you don’t put some gas in the tank! Reach for—”
“Shut up!” You snapped. “I’m going as fast as I can!”
“Just tryna help your slow ass!”
Somehow, you actually began to move with more vigor and speed until you had successfully reached the ultimate height of the wall, though you suspected the feat was less to do with skill and more to do with your voracious urge to jump Vernon and wrap impressively adhesive tape over his mouth so he couldn’t speak. Still, it felt rewarding to accomplish something, and you couldn’t help a relieved smile as you let your muscles go partially lax while Kenta helped lower you back to the floor. He loosened up your harness as you unbuckled the helmet, which you tossed onto the duffle bag.
“How fun was that?” Vernon grinned at you; his arms folded.
Your eyes rolled. “Again, we have different versions of fun.”
“Hey, don’t gotta lie to me—I saw that smile.”
“That’s ‘cause I was envisioning myself punching your lights out.”
“Whatever motivates you.”
The corners of your mouth twitched. You could sense yourself wanting to smirk at his response, though you steamed it out, refusing to let him feel any part triumphant in his contribution to your success. Though, maybe you were underestimating Vernon and his comprehension of others. Things were never black and white.
“So, Kenta, you’re a pretty cool instructor. How long have you been doin’ all this?” Vernon inquired, helping to push along the duffle bag.
“Thanks. I’ve been climbing since I was sixteen. But I’ve only been an instructor for about two years now. I just really like teaching people.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Shit, I bet a ton of cute girls come through here, and you get to be the one to teach em’. That’s my kinda job.”
Kenta laughed, brushing a timid hand through his hair as his cheeks turned pink, meanwhile you bit your lip to stop yourself from making an audible scoff. “I mean, that’s true. But I’ve gotten zero girls from this gig.”
“No way!” Vernon gagged, to which you assumed his short-lived interest as an instructor likely just disappeared. “What if I told you Taryn was interested?”
“Hey!” You shouted, whacking his arm. “I never said that! I am definitely not interested.” Your expression was quick to flinch as you realized the implications. “Uh—no offense, Kenta. You are totally handsome.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, no worries at all. I know it seems like a good place for that. It’s just… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel…”
“Professional?” You offered.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Vernon rubbed his nose, laughing. “Damn. Couldn’t be me.”
“Alright, here’s the next wall. Not too much harder than the last. Just a bit taller with some trickier grips. You guys can do some stretching if you want. I’m gonna grab my water bottle. It’ll only take a minute.”
You and Vernon got on the gym floor, entertaining yourselves with stretches that you weren’t even sure were useful. He made a poor attempt of reaching for his wriggling toes while you arched an arm over your head.
Vernon smiled. “You can climb.”
“Uh! No way!”
“Yes way.”
Leaning over the opposite direction, you huffed. “You’re crazy.”
“It’ll give me time to work some information out of Kenta.”
“Why can’t we just ask him about Diana?”
“That’s his ex, Pyjamas! We don’t know how poorly the fuckin’ relationship ended. This is a careful process. It should be a man-to-man thing. I can crack him open like a cold beer but I need time to work.”
Sitting criss-cross, you clasped both hands together above your head and straightened out your back, reaching upward in order to feel the delicious stretch travel down your spine. “So, I’m the one who has to suffer?”
“All for the cause.” He clicked his tongue.
“You’ll distract him and he’ll drop me.”
“Nah, this dude’s a professional. You worry too damn much.”
As your hands slid across the floor behind you, a sigh hollowed out from your chest. “I can’t believe this… you… you owe me, you know that?”
Vernon grinned, brushing a hand through his soft hair, still a bit sticky-uppy from the helmet. “I just tried to set you up with somebody, and you shot it down. I was tryin’ to owe you.”
“Yeah! Trying to set me up with my old best friend’s ex!”
The gym doors squealed as Kenta waltzed in with his large water bottle. Getting into a low squat, Vernon winked and snapped his fingers at you. “Can’t say I didn’t try. Now, strap up.” He paused, smirking. “Taryn.”
You grumbled, dragging the duffle bag closer.
At least you stretched.
Five walls.
Five goddamn walls.
The human body was not built to endure that kind of physical requirement, nor the heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping fear that accompanied it—at least, not your body.
In fact, you never understood those people, anyway. Climbing skinny metal infrastructures in the middle of deserts and hanging from jagged clifftops by just a single hand. You liked the ground. You liked your bed. You liked when you weren’t dangling at a preposterous angle, breathing hard, and fighting to cram your fingers in the questionably distanced grips.
As you maneuvered around the slanted obstacle, you spent a moment just clinging to the wall, letting breath after breath fill your sore lungs. From the floor, you heard a laugh.
Great. How lovely was it that Vernon and Kenta were getting along while you were pressed against a gigantic plastic rock twenty feet in the air. The moment you came down, Kenta hadn’t even helped you loosen the harness like he usually did. Either he supposed you just miraculously got the hang of everything now, or his conversation with Vernon was simply too enthralling. You assumed it was the latter. Tossing the helmet onto the duffle bag, you removed the tight harness yourself (climbing five walls had actually made you somewhat proficient, you unfortunately realized), and sat yourself on the scuffed floorboards, wiping the sweat from your eyebrow.
“Hey—that was your fastest wall yet!” Kenta exclaimed. “Not to mention the hardest one you’ve done. I got the sense you’d be good at this.”
“Yeah? What sense was that?” You puffed out, deciding to lay on your back and stare up at the fluorescent lights that were blending together with optical looseness.
“It’s usually people that are the most nervous that do the best. Their adrenaline refuses to let them fail. They turn into wall-climbing spiders.”
Inhaling deeply, you muttered, “gee, sounds exactly like me.”
“I’ll go get you some water. The session’s over, anyway.”
As Kenta proceeded to leave the gym, a face soon hovered above you, blocking out the bright light such that it fuzzied around his head like a white halo. He bit onto his lip ring and smiled. “You’re a G, PJ’s.”
“I think all my limbs are gonna fall off.”
Vernon bent down, grabbing onto your arm and raising it. The instant he let go, it practically collapsed akin to an overcooked, soggy noodle. He chuckled. “We’re gonna need a gurney for you, huh?”
“Please tell me you were able to figure out something useful.”
Standing back up, Vernon clapped off his hands like he just finished a long day at the construction site. “Fuck yeah, I did. I’ll tell you once we’re in the car. Gotta wait for Prince Charmin’ to grab your water.”
“I can’t believe the real Justin and Taryn never showed up.”
Vernon shrugged, a sly grin trudging across his mouth. “Well… while you were busy climbin’, I might have wandered out to the service desk and saw that dude was gone. And I might have looked up their number from the computer. And I might have called them from the phone and told them they needed to reschedule their session. I mean, they were already late! Talk about inconsiderate.”
You could only produce a breathless, exhausted laugh. “I want to be so, so angry at you. But I’m gonna fall apart like a Mr. Potato Head.”
Kenta came back with a plasticky cardboard cup full of water. You slurped it lustily. The two boys then helped you to your feet.
“A hot bath will fix you right up,” Kenta said. “And lots of rest.”
“That couldn’t come any sooner,” you chuckled.
“I just hope you two had fun.”
“I had a blast,” Vernon answered, picking up his jacket and reaching his arms through the holes. “What about you, Taryn?”
After a brief pause, you swallowed hard and nodded. “Me too.”
It felt quite nice to step into the cold. The warmth from inside the gym as well as your copious physical effort had turned you hotter than the sun's surface. With your coat left unbuttoned, you stood at the edge of the curb, breathing in the crisp, dry air. Your body was already feeling the looming soreness, and though you could only assume it would get worse, your mind seemed way less foggy than it had this morning. It felt clear like the sunlight.
Back in the car, you waited for Vernon to get settled and spend a few minutes checking his phone before you bombarded him with questions.
“M’kay, I’ll give you the bullet points,” he said. “So, they didn’t date for long. It was only three months, I think. Diana wasn’t his usual type but he thought he’d give it a shot, anyway. She was actin’ kinda shady, like, a month into the relationship. Turns out, she was stealin’ money from him, and that’s why they broke up. But not even two weeks after, she’s with another dude! So, he told me he thinks she was already seein’ him. He doesn’t know much about either of them, now. But he told me the dude was an assistant manager at good ole' Cinema Hut. Name’s Darian or some shit like that.”
“So…” you mumbled, looking down at your legs. “This means?”
Vernon gave your shoulder a mindful nudge before proceeding to shift the car in drive. He shrugged. “Hope you like movies, PJ’s.”
“Hey! Lookie here! This ground beef is on sale! Holy shit. Oh… but we’d have to use it by tomorrow… it should be fine if we freeze it, right? I can make Spaghetti Bolognese. I mean, I can’t make it, but I can look up how. Shouldn’t be too hard… are you even listening to me?” Ruby put the package of ground beef back into the clearance cooler.
Eyes lured to your phone, you nodded. “I am listening.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah.”
A second later, and Ruby had swiped the phone straight out of your hand, immediately abandoning your half-filled grocery cart as she hurried down the aisle with you hot on her trail.
“Ruby! Don’t be a jerk!” You grumbled to her, attempting to pin the girl against the door to the frozen chicken wings. “Give it back!”
“Waiting on a text from Vernon, I see?” Your roommate chided, biting onto her lower lip while a smirk stretched wide across her face—one that made your stomach plummet. She capitulated the phone to you. “Okay, relax—take the phone, babe—I couldn’t help myself.”
Shoving the girl meekly in her arm, your head shook. “You’re such a little kid sometimes.” Though she had been right.
You weren’t listening.
“So are you! Acting like a school girl with a crush. It’s so cute.”
After making it back to your grocery cart, Ruby proceeded to throw in the package of ground beef she had been eyeing. Her comment took a moment to even register in your mind, until it was time to start pushing the cart and suddenly you were deadbolted into place, mouth falling open. She walked a few steps in the direction of the bakery, her loose bun wrapped in sleek brown and red tresses only continuing to get looser, though she was quick to realize you weren’t following. You were still gaping at her.
Ruby turned around while adjusting her hair. “What?”
Then, you started laughing. “How could you say that?!”
“Say what?”
“The school girl thing—the crush!”
She grabbed the end of the cart and began pulling it down the aisle, walking backward to hold your gaze. “I was only teasing.” A spark jumped into her eyes. “But judging from your reaction, is there some truth to it?”
“Nope,” you stated in utmost confidence, popping the syllables for emphasis. “There’s absolutely no truth. There’s negative truth, in fact.”
Ruby stopped. “Isn’t negative truth just lying?”
Regaining the cart’s control, you sighed. “I guess. But that's not what I meant. Do you want these?” You picked up a cardboard package off the shelf. “Wagon Wheels.”
“Oh, love those. And we need bread.”
Watching Ruby wander further into the bakery section, you decided to stay with the cart near the outside. Again, you pulled out your phone to check your text messages, although you made it much more discreet.
Vernon was texting you pretty fluently on your way to the grocery store, but now he wasn’t answering at all. Of course, the boy would disappear when you were trying to coordinate a stupid date and time to go see a movie at Cinema Hut. It was hard enough getting an answer out of him. But Ruby was just exaggerating, blowing things out of proportion—it’s not like you were obsessively lurking on your phone, haunting your text messages with Vernon, desperate to see that little grey bubble pop up and—oh! Finally! You heaved out an unusually big sigh you didn’t know you were holding—then you actually processed the text and your face twisted up.
soz. get back 2 u later.
Under your breath, you read the message to yourself.
Gosh, he was so polarizing—it made you want to rip out clumps of your hair and then turn them to pyre flakes. At the last second, you saw Ruby coming back with the bread and immediately hid the phone in your jacket, even if you were fuming with the incessant itch to berate Vernon five more times over text message for being so evasive. What on earth was he doing that he wasn’t able to provide you with something as simple as a date and time?
Ruby grabbed the cart again, pulling it forward.
You groaned. It was probably best you didn’t know.
“Okay, got everything,” Ruby said. “What about you?”
“Yeah. Let’s just pay.”
As you two stood in line for the cash register, Ruby turned to you with an inviting smile. “I’m going out tonight. Wanna come?”
Your nose scrunched. “Going out where?”
“C’mon, you know!” She elbowed your rib. “The klerb.”
Pushing the cart forward a few inches, you braced your shoulders tightly. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m just not a club person.” You returned your roommate’s sweet smile. “And you won’t turn me into one.”
“Last week I asked you to go painting with me and you said no to that, too!” She flicked the zipper on her lowcut sweater, starting to pout.
“Because my entire body felt like jelly!” You laughed.
She slapped a divider onto the conveyor belt and threw on her package of chocolate Wagon Wheels. “What if I said Vernon was going?”
“Nice try.”
“You wouldn’t consider it? Even a little?”
With a big huff, you set down a bag of apples and angled an annoyed glance at the girl. “What’s with you and this Vernon stuff?”
Ruby shrugged. “I should be asking you that.”
“I already told you; I’m doing it so—”
“So he’ll crash somewhere else. I understand.”
“Well, that’s all it is,” you insisted in a curt tone while continuing to help your roommate place more items onto the conveyor belt. “Just because I’m waiting on a text from him doesn’t mean I got shot by Cupid’s arrow.”
“But that’s not all it is…” she mumbled.
You immediately straightened up, hands shooting to your hips like a disapproving mother about to scold her child. “And what does that mean?”
Ruby was about to open her mouth, but then the employee behind the cash register greeted you and began scanning your items. She cleverly altered whatever she was initially going to say, giving the employee an amicable smile, and fluffed out of your reusable bags to start packing away the groceries. The conversation turned to water under the bridge. Besides, you didn’t really want to know her observations, anyway. You felt the same and acted the same as you always did, at least from your perspective.
Friday nights typically weren’t your preference for going out—it was your last work day of the week, the restaurant was at its busiest, and you wouldn’t get off the clock until after eleven, once all the cleaning duties were accomplished—your mind wouldn’t be able to entertain much else apart from sandwiching yourself between the comfortable sheets of your bed back at home. But Vernon mentioned that he wouldn’t be in the city for the weekend, and somehow that pigeonholed both your availabilities.
Fortunately, you weren’t feeling that tired. Vernon came to pick you up outside Mr. York’s once you had finished cleaning. It was quite nice, not having to worry about missing the bus, consequently standing outside the shelter in the cold simply because the drunk man inside was trying to engage you about government conspiracy theories. You had actually grown a notable appreciation for that vanilla Camry, even if the interior did smell like cannabis on occasion. Though, you would never admit that to Vernon.
“So, what movie did you pick?” You asked him.
Vernon grabbed his phone out from the cupholder and handed it to you, shrugging. “Can’t remember. Online tickets are in my emails.”
“Oh… you picked… Little Miss Sparkle’s Big Princess Party?”
“What?” Vernon grunted. “Little Miss Sparkle’s Big—what?” He immediately swiped the phone back. “No the fuck I didn’t.” Squinting down at the screen, his expression morphed from one of preposterousness to flickers of relief and annoyance. “Oh. You’re fuckin’ makin’ a joke.”
Your teeth were biting all over your bottom lip, attempting to quell an eager smile as Vernon shut the phone off and let it slip back into the cup holder.
“Got an issue with Little Miss Sparkle’s Big Princess Party?”
He shook his head. “No. But that’s not what I paid for.”
“Yeah. You paid for some prison break movie.” Folding your legs, you let your head fall toward him. “Are you going to be taking notes?”
Vernon chuckled. “I know the law. You got a notepad, though?”
Opting to roll your eyes very exaggeratedly, you instead looked out your window, noticing that wisps of snow were beginning to illuminate under the street light. You weren’t entirely sure what the plan was for tonight, though you two never really seemed to have a plan, or be on the same page ever for that matter. But somehow the lack of coordination was working, so you chose not to question it and overcomplicate things.
After arriving at Cinema Hut and showing the clerk your tickets for the night, you were free to kill time. You wandered around the snack section while Vernon answered an impromptu phone call off in the corner. The theatre wasn’t particularly busy, either because everyone was already watching their movies or most people found there were much better things to be doing at midnight on a Friday, although you were fine with where you had landed. Picking up some Swedish Fish from the rack, you stared at the colourful lime package, not entirely sure what you were craving.
“Those are good.” Vernon was suddenly next to you. “But these are better.” He reached for a candy that was right beside yours. “Sour Patchies.”
“Oh, I used to eat those,” you said, smiling. “I would put one in my mouth and suck all the sour stuff off so it was just the gummy.”
He nodded. “Who didn’t?”
At the drink dispensers, Vernon filled his cup with classic Coca Cola while you chose cherry Root Beer. There were just two employees at the counter, one already occupied with a group, therefore you and Vernon went to the girl adjusting the popcorn in the big machine behind her.
She turned around, putting on a dull, tired smile.
“How’s your night been?” Vernon asked her.
“Fine. Long. Uh, is this stuff together?”
“I’ll pay for it,” you were quick to offer, proceeding to give Vernon a sympathetic look. “I mean, you paid for the tickets. It’s no worry.”
The girl readied the machine. As you were about to hover your phone above the reader, Vernon had already beaten you to it.
“You’re too slow, PJ’s,” he said, smirking. Before you could retaliate with a quip, he was already luring the employee back into conversation. “So, is there a manager around? I’m thinkin’ about droppin’ off a resume.”
She scratched her nose piercing. “There is, but I think he’s busy in the office right now… do you want me to check anyway?”
“Nah, don’t bother,” Vernon answered. “What’s his name?”
“Darian. He usually goes on his smoke break within the hour, if that’s any help. He’s pretty chilled out. We need more people for nights.”
Vernon grabbed his things from the counter. “M’kay, thanks.”
The theatre was fairly empty when you two walked in. There were three people seated together near the front, but you followed Vernon toward the back, where he found the middle seats. It was dimly lit without the explosive previews to ignite the room in sound and colour.
You took a sip from your drink. “Where’s your resume?”
Looking down at his phone, Vernon raised a shoulder. “The void.”
He seemed content to sit in silence. You made sure to text Ruby before you left work that you might not be home until later, though she was already out at a friend’s house party and hadn’t responded since. It was likely she would stay the night, especially if she was hungover. Alcohol completely removed her mellow nature and transformed her into a chaotic ball of energy that was impossible to reign, like lightning in a bottle.
As you stirred the ice around in your cup using the straw, a distant thought leapt into your mind. “How are things going with Lara?”
Vernon finished sending a text before he answered, at last putting his phone away. “Fine. She’s a cool girl. Great body. She’s flexible as fuck.”
Your forehead crinkled. “I didn’t need to know all that.”
He sighed. “You asked.”
“I meant, like, how’s the relationship going.”
Vernon shook his head. “It’s not a relationship.”
You grabbed the arm of the chair, twisting your torso in order to face him more appropriately. “So… you didn’t go out to dinner with her?”
“Why would I do that?” He laughed.
“I don’t know. She told me that she was going to ask you out to dinner two weeks ago. She had an outfit picked out and everything.”
The boy was in the middle of sipping from his drink as he mumbled around the straw. “Oh, that.” He swallowed. “Uh, yeah. I told her I’m not really about it. She seemed fine with it. She still put on the dress for me, though—the purple one or some shit—I can’t really remember. We smashed and then I hit the road. It’s not a relationship. I told her, like, three times.”
You nodded, staring at the soft silhouette of his expression half-hidden in the room’s dusk. Your chest seemed to lift at the remark, and once your body processed that soaring feeling, you glanced away from him a second later. Even if they were in a relationship, it shouldn’t matter to you.
“What about you?” Vernon countered.
Taking off your coat, you shrugged. “What about me?”
His head tilted. “Where’s your boyfriend, PJ’s?” He copied you, removing his jacket, and proceeded to pull open his Sour Patch Kids. “Or girlfriend.” Tweaking his eyebrow, he relaxed into the chair.
All the moisture in your mouth had evaporated. For a moment, you didn’t answer, instead pondering the consequences of fanning the flames to the conversation. Vernon did not need even an ounce of insight into your dating history (or lack thereof), hence your lips pressing hard together, sealing off your willingness to participate.
Vernon popped a gummy in his mouth, grinning. “Oh, come the fuck on. If you can ask me, I can ask you.” He opened up his legs and nudged you with his elbow. “Just get your heart broken or some shit?”
“No,” you answered staidly.
“Ah. So you got rejected, then?”
Scowling at him, you barked, “no!”
“I’m not a mind reader, here.”
Arms folded, you slouched against the chair and stared ahead at the large, dark screen, an anxious buzzing of bees rumbling in your gut. “It’s not anything like that…” you mumbled. “I’ve never had a relationship.”
“M’kay.” Vernon shrugged. “Neither have I.”
Your eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t believe that.”
“Well, I guess I had a relationship when I was fourteen. But that shit doesn’t really count. It lasted six months. She was obsessive as hell. Wouldn’t leave me alone half the time. I realized I didn’t want all that.” He took another sip from his drink, licking off his lips. “So, PJ’s is single, huh?”
Scratching at your nail, you nodded. “That would be the case.”
“Eh, being single is freedom. You can fuck whoever you want. Go wherever you want. Do whatever you want.” Vernon kicked his feet up onto the chair in front of him, smiling. “If you ask me, it couldn’t get better.”
You laughed. “You’re doing that. I’m not doing that.”
“Which part?”
Mixing the ice around in your cup, you sighed. “All of it.”
“Seriously?” Vernon grunted, coughing to clear his throat. “No wonder you’re so fuckin’ uptight and stressed all the damn time.”
Heavily furrowing your brow, you retched at him. “Excuse me?”
“No one’s fuckin’ it out of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to screw it out of me!” The people seated near the front turned around, squinting at you heavily, to which you perspired in embarrassment and lowered your voice. “I can’t believe you said that.”
Vernon obviously didn’t care. “Have you ever been screwed?”
All of a sudden, the screen flashed with a blip of sharp white, a few more people started straggling in, and the introductory clauses for the previews were reverberating loud through the speakers. At that moment, your mouth was tingling with a litany of insecure and defensive statements while the surface to your cheeks instantly surged with prickling heat.
He chuckled, rolling out his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“It’s not your business whatsoever,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone, attempting to sink even deeper into the chair. “And it never will be.”
“If there ever is any business...”
You grabbed the back of his hand in your fingernails and pinched the skin hard. Vernon yelped aloud, “ow!” while people cast their interest, though you feigned like nothing was wrong, taking a casual sip of your drink.
There wasn’t much conversation that followed, apart from a few offhanded comments about the trailers and the movie itself. Vernon had finished his soda by the time the film title card came up, and about half an hour later he was predictably wriggling past you for a washroom break. He stepped on your foot on his way out—you couldn’t help but think that was shallow payback for pinching his hand—and returned about ten minutes later with a bag of popcorn that you could smell the synthetic butter and salt from.
By the time the hour-and-half movie ended, you also had to use the toilet, so you forced Vernon to stand outside the women’s washroom and strictly told him not to wander. He was a bit like a curious child who you might turn around on for less than a minute, only to find them caught up a pole somewhere, or stuck in a clothing rack. When you came outside into the eerily lit corridor to find the halls empty, he was fixated across the room at the theatre's flashing arcade, playing with intense focus on a claw machine.
You walked up to him, pulling at pieces of pocket lint while you huffed out, “thank you so much for listening to me and not wandering off.”
“I didn’t wander off,” Vernon mumbled, training his eyes to watch every little flick and twitch of the claw. “Arcade's across the room.”
“That’s wandering!”
“Some kid left his token in here. He let me play.”
“Gee. Isn’t it your lucky day? Don’t you think we should be—”
“Look! Look! Watch this!” Vernon practically had his forehead pressed against the glass. “I’m gonna pick up that little bear thing.”
You heaved out a big breath.
He tapped the red button. The claw dropped down and latched around the toy, then slowly began to rise upward, with just the bear’s key ring hanging onto one of the prongs. His tongue poking out, Vernon maneuvered the claw over to the drop box and let the item fall. Once he pulled it out from the machine, you two both spent a moment examining it.
“What the fuck is it?” Vernon asked.
You took it from him. “I think it’s for your keys...” Noticing a small groove in the plastic bear’s pink stomach, your thumb ran over it without thinking, only to unleash a blinding flare of white light into Vernon’s face, as though he had been ambushed with a thunderbolt.
“Aw! Turn that shit off!” He winced.
“Oops!” You pressed the button again, giggling hard as he massaged his spotting eye sockets. “I didn’t know it was a flashlight!”
The boy blinked irritably a few times, like he was adjusting contact lenses. “Why the fuck did a children’s toy just fuckin’ flashbang me?”
“You’re the one who picked it.”
Swatting his hand, he grumbled, “you can keep it.”
It was still snowing in thick gobs at the hour you exited the theatre—the sticky kind that clumped really well—and you felt the flakes catch in your hair and gradually melt upon resting against your cheeks. As you two walked back to Vernon’s car, you got the urge to smoosh together a big ball of snow in your hands and throw it at him (just to test its packing ability, of course), though you decided not to at the last second. Before getting inside, Vernon shook the ice and wisps out from his sooty hair.
You settled into the seat, sighing. “I feel like that didn’t go well.”
“How come?”
“What do you mean? We didn’t meet Darian at all.”
Vernon began pointing down the dash. “Don’t need to.”
Tracing the path of his finger, you spotted a figure through the hazy snowfall and twinkling street light. He was underneath a small overhang to the theatre, right by the doorway, dressed in a dark-coloured coat that didn’t look particularly warm while he smoked a cigarette. It was difficult to discern much detail at a distance, though Vernon seemed convinced.
“How do you know?” You asked.
“After I went to the washroom, I came back to the counter and asked that girl if he was around. I met him super briefly. Shook his hand and shit. He was nice, said I could drop off my resume whenever.”
“… Didn’t you ask him anything else?”
Vernon shrugged. “Why bother? He’ll lead us right to Diana.”
You gasped at him. “We don’t know that!”
“I’ll wager my bets on it. I’ve got a spidey sense.”
While his tone of voice was assuring and confident, you weren’t too certain he was right. For a moment, you both continued to watch the man in question from across the street, staying silent, like he could somehow hear your discussions about him. A few employees left through the doors, and he waved each of them off. It wasn’t much longer until he flicked the cigarette into the wet snow, locked the exit with a key from his pocket, and pulled up the hood to his coat. He began a casual pace down the sidewalk.
Your hands squeezed together in your lap. “What now?”
“I guess he walks home…” Vernon muttered. “Hm—okay.”
“Okay what?”
He looked at you, smiling in a manner that rendered your stomach to twist like a doughy pretzel. “We’re gonna follow him—well—you’re gonna follow him. Just don’t make it obvious. Keep a distance and all that.”
Your jaw slacked. “I’m gonna what?”
“Follow him!”
“Uh—no!” You shook your head, a laugh of utter disbelief bubbling up in your throat. “No way am I doing that! You freaking follow him!”
“He’s seen my face. It’s weird now. Plus, it’s too hard to follow someone in a car without makin’ it look damn obvious as fuck.”
“No. You’re high. I’m not doing that.”
Vernon crumbled back into the seat, making a point to sigh loudly.
“Don’t sigh at me!” You quipped. “As if I am going to follow this stranger home, in the dark, while it’s cold and snowing, as you get to sit inside a nice heated car waiting for the update. No way. You’re dreaming.”
“There’s no other way!” He exclaimed.
“How about I drive?”
The boy paused, then raised his eyebrow. “You got a licence?”
“Well…” your arms folded. “No… but I know how to drive!”
Vernon huffed. “Then no. No damn way.”
You gagged. “Oh, so now you care about the law?!”
“Hey, no one gets behind the wheel of this car except for me. I’m actually disgusted at myself for even thinkin’ of allowin’ you to do it.”
“You’ll snort coke but you won’t let me drive your crappy car? Your morals are so scrambled, it’s insane!” You collapsed against the seat dramatically, staring out into the vast and windy sea of snowflakes.
“To be honest, I’m pullin’ the weight.”
A cackle split you from top to bottom. “You’re pulling what?!”
Vernon looked at you, nodding his head. “I pull our weight.”
“You do not—”
“Who has the car to get us everywhere we need t’be?”
“That doesn’t—”
“Who warmed up Kenta so he would spill about Diana?”
“Vernon—”
“Who went and talked to Darian?”
At that point, you didn’t bother responding. You simply sat there, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet the sincerity of his eyeline. There was definitely truth to what he was saying—you weren’t delusional—but maybe you were still harbouring some bitterness about the rock-climbing thing.
Chewing on your bottom lip, fingernails digging into the fabric of your coat, you reluctantly came to accept that perhaps it was your turn to contribute. Puffing out even louder than Vernon had, your hand slapped onto the handle and you thrust the door wide open, letting the tart cold blow inside. Your boots sunk through the fresh snow collecting in the parking lot.
Vernon smirked. “Thank you.”
“Whatever. Just pay attention to your phone, alright?” You bent down to stare at him. “Don’t get distracted texting your ten side pieces.”
“Noted. Hey—you can use your new flashlight, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Nothing stuns an attacker like a Care Bear flashlight.”
“Stop complainin’ and go,” Vernon laughed, yanking the door shut.
Pulling the zipper right up to your nose, hands stuffed in your pockets, you took a few mopey steps around the front of the vehicle, stopping for a brief moment to burn your gaze into Vernon through the shifting wipers clearing wet flurries from the windshield like eyelashes. He merely flicked his hand at you, urging you to go, to which you exhaled again into your warm collar.
It was somewhat difficult to keep track of where he went. At first, you hurriedly followed the fresh footsteps sunken into the snow until you came to the curving top of a downward street, where you could just vaguely differentiate his figure through the white blendedness. You continued at a brisk pace until you weren’t too distanced from him, breathing rather heavily into your coat as the cold mixed with the intense heat of your body, though you tried not to make it obvious. He rounded a corner and kept on a straightforward walk, the compact buildings eventually thinning into a more residential, spread-out neighbourhood of shoddy houses.
You pulled out your phone to text Vernon.
Despite the blotches of snow wetting the screen and marring your spelling, you hoped he could still read the messages. At last, the man turned up a short driveway belonging to a smaller house on the block, with stained-white paneling and grey stones. There was a tiny sized garden in front with a plastic flamingo sticking out, the flowers decaying and sprinkled by snow to match the unkempt lawn. It didn’t seem like any lights were on through the windows. You searched desperately for a number or mailbox to identify the house. But then a car coming by behind you flooded its piercing high beams, and you distinguished weathered, gold-plated letters stuck to the stone.
Before you could forget, you sent the address to Vernon.
1024 Augusta Street. The house with the pink flamingo.
Vernon told you to wait at the end of the block. Your nose rubbed tight into your coat collar, weight shifting from foot to foot as you stood, alone, under the shower of streetlight and the snow that flickered through it.
About five minutes later, his Camry was pulling up to the curb.
“Don’t you look cozy?” Vernon purred when you huddled inside.
Ignoring his teasing, you strung on your seatbelt. “I didn’t see anything that would indicate he’s living with Diana. There’s no car in the driveway, nothing in the front lawn, no lights on in the house.”
He didn’t seem bothered. “We know the address. That’s enough.”
“How so? Are you going to camp outside the place every day?”
“That’s a great idea.”
You shook your head. “Well, I’m not doing that.”
“I figured you wouldn’t.”
“Because I’m employed,” you sounded out the word nice and slow.
“Yeah, and she owes me four-hundred dollars,” he scoffed. “They’re lucky I’m not tappin’ on their fuckin’ windows with a switchblade.” Vernon proceeded to circle around the block and exit the neighbourhood.
Unzipping your coat, you sighed. “What if she’s not there?”
“Then she’s not there.”
“Well, what do we do in that situation?”
Vernon laughed. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”
“I feel like I’m thinking a perfectly normal amount. I mean, one of us has to. We can’t just not consider it at all. All this work for nothing…”
“You’re bummin’ yourself out for no reason.”
Sinking back into the warm seat, you stared out at the sky, noticing the snow begin to ease and the emergent stars of midnight peak out.
“Yeah,” you hummed, your energy fading. “I’m good at that.”
Soonyoung had asked you to fetch the jug of porcelain floor cleaner to mix in with the hot mop water. He told you it should be somewhere in the storage closet. When you assured him you had never seen the jug there, he was even quicker to reassure you that he most certainly had. Figures.
You hated the storage closet. The space was drafty but confined, with a lingering, mold-like smell that made you apprehensive to even breathe the air. When you took a step backward to meticulously examine the shelf for the umpteenth time, the hanging chain belonging to the light bulb brushed overtop your shoulder like a chilled finger. You nearly screamed; hands clasped to your mouth at the last second. Still without the jug, you decided to grab the step-stool and use it to reach along the very top of the shelf, supposing the cleaner could be stored just out of sight.
“Gosh, this is so gross…” you winced with dread as your hands tapped against the dust thickly coated along the shelf’s surface—it almost felt wet and sticky—and you thought about fainting. “Soonyoung’s such a liar.”
Yielding bare results, you chose to step back onto the floor, hands stretched out underneath the feeble light to realize the tips of your fingers were painted with dark, mysterious dirt. After leaving the storage closet, you momentarily pondered whether or not to use Soonyoung’s pristine, red uniform shirt to wipe off the dust. But you didn’t. Even if he deserved it.
“Find it?” The boy called from the register.
“No!” You shouted back.
“Well, look again. It’s in there.”
Throwing an irritated glance in his direction, you smiled. “I think you should look instead. Since you’re so clearly right about everything.”
He removed the clunky headphones from around his neck. “What?”
You blew a rogue hair off your nose and ignored him. At the washroom sink, you pumped about five full squirts of pink soap into your hand, watching in disgust as you proceeded to intensely clean your skin, noting the water lose its clarity in place of a sudsy, icky grey. Ripping off a long tail from the paper towel, you dried your hands, sighing aloud. You hadn’t intended to act snappish—that wasn’t your normal at all, especially at work—but the hot sarcasm had shot straight out of you like a molten spear. When you returned to the floor, you thought about apologizing to Soonyoung.
But then you heard a laugh—an all too familiar laugh—that sounded a bit scratchy and deep and rendered you to immediately freeze behind a tall, swirlable display of chips. Cautiously, you peeked.
“I figured it was you. Her description fits you down to a tee.”
“Charmed to know she’s memorized me so well.”
What the heck was he doing here?!
Your mind combusted into a panic that shrouded all rationality with unbreathable plumes. Sticking yourself even closer to the display, you attempted to see what Vernon had brought to the register—it looked like a canned drink and a small bag of snacks—there was something else, too, though you couldn’t tell what it was.
“Nine-fifty,” Soonyoung said while adjusting his backward cap. “So, can’t say that I’ve ever seen you in here. At least not while I’m around.”
Vernon revealed his wallet to pull out a single ten-dollar bill. “Right place, right time kinda thing,” he answered. “Where is PJ’s, anyway?”
The till popped open, and Soonyoung handed Vernon his two quarters. “PJ’s?” The boy echoed, chuckling. “Is that her nickname?”
“Sure is. When I’m feelin’ more Shakespearian, I go for Pyjamas.”
Nodding his head, Soonyoung smiled, subtly trailing his gaze along Vernon while the boy was busy picking up his things. “A man of the arts, I see,” he commented, likely appeased at the rare eye candy.
Your head shook. Soonyoung’s taste in men was questionably specific, and that was coming straight from the horse’s mouth. He mostly dabbled in entertaining one-night stands from the club that you would unenthusiastically be subject to hearing about the next morning—well put together men, career men, the kind to spoil and dote as they had piles of money but no one to spend it on—nothing in character to Vernon. More than anything, it was perplexing, annoying, that the boy could just waltz around however he wanted and garner all kinds of flattering attention.
“Excuse me? Could I ask you where the Ginger Beer is?”
Jolting, you nearly threw over the entire display, though you steadied it quick off a snap of adrenaline. A customer lingered behind you.
“Uh, it’s in the cooler. Back wall.”
“Oh. I looked but—”
There was a loud, kicking laugh from Soonyoung. A humourous guffaw from Vernon. You were missing pertinent conversation and context!
“It’s there,” you reassured in a pushy tone. “Just, look again.”
Although she reflected a very displeased expression at your shallow customer service, she left you alone. Continuing to hide behind the chips, you watched between a bag of barbeque and dill pickle as Vernon made his way to the door, pressing his shoulder against it while he waved toward the register. Once Soonyoung fixed his cap again, he returned the gesture. Your eyes rolled in frustration.
Another customer approached you. “Could I grab the barbeque—”
Without word, you shoved the bag impatiently into their hands, and then proceeded to march up to the cash.
“Oh, hey.” Soonyoung raised his eyebrows. “Did you find the—”
“No. I saw all that, by the way.”
He laughed, rubbing his lips together. “So did I. Any good flavours?” With his arms folded, he leaned against the side of the counter.
“Why would you tell Vernon that I told you about him?”
“Oh, c’mon. Who actually cares?”
Your fingers clenched. “I do!”
“Hey.” His palms raised in defense. “Never said it was a secret. I never thought I would actually end up seeing the guy… by the way, he’s—”
“No. No, no, no. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“No—just wait—”
Hands sandwiched overtop your ears. “I know what you’ll say!”
Soonyoung was smiling inexplicably wide. “Can I just get out—”
You cracked, the words tangling in your throat. “That he’s hot? Is that what you want to say, Soonyoung? Because, yes, I get it! I get that he’s all charismatic, and easygoing, and he has such nice, swooping lashes that look like an angel’s paintbrush and beautiful, bronzy eyes! He’s got nice muscles, and firm, tattooed forearms, and perfect, soft, powdery-black hair! And he smells like amber! I get it! You’re not saying anything new!”
The boy stood still, holding you in a very intrigued gaze, until his cheeks dappled in increasingly warm blooms of coral pink and he was suddenly puffing out pure laughter. “Jeez! I was just gonna say he’s got good taste! He bought some of that Chicago popcorn I keep telling you to try.” Tapping his chipped-black nails against the plastic lottery ticket cover, he grinned. “But it seems like you have much more… interesting… things to project.”
Feeling your heart race in your chest, pump after pump after pump, you struggled to string together anything logical. Your mouth hinged opened, empty, like a clam without its pearl. It wasn’t projecting, you were just repeating what you always heard!
Soonyoung shrugged. “Although, I will agree with you.” He then proceeded to point at something behind you before crossing his arms.
Taking a deep breath, you turned around.
“I still can’t find the Ginger Beer.”
Sighing loudly, feet dragging, you obliged. “I’ll show you.”
Worse than actually being cognizant of it was understanding the painful unrealism. Such musings followed you for the entire week, haunting you, pricking you, flipping your mood completely on its head whenever the thought so much as drifted tumbleweedesque through your mind. You had no one to tell—more like, no one you felt comfortable telling—therefore you weren’t even able to speak anything aloud and gauge whether or not it was delusion. The most you could do was mumble to yourself in the shower.
“Is it… really… no. It can’t be… it’s just that word everyone keeps throwing around… limerence. But… maybe it’s not… maybe I really do… but I can’t say it, because I don’t know for certain, and saying it might put some weird curse in the air… no, no. Now that I’m actually thinking about, it’s nothing. I know it.”
It was just meaningless drivel, circling the drain, as you aggressively rubbed shampoo into your scalp while your eyes squinted shut and water licked against your back in smooth tongues. Ruby even asked you about the unusually long showers you had been taking this week, which you thought she didn’t notice.
“I mean, I get it, girl. Trust. We’re lucky we have a shower head that disconnects! I’m just worried about the water bill and everything.”
“Hm? What do you mean? Shower head that disconnects?”
“What do I mean? I mean your outrageously long showers this week!”
“Oh. But that’s because—wait—no, no! It’s not what you think!”
The beginning of the conversation made you want to bury your head in the sand, though you understood why your roommate was concerned, albeit under the wrong assumption.
Hot water wasn’t cheap.
You weren’t sure what the time was. It was definitely late, you knew that much, and your feet were still aching from all the walking you did at the restaurant. Despite the temptation of a Friday night, Ruby had actually stayed in for once—she was back on her birth control medication and the nausea was kicking her hard—hence the girl’s decision to seek refuge in the perfect cocoon of her bedroom, wrapped in the sheets. You brought her some crackers to eat. She particularly loved the ones with extreme salt.
Grabbing your phone off the charger, you checked the time.
12:53 am.
Gosh. It was hopeless! Your mind was torturing you.
You sat up against the headboard and pillows for a moment, grabbing one that was shaped like a pudgy, striped grey cat to hug in your arms. It used to belong to Diana, but she ended up giving the pillow to you as a birthday gift since you always preferred its squishiness when taking naps at her dorm. Running your fingertips along the cat’s threaded blue whiskers, you sighed into the darkness of your bedroom, hating the wasted time going by. But then your head tilted toward the window, and you swore a shadow had moved behind the curtains. As you slowly unveiled the covers from your warm lap, there were a few solid taps on the glass, and you squeaked.
“PJ’s! You awake?”
Flaring open the curtains to one side, you gawked at Vernon.
He smiled. “Guess you are.”
You slid the window up. The harsh bite of late November drew raised hairs to bristle along your arms. Removing a sweater left in a lump on your desk chair, you began fitting it on. “What the heck are you doing?”
Vernon pulled out his phone. “Ruby wasn’t respondin’ to my texts.”
“Yeah. She went to bed, like, over an hour ago.”
“No way. Thought she’d be out on the town.”
Your head shook. “She’s sick. Is there something you need?”
He shrugged, rubbing under his nose. “Eh, doesn’t matter. I’ll let the girl get her rest in. God knows her crazy fuckin’ ass needs it.” Reaching into the pocket on his thick green hoodie, he pulled out a rolled paper, packed with what you assumed to be weed. “You care if I smoke?”
“Uh…” your nose wrinkled. “Just… the window stays open.”
“Easy enough,” Vernon mumbled while the joint hung from the corner of his lips. He then pulled out a shiny chrome lighter from a pocket on his sweatpants, giving the wheel a few flicks before the orangish-blue fire sparked to life, reflecting a soft, hazy glow unto his face. Shielding the erratic flame from the breeze, he cupped a hand around it and let the warmth singe the tip of the joint until there was a near imperceptible crackle. After re-pocketing the lighter, he took in his first inhale, long and deep, polite enough to redirect the smoke such that it didn’t blow directly into your bedroom.
You swallowed, staring down at your desk. “So… what are—”
“I did some stakeouts this week, on Augusta Street,” he said, readjusting the loose hood thrown over his head. “It’s lookin’ kinda—”
“Actually, I don’t want to know.”
Vernon stared at you, removing the joint from his mouth. “Huh?”
“Right now, I don’t want to know. If you’ve seen her, I mean. Or if you haven’t seen her. I don’t want to know. You can tell me later.”
He laughed, letting himself sit on the windowsill. “Seriously?”
You nodded.
“What’s with edgin’ yourself? For what purpose?”
Carefully, quietly, you pushed the desk aside so you could sit beside him on the window ledge. The air was nippy, cold, but it felt so refreshing that you wanted to float in it. “I don’t know. My mind’s been all over the place. I can’t have another life-altering thought barging in and screwing things up even more.”
“Jeez,” he huffed. “Your head sounds like a stressful place.”
You grasped at the knee to your flannel pyjama bottoms, pulling up the thin fabric for no apparent reason. “Trust me. I know.”
He returned the joint to his mouth for another drag. You always detested the smell of burning marijuana—there was something so potent and bitter about it—but Vernon did well to exhale the smoke away from you.
“So,” you cleared your throat. “Are you planning on staying?”
“Well, I was gonna hang with Ruby to smoke the rest of the Indica, but I guess that's outta the question.” He lowered his joint. “N'you don't really look like the smokin' type. But I'll crash here. Easier.”
“There’s already a blanket on the couch.”
Vernon stared over his shoulder, and then returned his mellow gaze to your face. Gradually, it slipped downward, and he started chuckling at something. “Jeez. Never thought I’d see that shirt again.” He reached out to the grab the corner of your sweater, pulling it aside so he could better squint at the picture through the scarce parking lot light. “Find your wild, huh?”
Dang it. You forgot you were wearing that. Swatting his hand away, you played coy. “Yes, yes, I get it.”
“You shouldn’t have that shirt,” Vernon continued to chuckle, rubbing at his forehead. “You’re not very wild. Find your cortisol, maybe.”
“Okay, I get it, you know.”
He shrugged. “Get what?”
“Ruby says the same thing. So does Soonyoung. You all think I’m an uptight, no-chance taker, or whatever. Who hates fun. And spontaneity.”
Vernon nodded along. “Give or take.”
“Well, you can all think what you want. I admit I’m not the most entertaining person to be around, or the person who’s going to get the party started. And, yeah, I'm not really a chance-taker. But I feel like that’s reasonable. Chances are just risks in disguise.”
Nursing another drag from the crisping joint that he smoothly exhaled out his nose, Vernon agreed. “Sure. Whatever.”
Your brow furrowed. “Whatever, what?”
He lifted his shoe onto the window ledge so his arm could drape across his knee. Vernon smiled. “Don’t gotta sell yourself to me.”
You shoved his bicep, hard, digging in your fingers a little and feeling some of the muscle underneath his heavy clothes. “Gosh. Shut up.”
“Well, I don't really believe you, PJ's. That you've never taken a chance or a risk or anything. So tell me about one.”
“No.”
He scoffed, “why? It'll be fun.”
“Because, whatever I say, you’re just gonna use it to make me feel like crap for what I did or didn’t do.” You remained firm on the decision, tongue pushing against your cheek. “I can’t remember, anyways.”
Vernon brushed at his dishevelled, floppy hair. “Bull.”
“No!”
“Yeah. If anything, I’m gonna make you feel like crap for lyin’ dead to my face.” His elbow propped back on his knee, the joint hugged between his lips as he antagonized you with his unwavering eyes.
You hugged yourself. “Like you don’t lie every single day.”
Rather than inhaling the smoke away from you, Vernon made sure to blow his next puff right in the direction of your face. Besides the dry winter air, the astringent smell made your eyes water, and you rubbed the sting away using balled fists. “You’re such a P.O.S!”
Vernon laughed. “Hm?”
“P.O.S!” You grumbled. “I’m refusing to spell it out.”
He blinked. “Piece of shit?”
“Yes!”
Again, he laughed. “Damn. Your parents clean your fuckin’ mouth out with soap? Why are you so squeamish about bad words?”
You pushed back. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone doesn’t want to curse? Why is that even something to question?”
He let his head hit the wall while the joint dully glowed at the corner of his mouth. “Dunno. It’s just kinda weird.” He grinned. “Like you.”
With your nose swinging up at him, you were going to fire back with another blunt dig, though you ended up lowering your guard after some silence settled. “It’s my mom, that’s all. She despises cursing. It was one of the first things I remember learning as I grew up. Never curse. She said her parents used to slap her wrists with a ruler for cursing. She said it makes you sound…” you paused, grimacing, before muttering the word out, “… uneducated.”
“I think she would fuckin’ love me,” Vernon answered.
You wanted to laugh, biting along your lip. “Oh, that makes sense.”
“So, at least tell me one thing. It can be tiny.”
“About what?”
“The chance!” Vernon was acting surprisingly persistent about it.
As much as you didn’t want to entertain him or show submission, you began wondering if it could really be so bad to throw him one bit of bait. Folding your arms low across the stomach, you stared out into the parking lot, nibbling your inner cheek in contemplation. “If I tell you, it stays strictly between us,” you urged, making sure to lock your eyes with the boy’s. “Because if I find out you told anyone—”
“Done deal,” Vernon spoke around the joint, then crossing his arms and tucking away his reddening fingers. “Let’s hear it, PJ’s.”
You breathed in as much as your lungs would allow. Letting the crispness of such a cold night fill your chest and settle your uneasy stomach, you swallowed. “Okay… when I was in seventh grade, I had a crush on this guy. My friends and I, we gave him a secret code nickname so we could talk about him wherever. We called him Fire Hydrant. Anyway, Fire Hydrant was kinda… like… he was pretty popular. He had a lot of friends. And, every few months he was with a new girl. Honestly, we had nothing in common.” Your eyes shifted to Vernon for a split second. He was still listening, waiting for you to continue with warmth in his face. “I was totally against confessing to him. But then I got the scoop from this girl that he had a crush. She told me Fire Hydrant liked me. I was still against telling him anything, of course. But my friends convinced me to go for it.
So… one day… after school…” you began to grimace, the memory flashing in horrible fragments at the edges of your mind like cutting glass. “I caught him before he left his locker. I told him everything. How I felt. How I had admired him for almost the entirety of seventh grade. How I heard that he might like me back… I laid it all out.” Fingers clenched in your lap as your voice strained, though you forced back against the embarrassment seeping so palpably through your skin. “Then, he gave me the most confused look, like, ever. He told me that wasn’t true. He told me that he hardly knew anything about me. He even messed up my name! I was legit in shambles, okay? He slammed his locker right in my face and went out to catch the bus, like I had offended him or something. Turns out, his friends paid that girl to say that Fire Hydrant liked me. Honestly, almost nothing has ever backfired in my face so royally. I heard it at lunch tables for two weeks straight.” Sighing, you nudged away a wet spot from your cheek.
Vernon put his foot back on the ground, arms uncrossing. “Like that was your fault, PJ’s. You were brave. That’s what I heard.”
You shrugged. “No one else seemed to think so.”
“Eh. Fuck ‘em.” He set the joint between his fingers, taking a lasting drag that drifted away into the winter breeze. “I get that kinda thing fucks with you when you’re that age. I mean, I think it would fuck with most people, any age. But life goes on. You gotta move with it.”
Squishing your hands between your warm thighs, you nodded. “I wish it were that easy.” Then, you glanced at the clear, bright moon, a mirage in the diopside night sky. “I guess, once I have a routine, it feels so important that I stick to it. Nothing gets screwed up that way. Things are predictable. It takes away one less thing to fret about. Maybe that’s… dull… but I feel like I need it.”
Vernon nodded. “That’s you. I understand.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you smiled. “We’re nothing alike.”
“Not really, no.” He flicked some ash onto the ground, then stared at you, his eyes penetrating. “You’re too much of a good girl.”
“Yeah. When too much of a good thing is a bad thing.”
He pulled at his sleeves and tilted his head. “I can corrupt you.”
Sheepish, you merely shook your head, smiling at your lap while your wool-socked feet drummed against the brick wall. “No way.”
Vernon shrugged, giving a few farewell puffs to his shortening joint before chucking it onto a clump of soft snow, watching it dip through like a sinking ship. He then spun himself around to fit through your window, mumbling to you a goodnight as he moved between the murkiness of your bedroom. You spent another minute or so sitting on the windowsill, wondering why you had just peeled open your insides to a boy that was going to leave, anyway. Just like his joint. Disappeared through the consuming winter snow.
10 MONTHS AGO.
It had to be a dead-end.
One part of you was relieved. The other, distraught. Both feelings coalesced with total imbalance at the centre of your gut, struggling against each other like fishes trapped in a net. If you did see Diana, what was your role in the moment? Did you even have a role? Were you supposed to stay in the car and let Vernon handle his own business, or should you involve yourself for closure’s sake? But then what if you didn’t see her? Realistically, what would happen next?
“Damn. They never put enough salt on my fries. I asked for that shit to be extra salty. I said that, right? That lady’s such a freakin’ stiff.”
You kept looking at the house. The pink flamingo was dressed in glistening snow, hardened over like armour. While the driveway was shovelled out, there were still no lights on that you could see through the living room window. About half an hour had passed since Vernon stalled his car along Augusta Street.
“Are you gonna drink your hot chocolate?” When you didn’t answer, you felt Vernon’s hand shake your upper arm. “PJ’s.”
“Sorry—what?”
He pointed his nose at the large insulated canteen sitting in his cup holder, which you had taken from home. “Are you gonna drink that?”
“Uh, yeah, I will.”
“If you don’t—”
“Then you can have it,” you snapped to interrupt. You immediately turned your head to stare back out the car window, feeling a sharp kink begin to develop in your neck from the timely strain.
Vernon sighed, putting aside his subpar-salted fries. “Okay, you gotta relax. You’re takin’ all the fun out of my stake-outs.” Proceeding to push his seat back and recline his arms behind his head, Vernon tsked his teeth. “Your attention doesn’t need t’be superglued to the fuckin’ house.”
“That’s why you haven’t seen anything,” you chastiscized him. “It could be a snippet of her elbow in the window. She’s probably walked in and out of the living room a bajillion times—probably had a freakin' dance party—and you’ve missed it ‘cause you’re too lax.”
“Look at you, on your high horse over there.”
Your eyes scalded him with a transient glare. “I’m just saying… I feel like there’s a reason your stake-outs haven’t been… efficient.”
“Yeah? And you’re bein’ kind of an asshole.”
“No, that’s not—”
Vernon sat up, letting one elbow rest against the steering wheel to prop his head at you. “You wouldn’t let me play my music, you fuckin’ slammed the car door on my foot after we got lunch, and you’ve been givin’ me sassy little remarks all damn day.” A hand delved through his locks of black hair, though they easily slid back into place, just as pretty as they were before. “So, yeah. You’ve been an asshole. And you’re lucky I said it all polite, ‘cause I was about to flip when you slammed that stupid door.”
Suckling on your lip, you wanted to stomp on Vernon’s words like you were a child in a mud puddle on a rainy day. The anger hit the roof of your mouth, furiousness urging to erupt, though, the longer you stared the boy in his honey brown eyes, examining the beautiful lashes that delicately kissed his warm cheeks, you found it in yourself to take a very deep breath. “Okay…” you exhaled at length, “I know. You’re right.” Fingers pinched together in your lap, and you glanced at the unmoving house again, clearing your throat. “Now that it seems like we’re so close to her… my emotions are all over the place. My insides feel like split spaghetti.”
Vernon grabbed your canteen. “Here, take a sip.”
You took the mug, staring down at it. “Why?”
“Just do it,” Vernon pressured. “It’ll ease you up.”
After unscrewing the lid, you felt the warmth from inside curdle upward to lick your face. It smelled faintly of sweet candy canes. You remembered getting the package over the holidays last year, and you kept saving it for the perfect day. The fact it went untouched for so long was a bit sad, but you had decided to finally bite the bullet this morning after accepting there never was going to be that perfect day.
Vernon held the lid while you took a sip.
“Holy f—” you held the sound on the edge of your lips and teeth.
“Fuck,” Vernon finished for you.
“Thank you.” Another sip. “This tastes like a good dream.”
He chuckled. “Uh, cool. Whatever that means.”
You held out the mug. “Want to try it?”
Vernon shook his head. “Nah, it’s yours. Good dreams and all.”
Relaxing back into the seat and wrapping both your hands around the canteen to feel its heat, you continued taking small sips from the hot chocolate, watching the sunlight reflect off the clear skeletons of ice frozen to the trees in gorgeous sparkles. Vernon was right.
There was a sense of ease.
You giggled against the mug’s rim. “I feel like an actress in one of those low budget Hallmark romcoms. Am I playing the part well?”
Vernon bit his lip ring, leaned back against the car door to properly examine your attempt at the role. “Hmm… big poofy scarf, check; winter coat with the fur, check; hands appropriately positioned around the mug circumference while arms are held at an angle of both self-comfort and satisfaction, check. Damn. Could’ve fooled me, PJ’s. You nailed it.”
Laughing, you warmed your throat with another sip, finding it funny to hear Vernon talk in such an uncharacteristic way. “I didn’t peg you to know much about Hallmark romcoms,” you flattered.
The boy shrugged, flicking the lid around in his hand. “I mean, they certainly don’t butter my bread, that’s for sure. My mom loved ‘em.”
It was honestly quite jarring to hear Vernon reference his mother, a person he had never brought up before, to the point you didn’t even associate Vernon with actually having any parents. You didn’t particularly share much about your family either, only mentioning them in passing a limited handful of times, though it was enough to scarcely outline them as people. Vernon, though—you knew nothing about his homelife. You didn’t even know if he had siblings. The revelation felt like an odd one to be having at the exact time and place, and your stomach settled with a somber feeling.
You took the lid back from Vernon and rested the canteen in the cup holder again. “It’s cute you had a tradition like that. Sounds fun.”
He stretched out his arms, yawning. “Damn. I’m gettin’ sleepy.”
“That’s a first,” you said. “It seems like you’re never tired.”
“I’m not tired, I’m sleepy,” he corrected.
You shrugged. “Is there really a difference?”
“Totally. Bein’ tired is more align with exhaustion, crankiness, all that. But bein’ sleepy is more… it means you’re relaxed n’ shit. Comfy.”
“Hm. That’s actually a pretty acute observation.” You started to smile, fingers twitching in your lap. “Nice to know I make you so relaxed.”
Vernon didn’t say anything—he just angled his head at you, smirked a little, and blew some astray fronds of dark hair away from tickling his eyes—but then he was watching out your window for a moment, and something in his face shifted.
Curious, you looked back to the house.
The front door was being shouldered open, and out popped someone onto the porch, lugging a heavy trash bag at their side.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Vernon whispered, immediately sitting up in his seat and exhaling with relief. “There she is! I fuckin’ knew it!” His hand gripped onto your shoulder, shaking it roughly in pure excitement that felt like a crackled zap. “I knew it, PJ’s! See, all we needed was patience! Fuck. It feels so good to be right.”
Good? Out of everything you could possibly be feeling, good was so far down the list it might as well not even exist. As much as you were resisting, the girl stuffing the trash bag into the bin by the porch was becoming more and more familiar to you. There were things about her that looked different, although it was hard to gauge details at a distance, but the certainty was now restricting your chest and the next breath you took felt so shaky that you almost panicked. After flipping the lid down on the garbage bin, she wrapped her arms around herself, quickly huddling back inside the house and away from the crisp cold.
Once she was gone, Vernon huffed into his hands to warm them up, then began rubbing his palms together. “Okay, this is fuckin’ mint. Who knows if her boyfriend is there. Whatever. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna go up there.” He pushed his door open. “Uh, stay in the car, I guess.”
“No,” you disagreed, breathing out slowly. “I want to come, too.”
Vernon paused. “You sure? ‘Cause, no offense, but you’re givin’ me the vibe that you’re one confrontation away from blackin’ out, and that’s really gonna cramp my ability to get my four-hundred bones.”
“I’m coming,” you reaffirmed. “I have to. There’s no way I won’t.”
He didn’t seem in the mood to push back and forth.
You let Vernon lead, trailing behind his confident stride with much smaller steps, fingers pulling at loose threads in your coat pockets. Standing on their tiny cement porch felt like standing on a grand stage right before that big red curtain opens, and your stomach was somersaulting nonstop.
Vernon pounded a few times on the screen door. “Package delivery!” He shouted, to which you clawed his elbow, shooting him a stern look. “What?” He shrugged. “Can’t exactly yell the truth, here.” When no one came to the door after an agonizing silence, he knocked a few more times, rattling the screen’s thin glass. “Hello?!”
Gosh—maybe he was right—maybe you should have stayed in the car, far, far away from the sickness of the situation. You could feel a burn in your throat that tasted faintly like bile and the only place you could think to possibly upchuck was an old, plastic flowerpot sitting by the steps. Thoughts of turning back flooded your mind. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be here. Diana cut you off for a reason that was personal to her and now all you could think was how it invasive it was that you dug her up so spontaneously, like she was an innocent beetle under soft, wilted bark.
Vernon sighed, annoyed, and readied his hand to knock again.
But then you heard a click. You immediately grabbed his arm and forced it back down, watching the front door open, and then the cautious crack of air she let flow through the flimsy screen door. Every fibre of your being wanted to scream her name, Diana!, as you might leap forward to bundle her tight in your arms.
My best friend! My adventurer! My fondest memory!
She held the screen ajar with her arm.
Her eyes flickered in between you.
You couldn’t even begin to image what she was feeling.
Vernon smiled. “Hey there, Busy B. Been a minute, hasn’t it?”
Diana didn’t speak. She stared at him intently, lips parted, her gaze traversing him up and down like she couldn’t compute his existence. And then she had finally settled a glance over his shoulder to look at you. Without sounding too dramatic—it felt like being shot—like something sharp had just pierced right through you as though you were made entirely of mist. Diana gulped, her raw, black eyes quickly building up with water, and suddenly, she was letting the screen door fall closed, whipping away to a place unknown inside the house. You wanted to thunder after her, but you just couldn’t move. She was so much thinner, her clothes seeming to swallow her figure like they were draping a rake, and her hair—her once bouncy, shiny, healthy dark hair that always framed her glowing brown skin in an artistic picture frame—it was so dulled, and frayed, and dragging her down.
You hadn’t realized you were still gripping onto Vernon’s hand with such discomfort until he ripped it back with a groan, shaking out his wrist. “Damn, PJ’s. Get yourself a nail clipper.”
The corners of your mouth twitched. You wanted to speak but the signal wasn’t properly connecting to your muscle and you felt helpless.
Someone else appeared at the door. He opened it fully. You knew it had to be the man from the theatre, Darian, though he seemed like he was just woken up, his hair being mushed completely to one side and swollenness evident in his very unpleased eyes. Now, you didn’t want to speak at all.
He gave you two a lopsided blink. “What the hell’s going on?”
Vernon cleared his throat. “I’m glad you asked. Sorry to wake you n’ everything, but, you see, your girl back there—she kindly owes me four-hundred dollars for some ecstasy bombs—in cash. Now, I don’t mean to cause problems. Once I get the money, you’ll never have to see my face again, which is kinda a shame, ‘cause I’ve been told I’m quite purdy. But, y’know, business is business, and I don’t like bein’ fuckin’ stiffed.”
You bit onto your lip, your front teeth pushing against a crack in the skin that stung. Gosh—wasn’t he such an eloquent poet with his words?
Darian swung a hand through his upstuck hair. “Uh—aren’t you the dude who asked me about a job? Now, you’re on my front porch, saying my girlfriend owes you money for ecstasy. What kind of bullshit is this?”
Vernon snickered. “No offense, man, but anyone with eyeballs could tell you’re a stoner—I mean, there’s a fuckin’ bong the length of my arm sittin’ back there on the table—so, I assume you n’ your girl are no strangers to throwin’ money on drugs. And you can delightfully throw some more, right now, into my fuckin’ wallet.” He sighed, scratching his neck. “I don’t give a fuck who pays me—her or you—but I want the money, now.”
Eyeing Vernon over skeptically, the man scoffed, dragging a hand down his stubble. “You’ve got a real prick energy about you, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Heard it a’ thousand times. Thinkin’ about gettin’ it tattooed right across the forehead, actually. Thoughts?”
Unamused by Vernon’s mocking, droll humour, the man muttered for him to wait at the door. He then disappeared back inside the house.
You let out a gigantic sigh, watching the heat from your mouth materialize into the cold air. There was so much tension scored into your body that you felt like a scarecrow jammed onto a wooden rod. You had never been a master of confrontation in any degree, even as a bystander.
Vernon laughed. “Guess I’ll never work the evenin’ shift at Cinema Hut, huh? Man, what a missed opportunity.” He shrugged. “Oh well.”
“This is all so disorienting…” you mumbled, pulling at your face. “I mean, you saw Diana, right? Something is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She never used to look like that. She looks so frail!”
“Life takes you places, PJ's.”
The screen door shuttered and suddenly Darian was back. He huddled close to Vernon, counting out a series of bills into his hand, occasionally licking his thumb to better separate the papers.
“There,” he snapped. “Four-hundred. Happy?”
Nodding his head in satisfaction, Vernon plastered on a smooth, ear-to-ear smile. “Shit. You’ve tickled my fancy. Thanks, player.”
“You better stick true to your word. I don’t wanna see you around here again, not even at the theatre. I don’t wanna see you, either—” Darian warned, pointing the remaining bills in his hand at you, while you stood there vacuously, “—whoever the fuck you are. Whatever fucking reason you’re slinging with this prick.”
“She’s not slingin’ nothin’, you idiot,” Vernon scoffed. “N’ sure, whatever. I’m a man of my word. Make sure to ask the same of your girl.”
In abrupt fashion, both the screen and inner door were slammed right into your faces, with the loud clicking of the bolt and lock sounding immediately after. That was the cue to leave. Vernon had collected his money. His business at the property along Augusta Street was over. But, yours… what the heck kind of closure was that? Diana hadn’t said one word, you two exchanged nothing more than an emotional, hurtful look, and you had seen her for less than a minute! Vernon was already beginning to walk off the porch, down the driveway, toward the car, but you found yourself stuck staring at the door, wondering if Diana was listening on the other side.
“PJ’s! C’mon!” Vernon called, flicking you over with his hand. “No sense standin’ around. Let’s hit it. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.”
“It’s too cold for ice cream,” you sighed.
Vernon shook his head. “Never too cold for ice cream.” He handed you the sundae. “Besides, I put hot fudge on it. You’re welcome.”
“That was just… awful.” You hadn’t been able to stop commenting on the situation since you left the shoddy house. And, yes, while Vernon had been kind enough to console your aching woes with a hot fudge sundae, you remained a broken record, numbly repeating yourself as if that would fix anything, as if a divinity would hear your pain.
“Can you at least try it?” He encouraged you. “Tell me if it’s any good? I mean, maybe once you get a spoonful, that’ll shush you up.”
“Hey!” You whacked his arm. “I’m going through something!”
Vernon shrugged your hand off. “And I’m tryin’ to drive!”
“Listen, you got your money. You get a happy ending…” stabbing the plastic spoon into the top of the perfectly pumped ice cream, you felt intense, emotional heat surge to your eyes. “That’s not what I got… I guess that’s my fault for choosing to come with you. But if I didn’t—then—it’s like—ah! I don’t know! I don’t know anything. This is so—it’s just so—”
“Awful?”
You cut the spoon through the ice cream, bitter. “Exactly.”
Vernon kissed his teeth. “Hey, it’s not easy. I get it.”
“How can you be so casual about it? I mean, I understand this is what you do. I understand it’s… good money... in a way. But when you—”
“Look, my business, how I do things, that’s my business,” Vernon interrupted, shaking his head and sounding firm. “I get the concern, PJ’s, I do, honest. But I ain’t heartless. I’ve got discretion, and I know when to use it, believe it or not. Regardless, I’ve gotta get my money. I just gotta. Diana's a good chick. She'll find herself.”
You didn’t want to respond.
Instead, you looked out the car window, watching the Thai restaurant that you and Vernon ate dinner at one evening slip by. Every part of your chest shrank until it seemed barren, empty. You then delivered the spoonful of ice cream to your mouth, tasting the sweet, cold vanilla and the hot fudge’s richer warmth. Promptly eating your feelings, you began ravaging the sundae, feeding yourself increasingly fuller bites until you sensed a trail of wetness rolling down your cheek. Brushing your fingers across the skin, you realized it was as single, lonesome tear. A brief pause followed, and then a hiccup, and suddenly, you were letting the waterworks flow like brackish pools in the passenger seat of Vernon’s car.
He glanced over at you, bit his lip. “Oh… fffuck…” the boy proceeded to curse in the most dreaded, unenthusiastic tone as you choked around another melting spoonful of fudge and ice cream. “Damn, PJ’s. You really gotta do this right—ah—fuck it. How did I not see this shit from a mile away?”
You suckled in a big, wet breath, tears sloping your chin. “I’m being so selfish! How can I only think about my own feelings?! When Diana is—s-she’s—she must think I’m such a lowlife, coming after her like that!” A wobbly hand lifted more ice cream to your mouth, the spoon hanging from the corner of your lips as you wailed. “I probably made everything so much worse for her! What kind of a friend am I? I should have insisted on talking to her! I shouldn’t have left her in the house with that weirdo!” You pulled the spoon out, scraping it against the rim of the cup to get all the extra hot fudge. “He could be the one that got her into all this bad stuff! And what am I doing t-to h-hhelp? Nothing! I’m doing… absolutely—” you stuck the spoon back in your mouth and licked it clean, “—nothing!”
Vernon’s brow furrowed, and he sighed. “Listen, we’ll be back at your place soon. There, you can wallow all you please.”
“No—I can’t do this—I need to call—” you shimmied the phone out from your pants pocket and left the ice cream in the cup holder. “Oh, no! My phone is dead!” The tears blurred over your eyes, smudging your vision. “How could this get any worse?!” You cracked out a sob.
Flexing his fingers against the steering wheel, Vernon kept the car pushing its pace through the slush streets. “Yeah, I wonder…”
“I need to call Ruby!”
“Here,” the boy grunted, shifting up his hips and pulling out his phone from his back pocket. “Use mine. She’s in my contacts.”
You wiped your eyes, then whined in frustration at the sheer number of names you had to scroll through. “You’ve got a hundred stupid contacts! Lara, Larissa, Mandy, Moona, Minghao, Nadine, Noor—"
“Just search for her name, PJ’s! Holy fuck,” he snapped back. “Ruby. R-U-B-Y. Four fuckin’ letters—just jam it in—she’ll come up.”
“There’s two Ruby’s!” You sniffled.
“Oh, right, fuck. She’s the one with—”
“Did you seriously put ‘fat ass’ beside her name?!”
He smirked. “First of all, she added that. True, though.”
Pressing the icon to phone her, you hiccupped, “I hate you.”
“What?! I told you—I didn’t write—”
“Hello? Ruby?” The second you heard the hitch in the line, you were nuzzling the cracked device right against your ear. “Are you there?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m here. Girl, what are you doing with Vern’s phone?”
Vernon dug some tissues out from his glove compartment and handed them to you. Before you answered, you spent a moment blowing your nose, hard. When you returned to the phone, Ruby was groaning.
“Sorry—I just—I’m having a horrible time, okay? Are you home?”
“No, I’m at a friend’s house. What’s wrong?”
Your lips shook as you forced the words out. “I saw Diana today… like, super recently. And it just really screwed me up. She’s not well.”
“Oh, fuck…” Ruby lamented, her soft voice crackling through the static before she took in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, babe. I’ll try to get home as fast as I can, alright? I promise! Is Vernon there? Can I talk to him for a sec?”
“H-He’s driving,” you answered, casting him a nervous look.
“Eh, that’s okay,” she laughed, snorting. “His stupid ass drives and talks on the phone all the damn time. It’ll be fine. I love you, m’kay? I’ll see you soon!”
Extending the phone to Vernon, he grabbed the device back. You spent the rest of the car ride with your head against the window, completely uncaring to all the bumps in the road that made your skull rattle uncomfortably on the chilly glass. The tissue stayed in your hand, where you squeezed it tight, willing it to somehow absorb all your sadness and take it someplace where feeling did not exist.
By the time you arrived back at the apartment complex, your explosive grief had dulled more into hollowness. With throbs clanging at the forefront of your temples like the clapper inside a metal bell, you wanted to down an aspirin and nestle face first into your bed.
Vernon helped you out from the car, warning you to be careful of the ice that the landlord was supposed to have salted, his hand placed thoughtfully on your waist.
Sniffling, you wiped some sticking hairs from your cheeks. “I’m sorry I got so dramatic. I know you didn’t want to hear and see all that.”
The boy shrugged, a kind, small smile on his lips. “Nah, don’t apologize. It’s good that you care. You got it all out of your system n’ shit. Can be dangerous bottlin’ up those kinds of deep feelings.”
You stared down at the icy ground, nodding.
The clouds were fully masked over the skies, colouring everything around you darker than usual. It even turned the wind colder, allowing you to feel the residual tears not fully dried to your skin. Rubbing them off came with an agitated, sensitive sting. Once you rolled out your shoulders, you sighed. “I… uh… I don’t actually hate you, either. I was just, you know, venting.” You felt moved to clarify, your hands swirling about to get the right connotation.
Vernon rubbed his chin. “Yeah… think I could figure that out.”
In that moment, you held eye contact with him. Though your chest had been still and vapid as the pain of a tattered friendship gutted you out, there was a tiny thump of something alive when you found the genuineness reflective in his gaze. Even if you wanted to hate Vernon, the fact he was so unbearably open made it next to impossible. Nobody wore their true selves better than he did. In turn, that forced an honesty within yourself that was akin to cracking open a hard rock to reveal the sparkling, miraculous opal inside. Your hands wrung together while you sniffled back your congestion.
Gosh—you liked him.
You liked the drug dealing, foul-mouthed, promiscuous criminal.
“M’kay, get some nice buddy-buddy time with Ruby,” he said.
“Where are you going to go?” You were quick to ask before he could even get to step away from you. “I mean, where do you ever go?”
Vernon smiled at you. “Isn’t that my cute little secret?”
“No,” you pushed back. “Are you like, homeless? Or a squatter?”
He laughed, rubbing his nose. “Jeez. Great couple guesses.”
“Well, I just… I guess…” you clammed up, shaking your head.
Vernon began to smirk, teething over his bottom lip. “You what, huh? What is it that you’re gonna say, PJ’s? You worry about me, yeah?”
Gazing aside, you bounced your leg a few times. “You’re such an idiot. It’s hard not to.” You shoved him playfully. “Do not misconstrue!”
“Me?” He gasped. “Oh, I would never.”
“You can go now.” Stepping over the ice, you started making your way across the parking lot. “Don’t run me over before I get inside!”
He walked around to the driver’s side of the car, throwing open the door. “Better hustle then, beautiful.”
Ruby wasn’t a fabulous cook by any means. She specialized in take-out, frozen meals, and throwing together random ingredients into soup pots or tortillas, hoping something relatively palatable might come out of it. But you had to give credit where credit was due—she had made delicious, perfectly cinnamoned French toast—and that seemed to explain why you were already on your third plate, sawing your fork through the fluffy bread.
“I’m glad you like it so much,” Ruby said. She joined you on the opposite side of the counter after washing the dishes. “I’ve never made it before. At one point I was just chucking random measurements.”
“Whatever you did—” you mumbled, mouth stuffed, “—it’s the best thing I ever tasted.” A big, tight swallow. “Thank you.”
Your roommate smiled, nodding her head in satisfaction while taking a sip from her fresh orange juice. She proceeded to wipe off her mouth and began cutting up the French toast she had served herself—the smaller, less attractive pieces with burnt edges. “Aw, it’s no problem. I know how bummed you were the other day… whatever I can do to help, just let me know.”
Ruby had her faults as a roommate. You were no stranger to her messiness and forgetful nature, and you admitted that her flaws often made it difficult for you to embrace how compassionate and tender she could actually be when she wasn’t blasting music from her room, beating down her face with a makeup sponge, getting ready for the club. Besides, they were pet peeves that a few good, communicative conversations could probably fix.
The girl picked up her phone for a moment, then raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that Vernon texted me this morning. He said you left your canteen in his car.” She flicked the screen a few times with her thumb. “He also said he drank the rest of the hot chocolate.”
Circling around a chunk of toast in some maple syrup, you stared down at the plate, beginning to smile. “Jeez. That’s no surprise.”
Ruby nodded. “I’m gonna see him this week. I can grab it.”
Your fork paused, and you glanced up at the girl. Dark sections of hair were slipping down to tickle her face from her loose updo. “Uh…” you started with an uneasy quiver in your voice. “He could always swing by today if he wants. I mean, if he’s not busy! Like, whatever works.”
She lowered her phone, tilted her head at you. “Really?” There was ample surprise in the girl’s tone. “You’re… okay with that?”
You answered in confusion. “Uh… yes?”
“Well, it’s just—I think he wants to honour your little compromise thingy you had going on,” Ruby said while cutting up her breakfast. “If you help him find Diana, he doesn’t come by here anymore.”
Underneath the countertop, fingertips were digging straight into your exposed thigh. The blunder you just made had you metaphorically coiled up in ropes, to the point where you could afford to console your roommate with nothing but a fake, fraught smile.
“Mm… right… that.”
Ruby shrugged. “I mean, if you want me to ask him—”
“No!” You lurched, your fork making a sharp, tinny scrape against the porcelain plate. “It’s fine! It’s, like, fine. Totally fine. Yeah. The compromise thingy. My mind was just a little scrambled for a sec.”
She quirked her eyebrow. “So… do you want me to grab it?”
“You can grab it,” you nodded. “Or, if I, like, happen to run into him or something, I’ll get it back. Whatever happens, y’know?” Gulping, you continued to ignore Ruby’s eyeline. “Are you guys, still, fooling around?”
Ruby examined you for a moment, then grabbed her glass of orange juice, pausing it right before her round lips. “Fooling around?” She slurped some up. “Are we still having sex, is that what you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“No. We’ve kinda given that up for right now.” Suddenly, her face paled, blanched of its usual olive colour. “We weren’t being too loud, were we? I thought we were pretty quiet most nights—"
“It’s fine. Just wondering,” you said, feeling lighter, ever so slightly.
Wednesday. Hump Day. And possibly, your favourite weekday. The restaurant did tend to get a little busier, though it was nothing compared to the preluding weekend rush that was a Friday night. Wednesday customers tended to be politer, softer around the edges—they were coming off work, understanding of the homestretch to the weekend, and therefore much milder in temperament overall—nothing like the rowdiness of a late Friday.
The shift was going well. You had gotten some sweet tips from a few tables, a compliment about your smile (albeit from an older gentleman on his third glass of white wine), and you had yet to make one screw up to anger the bustling kitchen staff stuck in the steaming heat. While things were actually chipper at your job for once, your mind seemed to be making a confused mess of itself when you weren’t focused on the task at hand, and washing down a sticky table gave it free range to wander.
How could you walk back everything?
You agreed to Vernon’s compromise when your desperation to remove him from your life was overflowing. But now it was different. Like the seasons, there was change—your icy, hardened qualms had thawed to reveal the first green sprigs of regrowth underneath—and as much as you hated to capitulate, Ruby was right. Dammit! She was right! Vernon tweezed feelings out of you that you didn’t know were there. For every moment that he was frustrating and stubborn, he would paint right over it with an actual well-constructed thought of emotional intellect, or a witty remark to draw your smile, or an uncharacteristically gentle look.
What was this boy doing to you?
He was driving you mad.
Graffitiing the interior of your mind with mismatched feelings.
Pinching your skin and then kissing it better with his warm lips.
“Uh… I believe the table’s clean.”
You flinched. Tara was lingering behind you with an amused expression, holding onto stacked plates and empty cups. “Scrubbing the varnish out of it, are you?” She giggled. “Something on your mind?”
Stuffing the damp hand towel into a pocket on your apron, you immediately wrung your head back and forth. “Nothing. Just focused.”
Nodding, she resumed her swift strut toward the kitchen, that slick, glossy bun on her head practically reflecting the restaurant’s intimate lighting. Once Tara was gone, you decided to do a quick lap of the restaurant in case your current tables needed anything. After refilling some beverages and bringing the bill to a university seating of four, you were on your way back to the kitchen. Suddenly, however, someone had grabbed onto your elbow, and you nearly squealed when your shoe slipped on the recently re-waxed linoleum. Upon realizing who it was, you weren’t upset.
But you made sure to act like it.
“Are you trying to kill me? What the heck was that?”
Vernon folded his arms, awfully smug in his countenance. “Well, you’re fuckin’ walkin’ around this place like there’s a serial killer on your heel. Wanted to catch you before you vanish.”
“That’s what happens when you work in a place like this,” you lectured, a hand latching onto your hip. “You’ve gotta keep the pace.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He kept staring hard into your eyes with challenge, and you felt the hairs along your neck come to raise, as though you caught a tickled shiver. Your body’s reaction to him was automatic, betraying, and adrenaline-laced.
Too hot to maintain the eyeballing charade, you broke first. “Is there a reason you’re here? Are you meeting someone? Just hungry?”
“None of the above,” the boy answered, then proceeded to jerk his thumb in the direction of the windows overlooking the street. “Got your mug in my car, though. And since I’m banned from thy fine abode of utmost humbleness, thought I’d come by and catch you at your preppy little gig.”
“Right…” you murmured, flashing a glance down at your feet. It wasn’t the time or place to talk about the situation, even if your illogical half was huffing the temptation. Honestly, you were surprised he was actually honouring the compromise. “I don’t think I can grab it right now.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Well…” you eyed the menu on the table. “How about eating?”
But Vernon shook his head. “Nah. The food here was good and everything—love the sweet potato fries—just a little rough on the wallet.”
At that, you scoffed. “Aren’t you in four-hundred dollars?”
“I take my finances seriously, PJ’s.”
Arms crossed and eyes rolling, you sighed, “how responsible…”
“Hey, pleased you want to feed me and all,” Vernon chuckled in his usual cocky bravado, leaning back against the seat with his hands up. “But I think I’ll grab one of those Korean corndogs from that tiny shop just down the street. You ever had one? They’re cheap as hell. Tasty as fuck. Got a’ bunch of different toppings and sauces. I damn near orgasmed.”
A grimace twitched to your face. “I’ve never been.”
Vernon smirked; hands planted on his thighs. “Damn. You’re missin’ out, there, PJ’s. No food orgasms. No real orgasms.” He tilted his head at you, tsked his tongue. “I feel so bad for you. Sucks ass.”
A waft of heat from somewhere unknown gusted into your face and your throat crinkled up with dryness. “Oh gosh, y-you’re—” you coughed spit on your words, an elbow flying to your mouth, “—you’re insufferable.”
His fingers tapped the tabletop. “Am I?”
“Yes! Why’d you even come in here if you weren’t going to eat?”
“I just walked in and sat down. No one noticed or gave a fuck.”
“You’re loitering!”
He kinked his head at you. “The work of the devil, isn’t it?”
“Go buy your Korean corndog.”
“First—can I use your canteen to get free refills on the fruit punch?”
“No! I want that back...”
“Then I’ll come grab you after,” Vernon said while sliding off the chair and flapping out his rainproof jacket. He then placed a lighter in the corner of his mouth, adjusting something deep in his pants pocket, before he removed it. “Just don’t fuckin’ take ten years. You’re slow.”
“Grab me after... what? What are you talking about?”
Vernon placed his rough, textured palm to your cheek, and the contact was so searing, so unexpected, that your heart double-blipped in your chest, like a sonar. His thumb nuzzled against your ear, rubbing back and forth tenderly, and everything in your body ached. “Oh, fuck. You helpless little fuckin’ girl. You dumb, dumb little girl. It hurts me, y’know?”
Gulping the density sitting square in your throat, your lips physically quivered as you garnered the strength to mumble, "why am I dumb?”
He shook your warm face with his hand, peering closer, to the point where you could count those wispy, long eyelashes. “What the fuck do you think I’m talkin’ about, PJ’s? The weather? M’gonna pick you up after work.”
“O-Oh…” you stumbled, taking in a big breath, smelling nothing but the fresh air lingering on his clothes and the amber notes of his skin. “I think—I want—that’s really nice. Uh, thank you. Really. Thanks.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed, letting his hand slide off your cheek. “I don’t know what the fuck goes on in your head sometimes. Honestly.”
You sighed, straightening out your limp shoulders. “Me either.”
Only an hour out from the end of your shift, you had never wanted the restaurant to close that bad before. Your tables were beginning to plaster on uneasy, questionable smiles as you made pitstops more and more frequently, desperate to get them moving, disappointed to know they wanted dessert, and miserable that you had to be the one to serve them. As you waited near the pass for a platter of chocolate strawberry mousses, glancing down at your phone for no less than a minute, watching time’s slow, inevitable crawl, Lara had whisked by.
But then she stopped. “Hey, uh… how’s service going?”
Wrinkling your nose, you put your phone away and looked at the girl, blinking absentmindedly. Lara starting a conversation with you was a feat so rare, you couldn’t even be sure she was speaking to you despite the emptiness of the thin hallway.
It took a second for your brain to catch up.
Clearing your throat, you shrugged. “Fine. How about you?”
“I guess it could be better… my tips suck.”
That wasn’t a surprise to you. “Oh, sorry... that’s unfortunate.”
She pressed her bow-shaped lips together, smearing about the dark honey stain she loved so much. “Yeah. I saw you talking to Vernon.”
Attempting to straighten out your back and stop leaning against the wall like a bored child, you held your hands together politely at the stomach and nodded. You didn’t want to admit that he was giving you a drive home, in case she might somehow try to wedge her way into coming along. Maybe that was selfish, unfair.
Lara tilted her head. “He didn’t stay to eat?”
“No,” you answered laconicly. “He was just stopping by.”
“Oh… m’kay.” She seemed kind of crestfallen, trailing her eyes along the tiled floor and off into the corner. “Well, I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, bye.”
As Lara disappeared through the swinging doors, back into the dining room, your desserts were ready at the pass. While you were smiling, acting pleased to be serving your last table, at the edge of your mind you were feeling… sympathy… for Lara, a girl you never thought would need any.
When Vernon had rejected her offer for dinner, she probably experienced her heart plummet right to the floor of her chest like she was strapped into a nauseating carnival ride. Knowing her, she probably put on an indifferent, unbothered guise to match Vernon’s. She probably sensed her hope deflate into the unfathomable. But she would have handled it better than you. Such an ugly moment in your hands would be akin to a swinging foot headed for a delicate sandcastle—straight to a damaged lump.
Some emotions were too hard to keep down.
However, by the time the restaurant closed and all the cleaning duties were completed, you were more than ready to throw yourself into the bitter, black street where the wind was finely sharpened and the guttural rumbling of Vernon’s Camry sounded closer to a comfortable purr. He was waiting for you, leaned against the side of the hood with his arms crossed.
The boy echoed a disapproving click of the tongue. “Slow, slow, slow. I need t’know what the fuck kinda cleanin’ you’re doin’ back there.”
You huffed, feeling your breath freeze. “Cleaning takes a long time if you actually care to do it right! Not that I’d expect you to know.”
He opened the passenger door for you. “Hm. Sounds more like you work too hard at a minimum wage job that doesn’t give a damn about you.”
You waited for him to join you in the heated car. “At least I earn my money legally so that I don’t have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.” Strapping on the seatbelt, you smirked. “How was the corndog?”
“A thing a’ beauty,” Vernon sighed dreamily, pushing up the sleeves to his jacket. “Deep-fried perfection on a stick. I coulda ate the entire store.”
“And you didn’t use my mug for free refills on the punch?”
Vernon glanced at the cupholders where your canteen had been waiting since Saturday. “Nope. It would probably make it taste like hot chocolate and candy canes. I like some weird fuckin’ combos, but I can’t imagine that would go well with punch. It’d probably kill me.”
“If that’s what ends up killing you, I’d be shocked.”
He raised his thick eyebrow at you, swabbing his tongue along his bottom lip, letting it prod at his piercing. “Damn. You’re gettin’ pretty fuckin’ quick with these comebacks. Can’t help but think I contributed.”
You wanted to bark a laugh, tell him how much he’d wish for that to be true (though, it probably was), but there was too much pride stuffing itself into the caverns of your chest from the compliment. Squeezing onto your coat sleeves, you knew you should bring up the compromise—you should tell Vernon that he didn’t really have to honour the deal—he could crash at your apartment whenever he needed to, as long as he followed some basic rules of hospitality and decency. If he ever found himself without a place to stay, you weren’t going to be the stingy, cross woman to turn a blind eye. It was a misjudgement. You coloured in the lines with too much weight.
“So, um… I was wondering if we could talk about…” for a moment, you paused, feeling your pulse beat its fists against your neck as the nervousness oozed out. “Shoot…” you whispered under your breath.
Vernon adjusted the rear-view mirror. “Hm? Talk about what?”
“Well… I think that…” you inhaled, and it sounded ragged. “I wanted to talk about the compromise thingy, I guess… if that’s okay.”
“Yeah?” He questioned. “What for?” Vernon started to smile, slight flashes of his sharp teeth twinkling in the dimness. “You tryna push me out even further, PJ’s. Is that it? Can’t come within a five-mile radius type shit?”
Smitten, your head shook. “No—no, no. Not that.”
He folded his arms, leaned against the window, and better angled himself so he could look at you more clearly. “Enlighten me, then.” The fuzzy streetlight was like a sheer, golden fog coming in through the window, catching in the boy’s facial jewelry and those softening, attentive eyes. What was it that you wanted to bring up?
He brushed a hand through his hair and your attention was immediately drawn like a moth to flame. All those pristine tattoos dressed around his fingers, snaking up his wrist, disappearing underneath his black jacket—all those subtle veins grooving along his skin, like predestined pathways you wanted to trace with your very own affectionate fingertip—you were wading into deep water, losing your train of thought the further you pushed, feeling the suction pull you and not resisting even one tiny bit because this was the closest you had ever been to genuinely liking someone.
This was the closest you had ever been to genuinely liking someone and this was the most bravery you had ever felt in all your timid, passive years of living.
“Vernon… I know that when we first met, I was angry. And I may have considered calling the police on you because of that… um… anger… but I never did because… I can be a touch dramatic sometimes. As you know. And have witnessed. But the thing is, the more time I spend with you, the more I realize… well… okay—I-I like you.” Your eyes squeezed shut after you made the confession, as though you might reopen them and find that the universe reversed time. Vernon would still be getting in the car and you would be smirking with the itch to lick him with your newfound wit.
But when your eyes opened, Vernon was still leaned against the window, except the calm, warm stillness to his face had spilled into something opposite—concern, caution, even a flash of fear you had never observed before—and your insides packed tight into a ball.
He swallowed. “Uh… fuck…” the boy whispered, slowly beginning to push himself up, teething hard on his lip, waiting for the right words to settle. “PJ’s, listen. You’re a real nice girl. I’ve had fun screwin’ around with you… but…” he grabbed his chin, strumming a pensive thumb underneath it, and shook his head. “Man, I just—I don’t… think of you like that.”
And then, a horrible, heavy, stifling silence thickened the air.
The first thought in your head—don’t cry—don’t you dare cry in the front seat of his car after getting shot down. Don’t you dare show even the slightest glimmer of emotion, whether that’s a runny sniffle, or tears wobbling against your eyes, or the unnatural twitch of a finger. But then you recalled Lara. Another girl who probably said something much more coherent than you, with a lot more confidence. You recalled Ruby heeding you with her cautionary tale. You recalled that locker being slammed right in your face all those years ago, in a junior high hallway, a physical sound to the rejection that still echoed throughout your head to this very day.
Breathing in deep, you gulped, you smiled, and you nodded. “I understand—” you laughed a little, and it was clearly unstable, blending into a weird whimper that you hastily swallowed, “—so, I’ll be going now.”
“What? Goin’ where?” Vernon inquired. His face turned wrought with dread when you opened the car door, gripping onto your bag for comfort and support as you stepped back onto the sidewalk. “PJ’s, no—that’s fuckin’ stupid. It’s cold as fuck outside. C’mere. Get back in. I can still—”
“I really don’t want that,” you told him, taking another step away from the warmth of the vehicle. “Thank you for the offer. Goodnight.”
“PJ’s. I’m actually fuckin’ serious,” he deadpanned, the grit in his voice hardening. “Get the fuck in the car. You’re not gonna take the bus.” A flustered hand cast through his black tresses, and he exhaled. “I mean, you can even sit in the backseat if that’ll make you more comfy. I can blast some music, or we can ride in silence. Whatever you want. It’s too cold.”
He was making it excruciatingly hard not to burst into a bucket of tears right there on the street. The fervent, unkind wind was determined to pluck them out, causing your eyes to sting, turning Vernon blurry. “You’re not listening,” you warbled, reedy in tone. “I don’t want a ride home. Please, just go.”
The boy scoffed, gripping the steering wheel. “Yeah? Go fuckin’ where? If you’re gonna take the bus, then I’m gonna sit here and make sure you actually get on.” He had never sounded so stern before. His casualness was stripped like bark off a tree. “I can’t believe you’re bein’ this stubborn.”
“Vernon, just go!” You shouted at him. A congested sniffle came immediately after, and your fists clenched in anguish at the realization you were unsewing before him, bit by bit, letting your emotion dominate.
“Fuck you,” he gritted, tongue running over his teeth. “Make me.”
“Vernon!”
“You wanna take the bus so fuckin’ bad? Then walk your ass right on over there and take the bus. But I’m not gonna leave this spot until I see you get on.” He proceeded to flick his hand. “So go. Take the fuckin’ bus.”
Tears overwhelming your eyes, you glared at him, sucked in a hoarse, trembling breath, and slammed his door so hard that the entire car shuddered. But you didn’t pay attention. You didn’t wait for the street to clear—you just marched straight across it to the bus stop on the other side—hearing a car horn blare at you. Vernon must think you were the dumbest girl he had ever met. It didn’t matter. At that rate, you would never see him or his beautiful, summery eyes again. Choked up and weeping, holding onto yourself tight, you felt the stares of the few people at the bus stop avoid you like you were diseased. Like you were some alien fallen out of the sky.
pairing: fake bf! renjun x best friend’s gf! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 48k+
synopsis -> renjun, the fuckboy by association, couldn’t give less of a fuck about romantic relationships. he’s perfectly fine with being single. loves it actually. when he accidentally drops a box on your head and you wake up with amnesia, he’s forced to finally take care of a person other than his own self. what’s worse? you think he’s your boyfriend.
warnings -> guaranteeing a love story that will edge you, pet name unlocked: love, temporary retrograde amnesia, lying, mean renjun, a lot of inner guilt and inner dialogue, renjun saying what the fuck am i doing? like a million times, too many y/n’s in one room pt. 3, an emotional fight between two best friends, +18, crude humor, language, frat parties, drinking, edging!!!!, descriptive make out scenes, lots of tongue, dry-humping, masturbation (m), fingering, handjob, mutual-masturbation, there’s only one bed, anal penetration, face-sitting, rough sex, folding reader in half, renjun loves pussy. a switch who makes the prettiest noises!!!!, candy-play, overstimulation!!, nipple-play, both don’t realize how loud they are in bed and how much they torture the people around them. brief mentions of: hospitals, blood, injury to the head, passing out, pegging, use of the word: slut.
an -> it’s here! the 7th and final installment of the loverboy series is bittersweetly yours! now playing taylor swift’s august and loml and betty. this was the hardest one to write ngl. i tried to give you guys everything you asked for! some of it didn’t make it though. important things to note -> 1) renjun is the fuckboy by association. he doesn’t care about falling in love. scoffs at romantic relationships. sick of the boys shoving it in his face. prefers being alone. 2) all of the boys, are happily in love! 3) this takes place approximately around 8 months after jisung’s story! have fun reading, i’ll be waiting for your reactions. with love, c.
✿ AUGUST 07 – I KILLED SOMEONE ✿
renjun is running — fast. hard. every step knocks the breath out of him. it’s the first week of a new semester. a new year. senior year. the final year for some. and he’s already fighting for his life — he’s the last remaining dream boy yet to be taken. the final bachelor. the lone survivor. and every girl on campus knows it. he doesn’t even know where he’s going anymore. he just needs to go. needs to escape. the screams are getting louder.
“RENJUN! I HAVE YOUR COFFEE ORDER MEMORIZED!” “RENJUN! PICK ME, CHOOSE ME, LOVE ME! “RENJUN! I WROTE YOU A SONG!”
he nearly trips over his own shoes as he rounds the corner. this is getting out of hand. he was supposed to spend his final year quietly, make art, focus on the future — not get chased like a damn k-pop idol. in hindsight, maybe letting all the other dream boys fall in love and leave him to the wolves wasn’t the best move.
“i hate the boys,” renjun mutters under his breath as he darts through a side door of the arts building, “i hate love, i hate romance, i hate–”
theater room. perfect. he ducks inside, scanning the empty black box stage space and slams the door shut behind him. his heart thunders in his chest. he’s breathing like he just finished a marathon. his bangs stick to his forehead. and somewhere behind him, he can still hear them.
“RENJUN I MADE YOU COOKIES WITH YOUR FACE ON THEM!” “RENJUN I’M A LEO, IT’S BASICALLY FATE!”
his heart is pounding in his chest. then — his gaze lands on the ladder. the fly tower. of course. without thinking twice, he scrambles up, gripping each rung like it’s his last hope. he pulls himself onto the upper platform, dodging a few precarious light fixtures and wedges himself behind a stack of heavy wooden boxes labeled musical props — do not touch. the girls barge in moments later.
“WHERE IS HE?!” “CHECK THE SOUND BOOTH!” “I KNOW HE’S HERE, I SMELL HIS COLOGNE!”
renjun covers his mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly as they spread out. he presses himself tighter behind the boxes. heart pounding, brain screaming: this is hell. this is actually hell.
eventually the chorus of voices died down. footsteps retreat. the door slams. silence. renjun lets out a slow, cautious breath. he flops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, “god,” he mutters to himself, “they just all had to fall in love and leave me out here like some tiny, helpless mouse in the wild,” he rolls his eyes, starts to shift into a more comfortable position — and accidentally kicks a box off the edge.
it crashes down the stage below with a loud BOOM, followed by the sound of props scattering and bouncing across the floor. renjun freezes, eyes wide. “fuck, what else can go wrong?,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, hoping that whatever was in there didn’t completely break. but then he looks down. and his heart stops. lying on the stage floor, right next to the box, is a girl — you. your limbs are splayed awkwardly, your head tilted, your body frighteningly still. a slow, dark patch of red is growing beneath your head.
“Y/N?!,” renjun nearly falls off the ladder climbing down. he races to your side, dropping to his knees beside you, “oh my god. oh my god. no. no. no,” he’s shaking your shoulders, eyes wide with panic, “y/n, wake up!—oh my god—fuck—i killed someone—I KILLED SOMEONE—”
but then – you groan. a soft, sluggish sound, followed by the flutter of your lashes. you blink blearily up at him, squinting, “...babe?,” your voice is hoarse, dazed.
renjun freezes, “...what?”
you squint harder, trying to focus on the blurry figure hovering over you, “babe? what happened? why are you crying?”
“i’m not crying,” he snaps. but his eyes are glossy and his hands are still clutching your shoulders like you’re a porcelain doll, “y-you hit your head, okay? i didn’t mean to drop the box, it was–wait, why did you call me babe?!”
you pause. your brows furrow, head pounding, “y-you’re my boyfriend,” you murmur.
renjun swallows thickly. there’s something obviously wrong. he sits back on his heels, heart still trying to recover. because he is not your boyfriend. and you are not his girlfriend. you’re y/n. the girl who shares the same major as him. who sits two chairs ahead of him in painting ii. quiet. talented. soft. nice. oh, and one more thing — you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.
renjun is so screwed.
❤︎
“hold her steady,” the nurse says, briskly swinging open the doors to the campus clinic as renjun stumbles in, half carrying your weight.
“i am holding her steady!,” he snaps, nearly dropping you as your arm slides off his shoulder.
“babe,” you mumble, nuzzling your head against his neck, “stop yelling, please.”
renjun flinches, “oh my god, stop calling me that!” you groan, dazed and limp, like someone unplugged your battery. the nurse ushers you both toward a bed and begins checking your vitals while renjun stands frozen beside you, hands twitching useless at his side.
the next hour is a blur — lots of phone calls, lots of “she needs a scan,” lots of “are you the boyfriend?,” to which renjun starts answering, “i guess????,” out of pure panic. eventually, an ambulance takes you both to the nearest off-campus hospital, where a doctor finally pulls renjun aside while you’re resting in an exam room. dr. ten lee is in his late 20’s, dressed in his navy scrubs, a tiny silver hoop in one ear, sipping a canned iced coffee and scrolling on his tablet. he looks more like a kdrama second lead than a doctor. and he has the kind of calm tone that makes you feel like nothing in the world is actually an emergency. renjun, however, is pacing like a squirrel on red bull, “is she gonna be okay?”
“come on, we need to talk,” dr. lee replies smoothly. he leads renjun into a consultation room, where he taps quickly through your medical chart. and renjun’s heart is pounding in his chest. “vitals are stable. no skull fracture. CT scan is clean. no internal bleeding. just a concussion and some swelling.” he flicks to the next screen, “she’s lucky.” renjun exhales in relief, just barely.
“but,” dr. lee continues, “she’s showing signs of temporary retrograde amnesia.”
renjun blink, “tem–what?”
“it means she doesn’t remember anything leading up to the accident,” he explains.
renjun swallow, “how long will it take for her memory to come back?”
“could be hours. could be days. weeks. it’s impossible to say,” dr. ten leans back in his chair, gaze serious now, “the important thing is not to overwhelm her brain. if you try to force everything back at once, the stress could make the memory loss permanent.” dr. lee flips to another note on the screen, “she’s also restricted from using phones, tablets, or any kind of screen for at least a month. try to avoid bright lights and cognitive overload. that includes social media, messages, anything that might confuse or overstimulate her brain.”
renjun groans, already picturing the storm to come, “great. so she can’t scroll through her camera roll and realize i’m not the guy in half her selfies?”
“what do you mean?,” dr. lee raises a brow, “you’re her boyfriend, aren’t you?”
renjun looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, about that,” renjun says, exasperated, “i’m not.”
dr. lee raises an eyebrow, “then who is?”
“my best friend, yangyang,” renjun mutters, “he’s… he’s out of the country right now. internship in germany. fashion design thing.”
dr. lee sighs, noting it down on his tablet, “okay…so in her case, it looks like she’s confused recent relationships and events.” he rubs his temple, “and the only person she recognizes and trusts right now is not her boyfriend—but a friend.”
“her boyfriend’s best friend,” renjun corrects miserably.
dr. lee gives him a long, unimpressed look. “wonderful.”
renjun runs both hands down his face, “this is insane.”
“look,” dr. lee says carefully, “i can’t legally ask you to impersonate her boyfriend, but… if he isn’t reachable, and you are the only one she feels safe with… just consider what’s best for her, alright?”
renjun nods, “i’ll call him.”
❤︎
renjun paces just outside the consultation room, thumb hovering over yangyang’s name, hitting call. it rings three times before a groggy voice answers, “yo bro…it’s like 3AM over here, what’s up?”
renjun doesn’t waste time, “i dropped a prop box on your girlfriend.”
a pause. “huh?”
“she passed out, we’re in a hospital. she’s okay, kind of, but she has amnesia, yangyang. she woke up and she thinks i’m you.”
there’s an audible shuffling sound on the other end, like yangyang just sat bolt upright, “what the actual fuck?!”
“i know.” renjun pinches the bridge of his nose, “the box hit her head, the doctor said i can’t tell her the truth or her memory might never come back and she’s not allowed to use her phone or see anything on-screen or else it could make it worse…this is a nightmare!”
yangyang lets out a long groan, “jesus…is she okay now?”
“physically, yeah. mentally? she keeps calling me babe,” renjun says, pacing the floor, “you need to come back,” he says firmly, “this is your relationship.”
“renjun…i…can’t,” yangyang exhales, “i’m in berlin. i’ve got fittings in the morning and i’m interning with a major designer. if i leave now, i lose everything and this is the biggest opportunity of my life.”
renjun goes quiet, his jaw tightens, “she’s your girlfriend.”
“we’ve been dating for a month,” yangyang says gently, “it’s new. i do love her, i really do. but this opportunity? it’s my career.”
renjun couldn’t even believe what he was hearing right now. he scoffs, “so what, you’re just asking me to pretend to be you?!”
“no. i’m asking you to take care of her,” yangyang says, “just until she get’s her memory back. keep her calm. keep her safe. protect her. let her remember naturally. i trust you.”
renjun glares at the wall, “i hate you.”
“i owe you one. a huge one,” yangyang sighs.
renjun rolls his eyes, “you owe me your soul.”
“i’ll name my next collection after you.”
“fuck you, yangyang.” but even then, the call ends with renjun muttering, “fine.” because deep down, he knows it’s his fault. and the least he can do is pretend to be your boyfriend.
when renjun opens the door and steps back into your hospital room, you stir instantly. your eyes blink open and a sleepy, relieved smile spreads across your face, “there you are,” you mumble, “i thought you left.” you reach out instinctively, fingers brushing his wrist, “i missed you.”
renjun swallows hard, forcing a smile, “...yeah,” he says, “i missed you too.”
✿ ETHICALLY HORRIFYING ✿
painting ii. on tuesdays is usually renjun’s favorite class. his safe space. it’s quiet. peaceful. nobody talks unless it’s to borrow a brush or complain about color theory. it’s where he gets to zone out, put on his headphones when professor yuta isn’t lecturing, and lose himself in gradients and messy brush strokes — except...today is different. because today, you’re here. it’s been four days since he last saw you. and now you’re sitting right next to him. not two chairs ahead like you usually do. not at your table by the windows where the light hits just right. no. you’re next to him. like you’ve done it a thousand times before. like it’s normal. and it would’ve been fine. renjun might’ve survived it. if it weren’t for the fact that…you have your hand on. his. thigh — not resting casually. not briefly. planted. warm. possessive. yellow-painted nails tapping lazily against his jeans.
renjun hasn’t moved in five minutes. he’s feeling very uncomfortable. he’s afraid if he does move, you’ll do something worse like hug him in the middle of a brushstroke. renjun stares at his canvas like it holds the answers to life. he’s not even registering professor yuta’s passionate speech about emotional color palettes.
you, on the other hand, look delighted. you hum softly as you blend a soft orange into the corner of your canvas, completely at ease. your sleeves are bunched up, hair tied messily back with a clip, and your lips tilt into a shy smile every time you glance at him. occasionally, you lean in to whisper something stupid, so gentle it tickles his ear like “you look really handsome today,” or “i think i’m painting your soul in mine.” they’re the kind of words that would’ve made renjun melt if he were a normal guy in a normal situation with a normal crush. but this is not normal. this is ethically horrifying. and he’s trying not to jump out the window.
very slowly, like diffusing a bomb, he reaches down and lifts your hand off his thigh. you blink at him, confused, a tiny pout forms on your lips, “you don’t like it when i touch you?” you ask, voice so quiet it’s barely above a whisper.
renjun panics. “i-i’m just ticklish,” he blurts, “on the thigh. very medically specific condition. happens to one in five people.”
you frown softly. your eyes search his face, like you’re trying to remember something that slipped just out of reach. it doesn’t work. you come up with nothing, instead you mutter out a soft, “oh, i’m sorry,” your voice dips lower, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” you shrink slightly into your seat. the sunlight catches in your hair as you bend your head and go back to painting, shoulders a little more tucked in than before. and for a moment, renjun almost feels bad. almost. mostly, he just feels relief. because you shouldn’t be touching him like that. you shouldn’t be looking at him like that. not when your real boyfriend is thousands of miles away and probably checking fabric swatches in berlin. not when he’s the one who dropped a box on your head and ruined everything. he tries to focus on his canvas, tries not to notice the sad look on your face or the way your hand keeps pausing mid-brushstroke. he tells himself he’s doing the right thing.
professor yuta claps his hand together, breaking him out of his thoughts, “alright, wrap it up! same time next week.” everyone starts packing up, chairs scrape, canvases are slid into bags or the back of the room. but you linger. renjun hunches over his supplies, shoving his tubes of paint into his backpack like they personally wronged him. he’s nearly zipped it closed when he hears your soft footsteps.
“junie?” you murmur, standing beside him now. he doesn’t even know where you got that nickname. at the hospital, it was babe. now it’s junie. he turns, heart already bracing for another landmine. you’re hugging your sketchpad to your chest. your eyes are wide and sincere and guilt-ridden.
“i’m really sorry about earlier,” you say softly, lips tugging down. “i didn’t mean to cross a line… i just… i can’t believe i forgot that about you.” before he can say anything — before he can even react — you lean in, gently, and brush your lips against his cheek. a soft kiss, so light it barely touches skin.
“i’ll see you later,” you whisper. and then you’re gone. renjun’s frozen, eyes wide, blood rushing to his face so fast he thinks he might pass out. dead silence hangs for a beat. and then the hushed whispers begin.
“wait.” “wasn’t she dating yangyang?” “are they–together now?” “is this why yangyang is nowhere to be seen??” “is renjun taken?” “THE LAST DREAM BOY?!?!”
renjun bolts. by the time he makes it down the stairs and out of the building, it’s already happened. the whole campus knows. every student has either heard about it, seen it, or is live tweeting the tragedy of renjun’s off-the-market status. and the only person blissfully unaware? you. — still thinking he’s your boyfriend. still completely in the dark about yangyang. and renjun is walking back to the dream house with shaking hands and the weight of the campus gossip on his shoulders. he hates it here.
✿ MR. STEAL YOUR GIRL ✿
the next day, renjun makes the mistake of walking into the dream house kitchen thinking he can just grab a piece of bread and disappear. he’s wrong. disastrously wrong. the moment he steps in, he’s attacked by the sight, and sounds, of love. and worse, public display of affection. the table is packed. every seat filled. every couple tangled up in each other like they’re starring in some low-budget university romance fanfiction. — jaemin’s got one hand on angel’s thigh while she refills his coffee without asking. jeno is feeding bunny bites of pancakes. mark has kitten tucked under his arm, both of them laughing at something on his phone as she sneaks pieces of fruit off his plate. baby is resting her head on chenle’s shoulder as he enthusiastically tells some story with too many sound effects. haechan and princess are sharing a bowl of cereal. cherry’s half asleep on jisung’s shoulder, curled into him while he sips juice one-handed like he’s been doing this his whole life. renjun freezes in the doorway. the smell of syrup. the clinking of mugs. the couples being nauseatingly in sync, “do you guys have to do this every morning?,” he grunts.
jeno looks up, “ohhh, look who finally decided to show his face.”
mark leans back, already smirking, “mr. steal your girl,” he says through a mouthful of toast, “didn’t know you had it in you, dude.”
“what?” renjun frowns, confused.
haechan points his spoon directly at him, “you stole yangyang’s girlfriend.”
“I DID NOT–,” renjun yells, his voice cracking a little. silence falls over the entire table. even the pancake jeno was feeding bunny freezes mid-air in space — it’s the most emotion they’ve ever seen from renjun in the past three years. calm, rational, spreadsheet-using, color-coded schedule renjun. the man who has never once raised his voice at them. ever. renjun takes a breath, shoulders stiff, taking a seat and trying to calm down, “i didn’t steal anyone, okay?”
“bro,” chenle pulls out his phone, “you trended on the campus confession page three separate times last night. there’s a post that literally says, renjun is taken </3 goodbye to my dreams.”
jisung blinks sleepily, still sipping from his straw, his other hand playing with the hem of cherry’s shorts, “wait…aren’t you like…best friends with yangyang?”
renjun groans, dragging a hand down his face, “yes. we are. or were. i don’t know. god.” it was clear as the summer’s day. he was spiraling. and the boys all found it amusing. renjun always had his shit together. always knew what was going to happen tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. you have clearly sent him into a full existential collapse.
“this is so messy,” haechan grins, resting his chin on princess’ shoulder, “i love it.”
jaemin squints at him, trying to suppress a grin, “okay but seriously…what actually happened?”
renjun sighs, grabbing a piece of toast, and starts talking like a man who has accepted his doom, “she hit her head.”
“who hit her?,” jisung asks, eyes wide.
“i did.”
the whole table collectively gasped — “DUDE.”
“not on purpose!,” renjun snaps, glaring, “i dropped a box from the fly tower. it hit her head. it’s not like i threw it at her.”
angel’s brow furrow, “wait–yangyangs girlfriend?…y/n? the nice one? the one that always offers to help people in class?”
renjun winces, “yes.”
angel leans back, jaw dropping, jaemin watched her with a playful gleam in his eyes, “soft, sweet, sunshine girl, y/n?!, you dropped a box on her HEAD?!”
renjun groans, “again, it was an accident.”
“is she okay?,” kitten asks gently, reaching over to pass him the butter like this is a normal conversation.
“physically, yes,” renjun mutters, grabbing the butter, “but she has temporary amnesia. the doctor said no screens and no sudden memory dumps. it could mess her up permanently so now…,” he sighs like he still can’t believe this is his life, “she thinks i’m her boyfriend.”
everyone pauses. then– “OH MY GOD,” haechan howls, “bro, you’re in a k-drama.”
jeno grins, “fake dating but make it amnesia edition.”
“‘i’m not even dating her!,” renjun says, defensive and deranged, “i’m just trying not to kill her again!”
“i cannot believe this is happening to the number one most anti-romantic dude in this room,” jaemin laughs, shaking his head, “the one who once said and i quote feelings are just viruses the brain catches from bad decisions.”
jisung teasingly adds, “didn’t he also say love is a scam invented by capitalism to sell jewelry?”
“yes,” renjun mumbles, “because it is. and now this is my karma.”
chenle’s eyes go wide, remembering something else he read from campus confessions, “wait, i heard she sat next to you in class?” renjun nods wearily, “was she…like…touchy?,” he smirks.
renjun stares into the voice, “her hand was on my thigh for twenty straight minutes while professor yuta was giving a lecture.” the room loses it. chenle literally collapses sideways onto baby, crying from laughter. jaemin is banging the table with his palm. mark starts screaming. haechan’s gasping for air.
“NOT THE THIGH,” baby screams.
“THAT’S GIRLFRIEND TERRITORY,” princess adds.
“she calls me babe or junie,” renjun adds bitterly, “and she looks at me like i invented sunrise,” he shudders.
bunny covers her mouth to hide a smile, “that’s actually kind of sweet though…”
“no, it’s deranged!,” renjun snaps, “i didn’t ask for this!”
chenle laughs, wiping his eyes. “okay, but be honest. is she at least cute?”
“she’s…” renjun pauses. “that’s not the point.”
“which means yes,” jisung says with a grin.
“no!,” renjun yells, “it means i’m not going there! she’s yangyang’s girlfriend!”
cherry tilts her head, “does yangyang know?”
renjun rubs his temples, “i called him the second it happened. said he trusts me and asked me to take care of her.”
angel raises a brow, “so you’re just gonna keep pretending to be her boyfriend until… what? she magically remembers one day and asks why you were letting her flirt with you?”
renjun slams his forehead against the table. “i don’t know, okay?! if i tell her the truth too fast, it might mess her up… i’m in hell.”
“damn,” mark says after a beat. “that’s… actually kind of a lot.”
renjun groans into the table, “tell me about it,” then he lifts his head, glaring at all of them, “this is all your fault by the way.” they look at him with confused expressions, he continues, pointing an accusing finger at each one of them, “if you guys just stayed single, i wouldn’t have had to run into the fly tower to escape from the mob of fangirls you’ve all accumulated!” the whole table bursts into laughter once again.
“okay, but like…,” baby squints, “what happens when she wants to kiss her boyfriend?”
everyone leans in.
“or even better,” chenle smirks, “what happens when she wants to have sex with her boyfriend?”
renjun doesn’t even hesitate. he immediately hurls a piece of bread straight at chenle’s face.
“I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT!”
✿ A WEEK OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS ✿
you wake up early, heart set on one thing: making things right with your boyfriend. at least, you’re pretty sure he’s your boyfriend. you still haven’t remembered everything since the accident, but he hasn’t corrected you so it must be true. right? still, you can tell something’s been bothering him. maybe it’s you. maybe you were too clingy in class two days ago. you didn’t mean to be. you just feel so safe around him. so warm. so familiar. and for some reason, your body moves before your brain even catches up. like it remembers him even if your mind doesn’t. but when he gently pushed your hand off his thigh…it stung. so here you are in your little yellow apron, humming softly in your apartment’s tiny kitchen as you roll spicy rice balls between your palms and press sesame seeds into tiny heart shapes. you even made gochujang glazed chicken, his favorite, you think. you remember cooking it a lot. you don’t know when or where, just that you were always standing in the kitchen with your sleeves rolled up, giggling while someone snuck pieces off the pan when he thought you weren’t looking.
“hey,” you jump a little, turning to see ningning, your roommate, your best friend, standing in the doorway with a heavy frown on her face. she looks tired. and worried. she nods towards the spread on the counter, “you’re making lunch?”
you nod brightly, “mhm, renjun’s favorite!.”
her expression doesn’t change, “spicy rice balls?,” she asks gently, stepping closer, “that’s his favorite?”
you pause, your brows furrow, “...it is…right?”
ningning exhales slowly, rubbing her face like she’s deciding whether to scream or cry, “i don’t think you should do this,” she says quietly.
you blink, “why not?”
“you’re still recovering,” she says, voice even, “you shouldn’t be standing this long. you shouldn’t be stressing over… anything.”
you bite your lip, “but i want to do this. i…i think i made him uncomfortable in class. he hasn’t reached out to me since then. i just want to fix things…show him i’m trying.”
ningning sighs, “y/n…” something in her voice makes your stomach twist.
“is something wrong?” you ask, stepping toward her, “did he say something? is he upset?”
“no, it’s just—” she stops herself. runs a hand through her hair, “you’re not yourself right now. and you’re working so hard to be the perfect girlfriend to someone you don’t even remember.”
you flinch. just slightly, “i’m trying,” you say, softer now.
“i know you are,” she says, gently, “that’s the problem.” you look down at the heart-shaped rice balls. your fingers tremble just a little.
“i feel useless,” you admit, “i don’t remember anything. i can barely recall any of my memories. but when i’m making these…it feels like i know him. even if i don’t.” ningning looks like she wants to say something — badly. but her mouth tightens instead. you give her a small smile, “i just want to make him happy,” you say, “even if i don’t remember why i want to.” and with that, you go back to work, gently placing everything into the bento box, tying it up with a yellow ribbon, and scribbling a tiny note on a post-it with a smiley face and one word: sorry. behind you, ningning leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with an ache in her chest. because she knows the truth. that is yangyang’s favorite food. and renjun is not your boyfriend. but right now, you’re just too sweet and too gentle and too hopeful to stop. so she lets you go.
❤︎
renjun knows something is wrong the moment you approach the bench outside the art building with a giant smile and a lunchbox tied up in a yellow ribbon. he was just planning to eat cafeteria ramen in silence. like a normal, emotionally stable person. but no. there you are. radiating sunshine. practically skipping.
“renjun!,” you call, way too loudly. a few heads turn. renjun shrinks into his flannel.
he clears his throat, trying to sound casual, “uh. hey,”
“i made you lunch!,” you beam, setting the box gently on his lap as you took a seat next to him. renjun stares at it. then stares at you. then back at the box. he’s terrified. you sit beside him eagerly, hands folded under your chin, “open it!”
“i…you didn’t have to do this,” he says.
you pout, “i wanted to…it’s my apology. for being too touchy.” renjun sighs quietly and unties the ribbon. he lifts the lid and nearly blacks out. inside is a lovingly arranged, super aesthetic bento box…filled with spicy kimchi rice balls, gochujang glazed chicken, a small bottle of ghost pepper mayo for dipping, and a note that says sorry :)
“ta-da,” you say, soft and hopeful, “i made your favorites.” you wait for his eyes to light up. for him to smile or laugh or even tease you. you expect warmth. but instead – he freezes. there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. surprise? confusion? dread?
“...these are not my favorites,” renjun blurts, before he can stop himself. your smile falters. “i–i mean,” he tries to recover, panic rising, “they’re great!...i just…have a very mild spice tolerance. like…negative.”
you look at him, eyes wide and hurt, “oh. i-i’m sorry,” your voice goes soft, “i…forgot again, didn’t i?”
renjun immediately feels like trash, “no, no, hey, it’s no big deal,” he rushes to say, waving his hands, “you went through a lot. you’re still recovering.”
“but i should remember what my boyfriend likes,” you murmur, “i keep messing up.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. because the truth is you do remember what your boyfriend likes. it just isn’t him. every dish screams yangyang’s spice-loving palate. every detail, from the sesame seed heart on the rice to the folded napkin with doodled stars is something yangyang would have loved. and you remembered it all without even knowing. renjun gulps, suddenly feeling way too warm. you sigh, “do you…not want to eat it?”
he glances at the ghost pepper mayo. it’s looking at him like a loaded gun, “…no, no, i’ll eat it,” he says quickly, picking up a rice ball with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb. he pops it into his mouth and instantly regrets every decision that’s brought him to his moment. his eyes water. his throat closes. his soul leaves his body. he tries not to make a sound but a tiny squeak escapes.
“oh my god,” you gasp, “junie, are you okay?!”
he nods violently, tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes, “s’great!,” he croaks, “delicious.”
“you’re crying.”
“im just…overwhelmed…by your love,” he wheezes.
you sit there, stunned. “i…i’m so sorry,” you whisper, pulling the lunchbox out of his hands, “i must’ve gotten it wrong again. i really thought…” you trail off, staring down at the food. you feel small. like a child who studied all night and still got the answers wrong. “-i remembered this,” you murmur to yourself more than him, “i remembered you sneaking pieces off the pan when you thought i wasn’t looking. i remembered you saying spicy food makes you feel alive.” he doesn’t reply. and that silence is louder than anything. you set the bento down on the bench between you. your shoulders curl inward a little, a soft sigh leaving your lips, “i keep doing that,” you whisper, “messing things up. forgetting who you are,” your hands twist in your lap, “i’m sorry. i’ll do better. i promise.” you reach over and gently dab the sweat off his temple with a napkin, and you say, in the softest voice, “next time…i’ll make something sweet.” and even though your heart is heavy and the food sits uneaten between you, you still smile like you haven’t just broken your own heart without even knowing why.
❤︎
you find him sitting under the tree by the art building this time, sketchbook in hand, earbuds in, looking all calm and dreamy and boyfriend-coded. it’s cute. you kind of want to kiss his cheek again, but you’re respecting his space. no wandering hands. just soft girlfriend effort. you crouch beside him and whisper, “junie.”
he flinches hard enough to smudge his sketch, “you can’t sneak up on people like that,” he scolds, pulling one earbud out.
you giggle, “sorry, i was too excited.”
he looks up, suspicious, “about what?”
“i remembered something,” you say, eyes sparkling.
his expression shifts immediately, surprise, a flash of something hopeful, “you did?”
“yeah,” you nod eagerly, “it’s small, but…i think it’s real this time.”
he closes his sketchbook, giving you his full attention now. “okay. what is it?”
you take a deep breath, beaming, “you call me your honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.”
there’s a silence. you look so proud of yourself. like you just discovered gravity or cured heartbreak. renjun blinks. then blinks again. “…i what?”
“you know,” you say innocently, “honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.” renjun stares at you like he’s about to have an out-of-body experience. like he’s debating whether to dig a grave under this very tree and roll into it. what kind of unholy care-bear-ass relationship did you and yangyang have?! honeypie? sugarplum?! pumpkin?!?!
you tilt your head, confused. “you don’t call me that?”
absolutely the fuck not. he thinks to himself fighting the urge to throw himself into traffic. “no. i… i definitely do not call you that.”
your face falls just slightly. “oh,” you pause, “so… you just always call me by my name? no nickname?” and you look so soft. so hopeful. so broken. like you’re waiting to hear something warm and sweet and reassuring. the way a real boyfriend would say it. which renjun is not. but now you’re looking at him with your big eyes and your soft voice and— renjun panics.
“no, silly,” he blurts, completely unprepared for this moment, “of course i call you something.”
you perk up. “really?”
he racks his brain. frantically. what sounds boyfriend-y but not embarrassing? what can he stand to say without wanting to vomit? finally, he lands on, “…i call you love.”
I CALL YOU WHAT? WHAT DID I JUST SAY? WHO IS POSSESSING MY BODY?? WHO LET THIS LEAVE MY MOUTH?! GOD?? OUT OF ALL THE NICKNAMES…LOVE?!?!?!?! REALLY???
but you light up like the sun. absolutely beaming. sparkles in your eyes and everything, “well, that’s definitely better,” you say, cheeks glowing, “i like it.” renjun forces a smile. he wants to dissolve into dust and never be seen again.
❤︎
you wait for him outside the art building, hugging the bouquet of red roses to your chest. he always gets out around this time. you want this to be a good surprise. something familiar. something he might remember, even if you don’t. you heard that little voice in your head, a memory of him saying he’s never received flowers before. how his favorite were the red wrapped around your fingers. when renjun finally steps out of the double doors, earbuds in, his gaze drifts over the steps until it lands on you. and then lower. to the flowers. you smile, nervous, “hi.” he slows. cautious. “i, uh–,” you offer the bouquet forward, voice lilting with hesitant hope, “i got you something.”
renjun stares at the roses like they’ve personally offended him. he finally speaks, flat and unimpressed, “you got me roses?”
“i remembered you said–”
“i hate roses.” the words are sharper than you expect. they cut through the soft warmth you’d been building in your chest and it falters, quickly, fully.
“oh.” you swallow, brows knitting, “i got it wrong again?”
renjun exhales like he’s been holding it in since this whole act began, “it’s fine.”
you take a step forward, desperate to fix it, “i can get different ones next time. what do you actually like?” he eyes the tiny notebook in your hand, the one he’s seen you scribbling in for days now. you always hide it before he can read over your shoulder.
“forget it,” he mutters, brushing past you, but you follow him. always one step behind. always trying.
“renjun, come on. i’m trying, okay? you could at least tell me. it’s not like i know everything anymore–,” he stops, turning slowly. you see it then, the look in his eyes — like this is exhausting. like you are exhausting.
“yellow daffodils.” he finally says, clipped, just to finally make you leave. you open the notebook immediately, flipping it open with quick fingers. scribble it down. underlined. renjun watches you write in silence, then asks, “what are you doing?”
“trying to remember,” you murmur. his eyes scan the page before you flip it shut. he catches the words: doesn’t like physical touch, can’t handle spicy food but still tried it for me, doesn’t like to talk when he’s sketching, always has his earbuds in, prefers sitting under the southern magnolia tree, calls me love. and the new addition — he likes yellow daffodils.
something in him buckles. but only for a second. he forces his back into indifference, “you don’t have to do that, you know?”
“what?”
“take notes like i’m a subject,” he says, “like you’ll get some prize if you figure me out.”
your chest tightens, “i’m not trying to win anything. i just want to remember,” you say quietly. he turns his face away. not because he’s mad. but because if he looks at you too long, he might scream. you’re smiling at him like he’s the boy you love. like you trust him. like you chose him. like he’s safe. but he’s not. he’s just the idiot who dropped a box on your head and couldn’t tell you the truth. so now here he is. pretending. performing. and being thanked for it with roses.
“i didn’t ask for this,” he mutters, barely audible. there’s a pause. then, louder, sharp like surrender, “give me the roses.” you blink. startled. he holds out his hand without looking at you. you hand them over wordlessly. renjun walks away, bouquet dangling from one hand like it’s burning him. doesn’t look back. doesn’t say thank you. you stay behind, notebook pressed to your chest, watching him get smaller and smaller. you write one more thing down: hates roses. took them anyway.
❤︎
you hum quietly as you dip the brush into the palette, squinting at renjun’s canvas. he’s been gone for a bit — just ran down the art building’s storage room to grab a new tube of paint — and you thought, maybe this is a good time to help. he was working on this piece all morning. you heard him sigh at least seven times. and you remembered something! not a nickname or a fake memory — a real one. you remembered that he said his favorite way to add warmth to a painting is by lightly blending red into the shadows. you’d overheard him say it once in class. so you thought… just a little touch. a light wash in the bottom corner. you barely brush the crimson into the edge of his painting when his voice slices in, “what are you doing?”
you turn quickly, literally caught red-handed. you look down at the brush, then back at him, “oh! i remembered what you said about red shadows, so i just—"
he exhales. slow. deep. not angry, not loud. just tired, “don’t touch my painting.”
you pause, “i was trying to help.”
“i didn’t ask for help!,” he snaps, setting his supplies down a little too hard on the desk.
you stare at him, chest shrinking, “i thought i was doing something nice,” you murmur. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounds a lot like why me. there’s an uncomfortable silence after that. you look back down at the canvas — the part you touched is fine. barely noticeable. it didn't ruin anything. he could paint over it in two seconds if he wanted to. but it’s not about that. it’s you. you feel it. you’re too much. too present. too there. renjun doesn’t say it, but you can feel it radiating off of him like secondhand smoke, “…sorry,” you say again, softly.
he nods once. “whatever.” he won’t look at you. you step away from the canvas, folding your arms over your chest. you want to say thank you for letting me paint with you, or i just wanted to be useful, or even you looked tired and i wanted to ease the weight a little. but you say none of that. you just leave the room quietly, brush still stained with red.
he stares at the spot you touched. the red. barely-there, feathered into the corner — warm, grounding, alive. it’s perfect. not too much. not clashing. not overpowering. just…right. the missing piece. the thing he couldn’t figure out. the part that was bothering him all day. the part he was going to repaint completely. you were trying to be thoughtful and he brushed it off again. he’s not used to someone else being in his space. not used to people trying to help him or worry about him or touch things without asking. he’s used to routines. solitude. clean palettes. predictable hours. he’s not used to… girlfriends. or whatever this situation is. he’s not built for it. and you’re so soft, so gentle, so incredibly romantic in a way he never asked for — and he knows it’s not your fault. but god, he’s so tired.
✿ ROMANTIC TRAGEDY ✿
renjun stands in front of your apartment door, clutching a tiny paper bag of apology brownies he remembered yangyang always got for you. he hasn’t slept well in two days. not since you looked at him like that — lips parted, fingers trembling slightly as you whispered “sorry,” and backed away like you'd broken something. even though you hadn’t. not even close.
he sighs and knocks. the door swings open not even two seconds later. ningning stands there. arms crossed. eyes narrowed and full of judgment. renjun doesn’t even get a chance to speak, “you’re lucky i’m not holding a knife right now.”
“hi,” he says tiredly. “good to see you too.”
ningning steps into his space, glaring up at him, “you made her cry, you know.”
renjun’s jaw tightens, “i didn’t mean to.”
“but you did,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
he sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “look. i feel like shit. i came to apologize, okay?”
ningning crosses her arms tighter, “you should feel like shit. she’s trying so hard, renjun. she wakes up every day thinking she’s in love with you. do you know how insane that is?” he doesn’t answer. she lowers her voice, “she’s scared. she’s confused. she forgets something new every day and thinks it’s her fault. she thinks she’s a bad girlfriend because she doesn’t remember what kind of food and flowers you like and you—” she pokes his chest, “you get annoyed when she adds a little too much red to a painting.”
“i know,” he mutters, “i know i was a dick. i just—” he exhales again. “i’ve never had to take care of anyone before. not like this.”
ningning softens just slightly, but only slightly. “she doesn’t need you to take care of her, renjun,” she says, “she just needs you not to treat her like she’s ruining your life.”
renjun swallows, guilt curling tighter in his chest, “yeah. got it.”
ningning looks at him for another second, long enough to confirm he actually means it, then steps aside, “she’s in her room,” she says. “probably sketching something sad.” he nods, stepping past her slowly, “and if you hurt her again,” she calls out behind him, “i will kill you.” renjun steps into your room, slow and unsure, clutching the now slightly crumpled bag of apology brownies. the space smells like lavender and pencil shavings. light from your desk lamp spills across the floor. you’re sitting there, back facing him, sketchbook in your lap, head tilted as you drag your pencil across the page in soft, thoughtful strokes.
you don’t look up when the door clicks shut. he clears his throat, “hey.”
you pause. glance over your shoulder. your face is unreadable for a second. then you offer a small smile — hesitant, kind, “hi,” you say.
renjun swallows the lump in his throat, “i… uh. i wanted to say i’m sorry.” you fully turn in your chair now, legs crossed under you. you don’t speak, waiting patiently like you’re giving him space to find the right words.
“i was out of line. the other day. with the painting,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you didn’t ruin anything. you actually… made it better. i just…i don’t know. i panicked.”
you blink. then smile again, soft, and somehow still glowing even under the dorm’s bad lighting, “it’s okay,” you say, standing slowly, “you were stressed, i get it.” he nods, grateful for your kindness. you take a step forward, then another — and then, your arms are wrapping around him. light and warm and genuine. he stiffens immediately. arms at his sides. not moving. you don’t miss it. you step back after a second, hurt flickering across your face like a dying candle, “is there… something else going on?”
renjun blinks, “what?”
you tilt your head, “it’s just…” you sigh, “you’re my boyfriend but you can’t even touch me. we don’t kiss. we don’t hold hands. it’s been a week and you treat me like i’m a stranger.” renjun’s brain short-circuits. in the deepest corner of his soul, he curses chenle for joking about this exact moment. that gremlin manifested this. his mouth moves before his brain does, “oh!, it’s cause im doing no nut november!”
you blink. a long, long pause. then, slowly, deadpan, “…it’s august.”
he closes his eyes, “right.”
you stare at him for a few more seconds, “so you’re… doing no nut november...in august.”
“yeah,” he says weakly, “i’m… training early.”
you just blink at him, obviously unconvinced. “you don’t have to lie, you know.”
he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “okay—fine. i just…” he sighs again, searching for another lie, “i want to take things slow. since you’re still recovering and all.”
“that’s… really sweet,” you say, your voice soft and touched. your expression softens. then you smile. not the small one. the beaming one. the kind that hits him like a truck. his brain is screaming — that wasn’t supposed to be sweet. that was survival. that was panic. and god, now you think he’s boyfriend material.
“thank you for telling me,” you say quietly, “now, i understand.” he looks at you, unsure what to do with the guilt crawling down his spine. you’re so gentle with him. so kind. even when he keeps screwing up. even when you’re scared and confused and calling him your boyfriend when he’s not. and that makes it worse somehow. because you trust him. “…do you want to sit down?” you ask, voice softer now, careful. renjun nods before he can stop himself. you sit side by side on your bed, knees nearly touching, the room quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the muffled chaos inside his head. his hands are clenched in his lap. your eyes stay on him — big, wide, full of that misplaced trust again. renjun tries to keep his breathing normal. and then you ask it. the question that breaks the final thread of his internal stability.
“…can i kiss you?”
it knocks the air right out of him, “w-what?”
you smile, soft and almost sad, “just one kiss,” you whisper, “it won’t break me.”
he visibly panics, “that’s— i don’t— maybe we should— you’re still recovering—”
you giggle, “renjun.” his name sounds so dangerous coming out of your mouth like that. sweet and certain and too trusting. you keep talking like you don’t see how badly he’s unraveling, “i’m not gonna break,” you say, tilting your head, “i like kissing you. or… i used to, i think. and i want to try again. please?”
please. that word should be illegal. his jaw tightens. “you don’t even have to kiss me back,” you breathe, leaning in slowly, “just… let me feel it. let me remember something.” he’s not sure when he stopped breathing. you were so close now, lips hovering, waiting. tempting. and he was throwing his moral compass out the window.
“god,” he mutters under his breath, voice barely a whisper, “fine.” and then – he gives in. your lips brush his, soft at first, tentative. testing. but even that gentle contact obstructs his brain. you kiss him slowly, like a memory you’re trying to find. like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you press too hard. and maybe you’re right. he’s hanging on by a thread. your hand rests lightly on his thigh and it takes everything in him not to react. his fingers curl onto the blanket, fists clenched, trying so hard to hold himself back. he doesn’t mean to kiss you back. but your lips part slightly, breath brushing over his mouth and he’s gone. his head tilts. mouths open. and then — your tongues meet. a soft press at first. curious. gentle. then you sigh into him, the sound high and breathy, and his body ignites. your tongue strokes against his, slow, languid, sensual and he groans, low in his throat. his hands fist in the blanket beneath you, trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. you taste like mint gum and something sweeter. every brush of your tongue feels like fire. you’re kissing him deeper now, hungrier, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. he follows like he’s been summoned.
this is wrong. you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.
his body moves before his brain can stop it. you sink into the mattress, pulling him halfway on top of you. his elbows braced on either side of your head, caging you in, mouth never leaving his. you pull him closer by the front of his shirt, his hips press into yours, the weight of him dizzying. your tongues slide together again — hot, messy, wet. the kiss turns frantic, full of longing, need, remembrance. you moan into his mouth, and the sound drives him wild. his tongue pushes deeper, licking into you, exploring you like he’s been starved. he swallows your noises like he needs them. like they’re oxygen.
this is so wrong. you have temporary amnesia.
but—god, your mouth feels good. he grinds down without meaning to. his body aches. blood rushing south. cock hardening against your thigh. he’s rock hard and panicking but also can’t stop. “renjun,” you gasp against his mouth, and it’s his undoing. the spell shatters. renjun jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. you blink up at him, dazed. lips swollen, eyes wide, chest heaving. confused. beautiful. wrecked. he stares at your mouth, panting, ruined. the gloss of it. the taste of you still in his tongue. his brain is a mess. every cell in his body screaming for him to go back down and finish what you started. but he’s already on his feet, standing so fast he almost stumbles over your lamp.
“you—uh—you should rest!,” he stammers, backing toward the door, nearly tripping over your nightstand, “like—your brain! still healing! i’ll—uh—i’ll come by tomorrow or something—bye!” and he’s out. the door slams shut. he stumbles into the hallway, heart slamming against his ribcage, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. he barely makes it a few steps before collapsing against your door, breathing hard, like he just escaped a burning building. his lips are swollen. his hands are shaking. his pants are tight. what the fuck just happened? he kissed his best friend’s girlfriend. and he liked it.
❤︎
the door slams behind him. you stay frozen for a second, eyes still on the space where renjun had just been hovering over you. your back presses into the mattress, chest rising and falling gently, lips still parted, still tingling. your fingers lift, slow, hesitant, and brush across your mouth. he kissed you. you kissed him. and it didn’t feel familiar. not the way it should’ve. not the way you were expecting it to. it didn’t feel like coming home. it felt like stumbling into something messy and a little forbidden, even though it shouldn’t be. it felt…new. undeniably new. and god, exciting. your fingers curl slightly at your lips. they still feel warm. a little sore, a little swollen, like they’re still craving more of him. you hadn’t meant to pull him down like that. it just sort of happened. the way he kissed back – cautious at first, but then deeper, more sure. the way he moved like he was losing himself in it. the way his hand gripped the bedsheets. the way his breath hitched when you moaned into his mouth.
he’s a good kisser. like – really good. like he knew exactly how to tilt his head, how to slow down just long enough to make your stomach twist. he kissed you like he didn’t want to want it but couldn’t stop himself. and that made it hotter, somehow. you blink, cheeks burning. was it always like that between us? you try to dig through the fog in your head, waiting for something to click. but it doesn’t. nothing matches. nothing about that kiss felt like a déjà vu. instead, it felt like discovering something for the first time. something you shouldn’t want but do anyway. something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t explain. it didn’t feel like a memory. it felt like chemistry. like maybe…this whole time, the boy you thought was yours has been holding back something you’ve only just gotten a glimpse of. and now you kind of want more.
❤︎
renjun doesnt know how far he’s walked. he’s been wandering around campus aimlessly. it’s nearly sundown now. the sky going that orange-pink color that looks like it should belong in a cheesy romance movie. which feels like an offensive coincidence. he just kissed his best friend’s girlfriend, “god,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, “i’m going to hell.”
he meant to apologize. that’s all he went over there to do. one quick sorry, maybe a hug — not a heated make-out session on your bed. but everything had spiraled out of control the moment you said please. renjun groans again, louder this time. he can still feel your lips. they were soft. too soft. unfairly soft. and worse — he liked kissing you. for a second, longer than a second, he forgot. forgot the memory loss. forgot yangyang. forgot everything but the way you tilted your head, the way you sighed against his mouth, the way your hands tugged on his shirt like you wanted him. which is crazy. because you don’t even know who you are right now. and he definitely knows you’re not his.
“shit,” renjun breathes, he sits on a bench, pressing his elbows into his knees, head in his hands. every single part of him screams the same thing over and over: tell yangyang — he should. god knows, he should. but he won’t. not yet. because what is he even supposed to say? hey bro, remember when you asked me to take care of your girlfriend while you were in germany? well, funny story, she kissed me. i kissed back. accidentally made out with her. my dick got hard. my bad.
no. no way. he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. yangyang trusted him. asked him to do this. and that’s exactly what he was doing…right? he’s taking care of you. being there when you’re fragile and confused and desperate for connection. the kiss wasn’t planned. it wasn’t romantic. it was—you asked. you insisted. you pulled him down. and maybe he didn’t fight back hard enough but it was only to calm you down. to…help you. that’s it. that’s what he’s telling himself. even if his lips are still tingling. yangyang doesn’t need to know. not yet. maybe not ever. if your memory comes back tomorrow, it’ll be like nothing happened. and if it doesnt…then maybe he’ll come clean. eventually. possibly. probably. maybe not. he sighs. he needs to get it together. he’s never been the messy one. that’s usually haechan. or jaemin when he’s being overly dramatic. renjun’s always been the stable one. the logical one. the one who doesn’t do feelings — and now he’s starring in his own personal romantic tragedy.
✿ HEARTBREAKINGLY KISSED ✿
the dream house always threw the first party of the year. the kind of chaos freshmen tell their hometown friends about. the kind of chaos upperclassmen lived for. by 10PM, the backyard was packed. the dj booth was pulsing with bass-heavy remixes. colored lights strobed across the sweaty crowd. the pool, now set up for the summer heat, in the backyard, glowed under string lights, surrounded by drunk, half-naked students shouting and throwing hands full of water at each other.
renjun stood by the keg, nursing his red solo cup, wondering, not for the first time, why he showed up at all. he told himself he needed to blow off steam. that he deserved to dance, drink, let loose and yet now he’s surrounded by girls still trying to claw at him.
you weren’t sure why your stomach twisted the moment you stepped past the glowing fairy lights strung across the gate. the party was in full swing and yet as chaotic as it all was, something about this felt…familiar. you looked up at ningning beside you, sipping something blue out of a cup and looking around with mild amusement, “are you having fun?,” she said, swaying to the beat.
you nodded slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, “i think i’ve been here before.”
ningning blinked, “yeah? we usually attend the dream parties.” you nod, squinting toward the backyard, scanning for that one familiar face. you hadn’t seen renjun all day and you miss him. you weren’t clingy — you were just…confused. lost. trying your best. he was the only person who felt safe. and tonight, you’d been looking forward to being near him again. maybe a little too much.
“where is he?” you asked softly, more to yourself than anyone else. ningning raised a brow, “you okay?”
you smiled faintly, “i’m fine. it’s just….” she stared at you for a beat, then reached out and gave your hand a soft squeeze, “just go find him, babe. i’ll be over there near the jello shots.” you gave her a grateful look and turned, weaving through the crowd. you spot him in the yard, by the keg, under the neon lights, in conversation with some guy wearing shorts with palm trees on them. he’s in a white shirt and khaki shorts, jaw flexed as he sipped something from a solo cup. and surrounding him were girls. like moths to a flame. you watched them — three, maybe four, clustered around him, laughing too hard, touching his arm, twirling their hair. he barely reacted. but you did. you didn’t even think. jealousy wasn’t a feeling you expected tonight. but the rush of heat behind your ribs said otherwise. you cut through the crowd, marching up to him with a determined smile and a skip in your step. he didn’t see you coming — not until you were already there, sliding an arm around his neck like it belonged there. the girls blinked, faltering.
renjun turned to look at you, blinking, confused, a little drunk, “hey–?” and then you kissed him. right there in front of everyone. you didn’t hold back. you went all in. hand at the nape of his neck. body close. your lips pressing against his like you were claiming something that had always been yours. you weren’t trying to be hot or make a scene. you just needed them to know. he’s taken. he’s yours. renjun tensed, just for a second, and then relaxed slightly into it. his lips didn’t move. didn’t deepen the kiss, but he didn’t push you away either. his hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them. when you pulled away, you gave him a soft, satisfied smile, innocent-ish eyes on display, “i was looking for you.”
the girls slowly dispersed, annoyed, muttering something about “oh, so they’re really together” and “ugh, why is he hotter now that he’s taken.”
renjun blinked, mouth slightly open thinking what the fuck just happened as he tried to ground himself again. he gets a good look at you. you’re wearing a yellow checkered dress, short and sweet, enough to compete with the sun. and then slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. not because he liked the kiss — no, definitely not. maybe a little. it was wrong. so wrong. you are still not his girlfriend. but he’d been waiting months for those girls to leave him alone. and all it took was you. maybe being a fake boyfriend isn’t so bad. so he grinned — not the nervous, awkward renjun grin you were used to. no, this one was crooked. playful. almost cocky, “well,” he said, shrugging as he slid an arm around your waist, “guess you found me, love.”
your smile widened. it was the first time he used it. that nickname that made you blush extremely. he took another shot. something to get him through the night. and then he played along. he pulled you with him onto the dance floor. his hands stayed on your waist. when you giggled at the beat drop, he spun you around and pulled you back flush against his chest, your hips grinding exactly where he needs you to. his breath tickled your ear, “you're not a bad dancer,” he mumbled, “didn’t think you’d have rhythm.”
you grinned, looking up at him, “is that a compliment?”
“i’m drunk. it might be.” at some point, you fed him a pineapple. he took it with his teeth, lips brushing your fingers. eyes locked on yours. he didn’t let go of your hand after. you leaned your head on his shoulder. he let you. and he was in trouble. because for the first time in weeks, he was actually having fun. no chasing girls away. no dodging confessions. no rumors. no chaos. just…you. laughing at his jokes, dancing like nobody was watching, sipping his drink when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. you felt good beside him. and renjun felt drunk on more than just the shots he took. he wasn’t even sure what flipped the switch. maybe it was the way your arm curled around his when you leaned into him. or how your dress kept riding up every time you swayed your hips. or how your ass would grind onto him without you realizing. or maybe it was just the way you looked at him — soft, adoring, like he was yours and always had been.
he broke. without thinking, he tugged your hand and pulled you off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the way you giggled in surprise, “where are we going?,” you asked breathlessly, trying to keep up. he didn’t answer. didn’t trust himself to. he should’ve stopped. should’ve let go. but everything felt too hot — the music, the night, the way your fingers tightened around his. his blood was buzzing in his veins, brain fogged with lust and guilt and something else he didn’t want to name. he found the first empty bathroom upstairs, slammed the door shut behind you both, and locked it.
“jun—,” you didn’t finish. because the second the door shut, he was on you. his mouth crashed into yours with no warning. no hesitation. just hunger. a surge of raw, unchecked desire that had been simmering since that afternoon on your bed. your back hit the bathroom counter with a soft thud, but you didn’t notice. all you could feel was him — his body, his mouth, his heat, everywhere at once. the kiss was messy, uncoordinated, desperate. tongue first. like he couldn’t get deep enough, fast enough. your lips parted without thinking, welcoming the slick glide of his tongue, the way he licked into you like he was trying to drink you down. he groaned into your mouth, deep and needy, as your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, pulling him in until there was no space left between you. his hips slotted between yours — and then he moved. a slow, deliberate grind. friction. you gasped. the drag of his jeans against your bare thigh. the way his cock pressed hard and hot through his pants, right between your legs. the sensation was blinding. the pressure is perfect. his lips devoured yours again as he rocked forward, slow and firm, grinding himself into the soaked center of your underwear like he couldn’t help it. your hands flew to his waist, anchoring him there, moaning into his mouth as your hips lifted, chasing the friction.
“shit,” he cursed, pulling back just enough to look at you, dazed, flushed, lips glossy with him, “you’re so—,” he didn’t finish. just kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding hotly against yours. one of his hands curled around the back of your neck, holding you steady, while the other slipped down, grabbing the underside of your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. you moaned. loud and unfiltered. and that sound, god, that sweet sound, made him thrust. it wasn’t soft. it was needy. your hips met halfway, grinding into him like your body had always known him. your panties were soaked now, the fabric doing nothing to protect you from the friction of his jeans, the hard line of his cock rutting against you again and again. it wasn’t enough. but it was too much. so much you couldn’t breathe. you broke the kiss with a gasp, head falling back as he leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. his breath was ragged, hot against your skin.
“renjun—,” you moaned, voice trembling. he ground into you again. harder. you cried out softly, legs tightening around his waist. his hands slid under your dress, fingers digging into your thighs as he rocked you both together, slow and dirty, his cock dragging over your clit through all the layers in just the right way. you were so close. too close. your nails scraped down his back. he kissed you again, stealing every breath, swallowing every sound. the rhythm picked up. friction sharp. focused. his hips bucking against yours, your dress bunched up around your waist, your underwear sticking to you from how wet you were.
“fuck,” he hissed into your mouth, and it was the most broken he’d ever sounded — and then he paused. not because he wanted to but because he had to. his hips stilled, his body shaking with restraining, head bowed against your shoulder, breath ragged, heart pounding. what the fuck was he doing? his hands were on someone else’s girlfriend. he pulled back. you blinked up at him, dazed, lips swollen, confused and breathless, your body still begging for more. you looked too perfect. too innocent. you had no idea this wasn’t real. this wasn’t right. he turned away, cursing under his breath. his reflection looked as wrecked as you felt. sweat at his hairline, red flushed across his cheeks and neck. his hard-on painfully obvious, straining against his zipper.
“renjun?” you asked again, confused, reaching for him. needing him to say something. but he couldn’t look at you. not when you were still spread against the counter. not when you were still panting. still trembling. still his god damn best friend’s girlfriend. he shook his head, pushing your hand away, “w-we should stop,” he whispered each word like it hurt to say, “you should rest.”
you stared at him, confused, hurt, “did i do something wrong?”
“no,” he says, not meeting your eyes, “you didn’t.” but he did. he kept his gaze down as he unlocked the door, then slipped out — heart in his throat, guilt like concrete in his chest. the door clicked shut and for a second, you just stood there. staring. breathing too hard. the mirror reflected a version of you you didn’t quite recognize. lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from renjun’s fingers, your dress wrinkled from how close he’d pulled you. you looked kissed. thoroughly, heartbreakingly kissed. and then he left you. no explanation. no real goodbye. just that look in his eyes, wild, panicked, and then he was gone. you blinked a few times, the bathroom light suddenly too harsh. the pounding bass from the party below felt distant now, like it was happening on another planet. your heart was still thudding from the kiss. your skin still remembered the heat of his hands, the feel of his length on your core. but all you could think about was his voice. quiet. low. almost guilty. he kissed you like you were oxygen. like he’d die if he didn’t touch you. and then he ran.
something was off — that was the second time now. the second time he’d kissed you, then pulled away like he was drowning in regret. and it hurt. a little more than you wanted to admit. you didn’t understand what you were doing wrong. was it you? were you not good at kissing? did he not want to kiss you? you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to swallow the ugly knot forming in your throat. he didn’t even look at you when he left. and you hated how much that stung. somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice — a quiet, uncertain one — whispered: maybe you’re not the girlfriend you used to be. but that couldn’t be right, right? because he held you like he didn’t want to let go. he kissed you like he needed to. if this wasn’t real, if he didn’t love you…then what the hell were you doing? you turned to the sink and ran your hands under cold water, trying to calm the flush in your cheeks. the party raged downstairs. but inside your chest, things were quieting. still. empty. and for the first time since the accident…you didn’t feel safe. you felt…unwanted.
❤︎
renjun ran into his room, slamming the door shut behind him, locked it, and didn’t waste a second. he didn’t even bother turning on the light. just yanked his pants down with shaking hands, breath shallow, pulse loud in his ears. his cock was so hard. aching. throbbing like it was angry at him. “fuck,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around himself. he stroked once — slow, tight — and his knees almost buckled. it wasn’t just arousal. it was you. the feel of your soaked panties dragging against his jeans. the way you moaned his name like it meant something. the desperate way your hips chased his, grinding into him like you needed more. he fucked his fist harder, faster. teeth clenched. gasping through it. desperate to get it out. the want. the ache. you. just come. just fucking come and it’ll go away. his mind flashed with your lips, your tongue, your dress bunched up around your waist. “god—,” his hips stuttered. his hand kept moving. faster, rougher, like he could punish the feeling out of himself. like if he just emptied himself enough, the guilt would drain with it. and then he came. hard. hot. all over his hand. a sharp breath and his forehead dropping against the door like he could disappear into it. but the want didn’t leave. the guilt didn’t ease. you were still there — in his head, under his skin, on his tongue. and he hated himself for it.
✿ BROODING OR WHATEVER ✿
three days. you hadn’t heard from him since. and it made you sick with overthinking. ningning tried to reassure you, “he’s probably just busy, you know art boys. brooding or whatever,” but the doubt sat heavy in your chest. maybe you pushed him too far. maybe you ruined it. so today, you were going to fix it. you didn’t know how, exactly. but you figured food couldn’t hurt. so you packed a tupperware full of something different this time. something thoughtful. something not spicy. you played it safe – eggs, grilled fish, rice. all neatly arranged. a peace offering. an apology. maybe a please still like me without having to say the words out loud.
you entered painting ii. with your stomach in knots. he was already there. seated at your usual shared table. head down. hair a little messy. he hadn’t noticed you walk in yet. his brush moving slowly across the canvas like he was painting in molasses. the tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room. you took your seat beside him quietly. he didn’t look up. you stared at your bag for a moment, then slowly opened it and pulled out the container. you set it down gently on the edge of his workspace, careful not to get any oil on the easel or brushes. then you turned to him with a soft, hopeful smile, “hi.”
renjun paused. barely. his hand stopped mid-stroke, hovering above the canvas. then slowly, he glanced sideways at you. his expression was unreadable. you pushed the container toward him, “i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise. i did research on like… low-acidity, stomach-friendly, emotionally-neutral foods.” a beat. then another. he blinked. looked down at the food. then back at you. silence. you expected it. this weird, unbearable pause where it felt like the whole room had gone soundless. professor yuta’s voice started at the front, launching into something about color tones and shadow compositions, but it barely registered. renjun looked back at his canvas without a word. something caved in your chest. you blinked, swallowing the ache. still, you whispered, “i just… i wanted to make it for you.”
that finally made him flinch. he didn’t look at you, but his fingers tightened around his brush. after a long moment, he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t mean it to sound cruel, or maybe he did, but either way, it knocked the air out of your lungs. you nodded once, quietly pulling your sketchbook toward you, flipping to a blank page with trembling fingers. “right,” you said softly, “okay.” and then, like nothing happened, you began to draw. because that’s what you did. that’s what he did. that’s what both of you were supposed to do here. but it didn’t bring you the peace like it usually does.
❤︎
he saw you walk in. of course he did. renjun felt your presence before he even looked up — this soft, quiet breeze of nerves and sweetness that always seemed to follow you. you didn’t say anything at first, just sat down next to him, like his absence hadn’t been loud and cruel and deliberate. and he hated that. he hated how gentle you looked, how hopeful your expression was when you set the container beside his hand like it meant something.
“i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise…” you were smiling. all soft, lips pulled tight with nervous energy, voice a little too fast, like you’d practiced this speech in your head a dozen times before saying it out loud. renjun felt the knot form in his stomach before you even finished. god. he couldn’t even look at you for longer than a second. you were trying. you were trying so hard. and he didn’t deserve it. he was the one who kissed you at the party. who let his hands trail up your back and into your hair. who moaned into your mouth like some kind of pathetic, weak—fuck. you didn’t even remember yangyang. you didn’t even know what you were doing. and it made all of it — the kiss, the touch, the look in your eyes — feel like a punishment and a betrayal at the same time. he’d promised to take care of you. not take advantage of you. not kiss you in a bathroom and then disappear like a coward. he wasn’t supposed to notice how warm your smile felt. or how the way you touched the edge of your hair when you were nervous made his chest feel weird. so he stayed silent.
“i just… i wanted to make it for you.” renjun blinked. his grip on the brush tightened. he could’ve said something. anything. he could’ve lied and smiled and said thank you. that the last few days had felt like shit and he regretted running away.
but instead he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t smile. didn’t dare to look at you. because if he did, he’d break. if he let himself really thank you, if he let even a sliver of affection creep out, it would all come tumbling forward — the kiss in the bathroom, the heat under his skin, the part of him that wanted to make space for you. he couldn’t afford that. not now. not ever. he felt the air shift the moment the words left his mouth. felt the way your shoulders stilled, your throat bobbed with the swallow. the way your fingers trembled slightly as you turned to your sketchbook and said, “right. okay.”
renjun’s jaw tightened. he picked up his brush again and stared at his half-finished painting like it had the answers. like if he focused hard enough on the texture of the clouds or the shadows on the tree line, maybe he wouldn’t feel the weight of your attention pressing into his skin. maybe his guilt wouldn’t taste so much like something sweet. but it did. and he hated that. he hated that soft things — sweet things — were the most dangerous of all. because they made people feel. they made him feel. and feeling things? that was where people got hurt. so he kept quiet. he didn’t look at you after that. couldn’t. but fuck, he felt you. painting like your heart was breaking. like you were trying to keep it together with the brush and the canvas. and he sat there like an idiot with a container full of apology food in front of him, hating himself more than anything else in the world. he keeps hurting you. he knew better. because even though he wanted to pretend he didn’t care — he did. he cared. too much.
❤︎
renjun didn’t mean to open it. he really didn’t. the plastic tupperware just sat there on the edge of the table – a quiet, gentle thing. a peace offering. a reminder. a wound. it sat through the first thirty minutes of class untouched. but he couldn’t stop glancing at it. at the neat little lid. the careful packing. the tiny note scribbled in your tiny handwriting on a yellow sticky tab stuck to the top: no spice this time, i triple checked ♡ — triple checked. god. you probably woke up early to make it. googled things. worried about whether the grilled fish was too salty or if the rice would get hard by noon. worried about what kind of eggs he liked. and despite everything, the guilt, his inner conflict, the distance he kept shoving between you, he slowly reached for it.
you were painting beside him in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. not once did you look his way again. good. because when he peeled back the lid and the faint aroma hit him, warm, savory, mild, something in his chest cracked. he took a bite. then another. and another. it was simple. safe. balanced. it tasted like someone cared. and renjun wanted to scream. because he didn’t deserve this. not after how he acted. but he ate anyway. every bite, one spoon at a time, and every chew made the guilt worse. you didn’t say anything. didn’t even glance his way. but he knew you noticed. he saw the way your posture loosened just slightly. the way your grip on your brush relaxed. the way the corner of your lip twitched, like you were trying not to smile.
and god help him… it made the food taste even better. he’d tell himself it was just to avoid being wasteful. that it’d be rude not to eat something someone made for you. but deep down, he knew the truth. he wanted it. he wanted something from you again — your softness, your hope, your ridiculous effort. even if he didn’t deserve it. and sitting there, chewing slowly, warmth blooming quietly in his chest, renjun realized the truth he didn’t want to admit: you were breaking him. not with kisses or touches or accidental moans in the dark. but with care. with effort. with food in a box and a note stuck to the lid.
✿ HONEY AND CHAMOMILE TEA ✿
renjun didn’t say a word the entire walk home. you hadn’t spoken either. but something between you had shifted. he didn’t know when it exactly happened. maybe it was when you quietly slid the empty tupperware back into you bag after class, cheeks pink and hopeful again. maybe it was when you smiled, just a little. not because he thanked you, because he didn’t, but because he ate it. he accepted it. and that was enough for you. it messed him up a little. a lot. so now, here he was, hands in his pockets, walking a step behind you under the amber glow of the sunset. his own quiet way of apologizing.
the late summer air clung to his skin. the world smelled like asphalt and flowers and a faint trace of you — something sweet and warm, like jasmine and sugar. you glanced over your shoulder as you reached your apartment, “umm…do you wanna come in for a bit?” your voice was tentative, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask. he should’ve said no. but instead, something in him said, “just for a couple minutes.” you made tea. renjun sat on your carpeted floors, stiff, awkward. your room felt like a place where sunlight liked to stay. he wasn’t sure why he was still here. he’d told himself it would just be a minute. a polite thanks for the food, maybe a nod of peace after what happened in class. but now here he was. sitting on your carpet, hands wrapped around the calcifer mug, you next to him, holding your totoro mug, sipping tea in silence. pretending he wasn’t remembering the last time he was in this room. pretending the ghost of your kiss wasn’t still burned into his mouth. pretending you weren’t slowly, unintentionally, rewriting everything he believed in romance.
“it’s chamomile,” you said, breaking the silence, “it’s supposed to be calming.” he nods. the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t sharp like before. it felt quieter. sadder. then you offered, softly, “i added honey. i thought you’d like that.” he blinked. of course you did. of course you’d think of that. of course you were still trying. still seeing him even when he tried to push you away. that’s just the kind of person you were. and the worst part was — it worked. the honey, the tea, the quiet effort of it all. it all worked. it made something in him ache. he looked at you. you were sipping again, cheeks a little flushed from the warmth, your lashes fluttering slightly as you blinked down into the mug. so soft. so stupidly sweet. no wonder he’s in love with you, renjun thought bitterly.
you took a sip, fingers curled tightly around your mug, “you know,” you said after a moment, eyes downcast, “i keep trying to remember things like how we met or our first date but my mind is just…blank.” renjun stared at the tea. his throat tightened. you kept going, voice smaller now, “it’s weird. i feel like there’s a version of me that exists and i’m just walking around in the shell of it. and i don’t know how to be that girl again,” you smiled faintly, your eyes a little glassy. it was clear you were pushing the tears away, “but it’s okay, i’ll figure it out. i’m trying.”
renjun turned to look at you. really look at you. at the soft curve of your lashes. the gentle set of your mouth. the quiet strength in the way you kept talking like you weren’t completely alone in this. like he hadn’t made you feel like you were. and something in him cracked again. because this softness, this effort, this fragile hope — you were doing it all for someone who wasn’t even here. for a boy who dropped a message and disappeared. for a best friend who hadn’t checked in once. who had put all the responsibility on renjun. and he was the one sitting here now. drinking your tea. walking you home. hurting you and still being cared for. it wasn’t fair.
you set your mug down gently, “you okay?”
he blinked, startled. his voice came out hoarse, “i just think…” you waited. renjun swallowed hard, “you deserve someone who shows up.”
you looked at him, confused, “what?”
he shook his head, laughing bitterly, “i mean — this. you. sitting here. making tea. apologizing even when you didn’t do anything wrong,” he looked down at the mug, “you’re kind. and sweet. and you try even when it’s hard. and he should be here. not me,” he muttered. you blinked, “who?”
renjun froze. fuck. “nothing,” he said quickly, forcing a smile, “i just meant…i’m not good at this…i should be more present.”
you kept watching him, head tilted a little, “you are here though.” and those words silenced everything in him. because yeah. he was here. even when he shouldn’t be the one to be here. he stared down at his own hands in his lap, letting the silence take over again. you looked at him with that small, tentative smile again, “so,” you said softly, “how long are you gonna keep looking like you’re being held here against your will?”
he blinked. you were teasing him for the first time. but gently. carefully. like you didn’t want to scare him off, “i’m not being held,” he muttered. “i’m just…” he trailed off. shook his head. “never mind.”
you tilted your head slightly, “you’re just…?”
he sighed, leaning back against the bed frame, “just trying to… forget some things.”
“is it the kiss?” you asked so bluntly it nearly knocked the wind out of him. renjun’s eyes snapped to yours, “what?”
“i mean…” you looked away, cheeks flushing, “i know you didn’t want it. here in my room and at the party. i know i kept insisting.” he opened his mouth. closed it again. he didn’t know what to say to that. but then you kept going, voice softer now. guilt sank into his chest like a stone.
“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” you whispered, “i just… i didn’t want those girls near you. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry.”
renjun stared at you. at the soft shake of your shoulders. at the way you gripped your mug tighter, curling in on yourself like you wanted to disappear. and all he could think about was how wrong you were. his heart was thudding, uneven and loud in his ears. everything about this moment felt like a soft unraveling. he didn’t know when he moved. just that one second, he was still frozen against the bed frame and the next – he was leaning in.
his voice was barely a breath, “don’t be sorry.” you looked up, eyes wide and blinking, lips parting with the start of another apology that never made it out. because renjun kissed you. soft. sure. his lips brushed over yours like he was learning the shape of them. he could taste the honey from your tea, feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. your hands stayed frozen around the mug for a beat. and then, slowly, you set it down and reached for him. his fingers settled on your back as he leaned in deeper, the kiss growing more certain, more real. you sighed into his mouth and it broke something in him. he didn’t run. not this time. he kissed you like he meant it. because he did. he kissed you even though he shouldn’t. even though you didn’t remember. even though you weren’t his to begin with. but you felt so warm under his hands. so soft against his mouth. he could feel your heartbeat thrumming through your chest, matching his own like some terrible, beautiful rhythm. when he finally pulled back, he was breathing harder than expected. so were you. your eyes opened slowly, glassy and confused, like you weren’t sure what had just happened. he rested his forehead gently against yours. didn’t say anything.
then you whispered, “you kissed me.”
and he nodded, “i did.”
a small, shaky smile crept onto your face, “are you gonna run away now?”
he let out a soft laugh, eyes closing for a second, before shaking his head, “no.” you smiled at him, pulling him in for another sweet kiss. and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like he was standing at the edge of a mistake. it felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. even if the rest of the world — and his never ending guilt — would come crashing in tomorrow. right now, it was just this. just the two of you. on your bedroom floor, drinking chamomile tea and sharing soft kisses like they were secrets.
✿ SKETCHES AND SHARED GLANCES ✿
renjun didn’t make a decision out loud. he didn’t confess anything to himself. but something changed after that kiss on your bedroom floor. for the past five days, without every saying why, he started walking you home. every day. no questions. no excuses. most times, you’d reach out first, fingers brushing his like you weren’t sure you were allowed to hold him. sometimes he’d just take your hand, quietly. neither of you said anything about it. about how natural it started to feel. the way your fingers laced through his like they were meant to be there. he was taking care of you. just like he promised. letting you remember naturally. that’s it. so when you turned to him with that sweet smile, asking, “are you coming in?,” he always said yes. without hesitation. without the old voice in his head screaming traitor. just…yes. the routine become second nature. your apartment. the soft lighting of your room. the softness of your carpet. the airconditioner humming. you’d both kick your shoes off and sit across from each other, sketchpads balanced on your knees, a pitcher of iced tea resting between you with your mismatched studio ghibli mugs. soft. comfortable. yours. and every so often, you’d scoot a little closer, peek over at his sketch, lean your head on his shoulder. and renjun would kiss you, quick or lingering, and you’d smile against his mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. it wasn’t electric. it wasn’t chaotic. it was peaceful. and that terrified him. because peace had never been something he associated with relationships. love was supposed to be dizzying and painful. full of aching and unreciprocated devotion. but this was honey and chamomile. this was pages of sketches and shared glances. this was you tucking your legs underneath you, stealing a sip from his cup without asking, leaning your head on his shoulder while he drew.
he was still cautious. still guilt-ridden. but he kept showing up. because you didn’t interrupt his peace. you didn’t disturb his calm. you contributed to it. some nights, he’d linger longer than he meant to. watch the way your brow furrowed in concentration over a flower sketch. watch the way your hand curled delicately around your pencil like the weight of the world was tucked into its tip, “does this look weird?,” you’d murmur, turning your sketchpad toward him, lips pursed in question. renjun would take it gently, eyes sweeping over the lines you’d drawn. a leaf, slightly off-center. a petal too long, “no,” he’d say. and he meant it, “it’s perfect, love.” and maybe you blushed every time he said that. maybe he did too. he told himself this was temporary. just until you remembered. just until you didn’t need him anymore. but he kept drawing you when you weren’t looking — quick sketches in the corners of his pages. the curve of your shoulder. the way you held your mug. the soft smile you wore when you thought he wasn't paying attention. and those eyes that always looked at him like he held your entire world in his hands. and he thought, for the first time in his life, maybe this little world you two built, quiet and gentle and slow, could be enough. just for now. just for a little while longer.
there were nights when the weight of everything caught up with you. nights when the past slipped through your fingers like sand, and you couldn’t tell what was memory and what was imagination. those nights, the tears would come. you’d try to hide it at first, wiping them away quickly, forcing a smile when he looked up from his sketch. but he always noticed. “hey,” he said gently, voice breaking through the hush “what’s wrong?” and you’d laugh, shaky and bitter, swiping at your face, “i don’t know. i just feel like there’s pieces of me missing and i can’t figure it out.” renjun didn’t speak right away. he just set his sketchpad down and pulled you into him, hands cradling you like you were something fragile. something worth keeping whole. your tears soaked his collar. your fists curled into his shirt. and he kissed every tear away, one by one. “it’s okay. ” he murmured. lips brushing your cheek. your jaw. your temple. “you’ll remember. you’re gonna be okay. i’m right here.” he didn’t tell you that it hurt to say those things. that he didn’t know how long he was going to be here. but you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world. and he let you. he held you.
❤︎
tonight, you were a little touchier than usual. renjun noticed the shift the moment you walked in your apartment, hand in hand, your thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against the back of his like you didn’t even know you were doing it. you smiled up at him as you always did, soft and a little shy, but there was something else there tonight — a kind of quiet urgency, a magnetic pull that hummed just beneath your skin. he felt it too. it lived in the space between your palms, in the lingering brush of your shoulder against his as you sat beside him on the floor. in the way your thigh brushed against his jeans as you sat closer than usual. and when you reached for your sketchpad, your body leaned fully against his. he turned his head to glance at you, you were already looking at him.
you didn’t say anything. you just kissed him. slow at first. gentle. the same soft sweetness he’d grown addicted to. the kind that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know how to handle. the kind of ache that only lives in the spaces where love is quietly forming, where need is blooming. your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips parting against his and the kiss deepened. turned hungry, messy, tongue sliding softly against his in a rhythm that didn’t ask for permission. you climbed onto his lap without hesitation, your knees on either side of his hips, the soft cotton of your shorts brushing against his jeans, arms wrapped around his neck, mouth moving against his like you were trying to draw something from him that he was still holding back. he gripped your waist without thinking, pulling you flush against him, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. the slope of your sides, the soft dip of your lower back, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed just under the edge of your shirt. your lips ghosted over his jaw, then back to his mouth, your breath hot and uneven, your voice even softer, “junie…”
fuck. that nickname did something to him. something dangerous. “i need more,” you whispered, words brushing his lips, “please…”
“love…,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut. he opened his mouth say something, to remind himself that this wasn’t supposed to happen. because this was another lie. the kind of line that couldn’t be blurred with guilt and affection and soft excuses.
you whined at the sound of his nickname for you. he’d only started using it recently — and now it rolled off his tongue like a confession, “i know we’re taking it slow,” you whispered, “and i get it, i really do. but i just…i need you. just your fingers. anything. please.”
and how could he possibly say no to that? to you. the way you begged for him. the way your voice hitched on that last word. like he was the only person in the world who could give you what you needed. he stared up at you, jaw clenched, heart pounding in his throat. there were alarm bells blaring somewhere far away in the back of his mind, warnings written in bold red that screamed she’s not yours. she doesn’t remember. don’t cross this line. this was supposed to be fake. but there’s nothing fake about the way your thighs trembled around his hips. nothing fake about your hands curling into his shirt. nothing fake about the way you said please, like it physically hurt to be this close and still not have him — so he kissed you again. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, exploring soft skin like it was the only thing that could ground him. he kissed you until he couldn’t breathe. until your moans spilled into his mouth and made his stomach twist with heat. he let his hands dip lower, gripping your thighs, sliding up under your shorts as you whimpered, your hips rolling into his. one hand settled at the curve of your ass, the other trailing along the inside of your thigh, teasing, waiting, until you whimpered again, “junie, please…”
“fuck, love,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, eyes clenched shut, “you’re gonna ruin me.” and still, he gave in. his fingers brushed over your core, barely there, and you gasped into his mouth. you were so warm, so soft, already damp through the thin cotton. his thumb circled you gently through the fabric, “you’re so wet already,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and low, “you want this that bad?”
you nodded against him, trembling, “so bad…”
“yeah?,” he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, his voice almost reverent, “sweet girl…”
he slid his fingers under the band of your shorts, dragging them down just enough to slip past your panties. you were slick and warm and desperate under his touch, and when he finally slid two fingers between your folds, you moaned so prettily it echoed through every corner of his mind like a sweet melody. he learned the shape of you by feel — the way you gasped when he circled your clit, the way you pushed into his palm when he added more pressure. his fingers explored, teased, stroked until he could feel the way your whole body responded to the smallest motion. you were trying to stay quiet, to stay still, but you couldn’t. and he didn’t want you to.
“is that okay?,” he asked, voice thick with awe, “here?”
you nodded quickly, clutching his shoulders, “more…i need you inside.” he listened. he slipped two fingers inside you and you felt your body seize around them. the way you clenched around his digits drives him insane. you were so tight. and for a dangerous second, he wonders what it would feel like to have you wrapped around him. you whimpered, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. his thumb resumed its gentle strokes against your clit and your whole body rolled against his hand. you whimpered his name, high and broken, “junie…” he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the hinge of your throat. every nerve in his body was on fire. you looked like a dream above him. cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, lips parted and trembling. his hand, slick and warm between your thighs, moved a little faster. he could feel you pulsing around his fingers, feel the way your body shiver with each stroke, “feels good, love?”
you nodded quickly. he felt your hand move between your bodies, soft, searching. he stilled just slightly when your fingers brushed the bulge of his jeans. “can i…?,” you asked, eyes wide and pleading. he almost told you no. almost stopped this before the line completely vanished. but then your hand was unbuttoning him, sliding into his boxers, fingers curling gently around him and everything rational in him melted. you watched him the whole time like you were studying him, memorizing the way his chest rose and fell faster. the way he swallowed when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around him. he was hard. already leaking at the tip.
“fuck,” he gasped, head falling against your bed frame. you stroked him slowly, tenderly, learning the rhythm of his body with each motion. he let a strangled whimper, hips jerking up into your touch instinctively. your hand wrapped around him was too much. too intimate. too good.
“am i doing it right?,” you asked, eyes wide, sincere.
“god, yes,” he breathed, hand still moving inside you, “you’re doing so good, love.”
you kissed his jaw, “want us to come together.”
his voice cracked, whimpering, “y-you’re killing me.” you moaned softly in his neck, hips stuttering, as his fingers pushed deeper, dragging against the spot inside you that made you cry out softly, grinding down harder on his hand, more desperate now. meanwhile, your hand around him grew slick with pre-cum, stroking him with shaky, eager fingers, matching his rhythm, you moaned, face tucked into his neck, “junie…i’m so close…don’t stop…” he didn’t. couldn’t. his fingers never let up. pushing, curling, dragging as your hand tightened around him, the strokes becoming a little sloppier, more desperate. “come with me…please,” and it was over. you shattered around him, gasping, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm rushed through you, thighs trembling, body arching against his. he held you through it, fingers never stopping, kissing you through every second of your high. your hand stuttered on him, squeezing, pumping him through his own climax as he spilled hot and messy into your palm, breath caught in his throat, a pretty whine escaping him as he pressed his face into your shoulder. it was messy. hot. intimate. something he could never take back. and he didn’t want to. not in this moment. you both sat there, breathless and still wrapped up in each other, your hand still around him, his fingers still buried in you, bodies humming from the memory of learning each other like it meant something. he looked up at you, your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and sleepy. you looked like a painting he wished he painted.
❤︎
renjun hadn’t slept. he’d gone home late, fingers still tingling with the feeling of you. the scent of you, warm skin, soft shampoo, the faintest trace of tea and jasmine. it all clung to his skin like a brand. he sat in his bed, back against the headboard, his sketchpad lay open in his lap, a pencil clutched like a lifeline. the page in front of him was a mess of fragments — not real portraits, not real compositions. just pieces of you. remnants of last night in graphite. your mouth, parted, mid-whisper. the curve of your jaw where his fingers had traced. the delicate shape of your hand wrapped around his cock. he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight. what the fuck am i doing? he flipped the page and tried again. sketching a quiet outline of your eye, lashes soft, lids lowered like they had been last night when you kissed him slow, sweet, needy. he remembered the weight of your thighs around him. the way you said his name like a prayer. he dropped the pencil. his chest was too tight. his cock was hardening with every second. he couldn’t focus. couldn’t do anything but sit in the wreckage of what he’d done and let it crush him, slowly. because fuck. he crossed the line. no. he obliterated the line. he fingered you. you jacked him off. you’d kissed him like you meant it and he’d kissed you back like he needed it. and worse — it hadn’t felt like a mistake at all at the moment. it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense. and that terrified him. you weren’t his. you were never supposed to be. yangyang has asked him – trusted him – to take care of you. not to touch you. not to kiss you in the dark. not to let you ride out your moans on his hand and call him junie in a voice so soft it made his heart clench. but he let it happen. he wanted it to happen. and the worst part? he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. not the way he should have. because it wasn’t just about lust. not really. it was the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when you were tired. the way you always poured a little extra honey into his mug. the way you looked at him like he was someone worth waiting for — worth forgiving. it was the soft silence between your bodies as you sketched side by side on your bedroom floor, knees touching. it was you. he buried his face in his palms, groaning low into the quiet room, “this is so fucked.” then his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t move at first. just stared at the glow lighting up the screen on his nightstand.
yangyang 🐑: hey dude
yangyang 🐑: sorry i haven’t been able to check up
yangyang 🐑: everything’s so hectic right now
yangyang 🐑: how’s my girlfriend?
renjun can’t help but let out a bitter scoff — my girlfriend. right. the one who doesn’t remember him. the one who kissed someone else. the one who’s falling asleep every night thinking renjun is the one holding her together. because he is. he exhaled slowly. then replied.
renjun 🦊: she’s okay. everything’s fine.
he hit send before he could think too hard. the lie sat heavy on his screen. then he turned his phone face-down again and shoved the sketchpad to the floor, curling into himself under the blankets like it would help. he was losing the war in his head. and a part of him didn’t even want to fight anymore. but reality had sharp edges. because eventually, you would remember. and when that day comes…when yangyang comes back and you look at renjun with clear eyes and whole memory, what would happen then? would you regret this? would you pull away? would you forget the way you whispered please into his mouth? or would you finally realize that the boy who had stayed was never the one you loved in the first place? renjun ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling, chest hollow and heavy. he was falling for you. and there was no safety net anymore.
✿ THE END OF A MOVIE ✿
it’s sunday. renjun showed up at your door with a shy smile and two tickets. “let’s go to the amusement park,” he said simply, “you said you didn’t remember our first date…i thought maybe we could make a new one.” your heart did a little skip at that. you blinked at him, barefoot in your doorway, still in your oversized sleep shirt with your hair a bit of a mess, “wait, like…today?”
renjun nodded, a little unsure, “if you want.” you did. so you went. and that’s how you ended up at the gates of the city’s most colorful amusement park before noon, in a yellow top and denim shorts with renjun beside you in a soft blue button-up, holding your hand like it was habit now. he looked calm, soft in the sun, hair a little windblown. but inside he was spiraling. the other night had crossed a line. a line he couldn’t take back. so today he had to balance the scales. remind himself that he could be gentle. that he could give you something good. something pure. something that didn’t feel like betrayal. you didn’t know any of that, of course. you just knew renjun was here, smiling a little more, holding your hand a little tighter. and it made your chest feel light.
“i don’t like scary rides,” you confessed early on.
renjun smiled, “that’s okay, we’ll stick to the fun ones.” and you did. the ferris wheel, where your legs dangled and the city stretched in pastel shapes below. the carousel, where you clung to the painted horse and laughed when renjun couldn’t stop laughing at you. the teacups, which you both regretted halfway through but couldn’t stop giggling long enough to care. you shared a corndog under the shade of a cartoonishly large umbrella. he wiped mustard off your lip with his thumb, trying not to think too hard about your eyes on him when he did. he won you a moomin plush after four failed tries at the ring toss, finally landing the perfect shot that made the staff sigh and hand over the prize. you squealed, hugging it to your chest, and renjun looked away before the smile on his face could betray how warm you made him feel.
later when he bought a giant swirl of cotton candy, you stuck your tongue out after a bite, “it’s too sweet.”
he tore off a chunk and handed it to you, “not sweeter than you.” you blinked. he realized too late what he said. but you didn’t tease him. you just looked away, shy cheeks tinged pink. and somehow, that made it worse. because he felt something.
he kept calling you love all day. quietly. almost without thinking: “careful, love…this one’s slippery.” “love, the line’s shorter in that ride.” “you good, love?” and every time, you looked up at him with this soft expression like he was home. and for today — renjun let himself pretend.
the last ride of the day was a gentle boat drifting through an animatronic forest. artificial stars twinkled above you in the painted ceiling sky. the animatronic fireflies blinked on and off like tired dreams. everything felt like it was holding its breath. you leaned your head against renjun’s shoulder. your hair smelled like sun and shampoo. the boat was quiet except for the soft hum of violins playing some whimsical tune no one really knew the name of. around you, plastic trees bowed toward plastic owls. it was all fake. but this part right here, the way his heart twisted, it was real.
“this feels like the end of a movie,” you murmured. renjun’s throat tightened. “yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than before, “one of those indie ones where no one ends up together and everyone’s sad.”
you turned, frowning at him, “buzzkill.” he gave a small smile. but it didn’t reach his eyes, “i’m just saying. there’s emotional damage waiting around every corner.”
you stared down at the water, your voice even softer now, “then let’s stay in the boat.” your words landed in his chest heavier than they should have. it didn’t feel like a joke. it felt like you meant it. to stay here in this bubble. in this moment. before things break. before you remember. you looked up at him. and for a second, it was like the world narrowed to just the space between your bodies, and you whispered, “let’s never get off.”
he was still looking at you when you said it. and something in him cracked, quietly, inwardly, like a seam splitting down the middle. you didn’t know what you were asking. you didn’t even know who he really was to you. his voice was almost too soft to hear over the lapping water, “okay, love.” you smiled then. so gentle. so full of trust it nearly made him sick. you laced your fingers with his and rested your joined hands in your lap, and without thinking, he brought them to his lips. kissed your knuckles like it was instinct. like it wasn’t dangerous. like it didn’t feel like the most intimate thing he’d ever done. you didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. you just squeezed back. and renjun let himself believe, just for a little longer, that this was okay. that he could have this version of you. this almost-love. this almost-honesty. even if it was built on a lie. even if he was only ever meant to be the space in between.
❤︎
the ride home was quiet. the kind that settles around two people when the day has worn them down in the sweetest way. when there’s nothing left to prove. when words feel unnecessary. you had both shared cotton candy and quick kisses, laughter and linked pinkies, and now the world outside his car’s window blurred into a smear of golden streetlights and fading carnival music still ringing in your ears. renjun kept his eyes on the road but from the corner of his vision, he saw your fingers reach across the console, gently wrapping around his right hand, resting on his thigh. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. your fingers threaded through his like it was instinct. and he let your hand stay in his, palm warm, thumb twitching once when you gave it the smallest squeeze before slowly relaxing. he glanced over just in time to see you lean your temple against the window, lashes resting against your cheeks now, breathing steady and soft. you were asleep. still holding his hand. renjun exhaled, quiet, slow, like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. he turned the music down, low enough to become background hum. he didn’t dare move his hand, not when your fingers were laced with his like that. not when your entire frame had gone soft and trusting beside him. until you shifted. a sudden twitch of your fingers. a quiet noise, something between a gasp and a hiccup. he glanced at you. your brows were furrowed now, soft lips parted like you were about to speak — but didn’t. a wrinkle of confusion pressed between your brows, your lashes fluttered like your dreams were turning sharp. then, you stirred awake, sharp breath sucked through your teeth, sitting up slightly like you'd just surfaced from underwater. renjun straightened immediately, alarmed, voice incredibly soft, his grip on your hand tightening just a little bit with concern, “what happened?”
you blinked at him, disoriented, chest rising and falling as your eyes adjusted to the present. “i think…i think i saw a memory.”
renjun froze. his stomach dropped. he tried to keep his voice even, “what do you mean?”
you leaned forward, letting go of his hand and the car suddenly feels colder without your warmth, “we were at a party, i was in a sparkly dress. it was loud. and there were two of you.”
renjun blinked slowly, “two of me?”
“no— i mean… you were there. and someone else. a boy. you were talking. laughing,” you shook your head, “i couldn’t see his face. it was just shadows and light and the sound of his voice. but i heard a name. you said his name.”
renjun didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your next words knocked it out of him — “yangyang,” you said.
he swallowed. hard. you looked at him. really looked at him, “renjun…who’s yangyang?”
his mouth opened. closed. renjun’s heart thudded so hard he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t answer immediately. he couldn’t. you were staring at him like he had the answer. like you trusted him to give it. and all he could think was: shit. it’s starting. he forced himself to breathe. one second. two. he licked his lips, nodded slowly. “yangyang,” he echoed, carefully, gently, “he’s… my best friend.”
your brows furrowed, “your best friend?”
“yeah,” he said, and it felt like his throat was closing around the words, “we’ve known each other forever. since freshman year.”
you sat with that for a moment, “why haven’t i met him?”
renjun forced a laugh — soft, tired, like the question didn’t stab him right in the gut, “he’s not around right now. he’s, uh…” he cleared his throat, “he’s in europe. got into this really competitive internship for fashion design.”
“oh,” you said, “that sounds… amazing.”
renjun nodded, eyes flicking to the window, trying not to crumble under the weight of your innocent stare. “yeah. it is. he’s talented. always knew what he wanted.”
you stayed quiet for a moment. renjun risked a glance at you. you were still looking at him. still believing him. still not remembering. “it’s weird,” you murmured, more to yourself now, “i don’t know why that name stuck with me. it felt important.” he kept his gaze on the road. you leaned back against the seat slowly, thoughtful, “was i close to him too?”
there was a long pause. one that felt too loud inside the quiet of the car. and then, renjun finally nodded, “yeah,” he said, voice low, “you… you were close.”
you blinked, “close…how?”
he looked out the window, eyes tracing the blur of streetlights against the night, “i don’t think i should be the one to answer that.”
your head tilted, “why not?”
he turned to you then, eyes tired, mouth twitching with something between guilt and grief, “because it’s your memory. and it’s gonna come back when it’s ready. i don’t want to mess with that.” you stared at him, trying to decipher the shadows in his expression. the flicker of something in his tone. but before you could say anything else, he smiled, soft, almost sad, and added, “he mattered to you. that’s all i’ll say.”
you nodded slowly, the words lodging somewhere in your chest like a puzzle piece half-formed, “okay,” you whispered, “thanks for being honest.” he nodded once. his heart shaking. neither of you spoke for the rest of the ride. you just laced your fingers through his again until sleep took you. and renjun — terrified, soft-hearted renjun — sat there, holding back a thousand truths, feeling your words slice through him. his eyes flicked between the road and your sleeping form. the slope of your shoulder. the way your knees were curled toward his direction. the faint crease between your brows that hadn’t quite gone away, even in rest. god. you were beautiful. and he was so, so screwed. he kept driving, more slowly now, like he could prolong this — the moment, the night, the feel of your hand in his — as long as possible. as if time could be tricked into stalling. and somewhere in the stillness, his thumb moved without thinking, brushing once over the back of your knuckles. a silent apology. a promise he couldn’t speak aloud.
✿ MRS. SUH’S FARMSTAY - WELCOME HOME ✿
fifteen minutes passed. the road had thinned out, fewer streetlights now, no traffic, just the soft purr of the engine and the even softer sound of your breathing beside him. your hand was still curled around his. you hadn’t stirred once since you fell asleep. renjun didn’t know what to make of the silence. he should’ve felt peace. instead, it gnawed at him, something tight lodged under his ribs, a thread of guilt wound so tight it was starting to hurt. and still, he didn’t let go of your hand. but then, with no warning — the car jerked. a sudden stutter. the dashboard lights flickered. the engine coughed once, then twice and died. he cursed under his breath, eyes widening as he coasted to the right. the steering wheel stiffened. the soft music cut off. the car came to a slow, rattling stop. you stirred instantly, “mmh?,” you blinked groggily, lifting your head from the window, “what happened?”
renjun let go of your hand carefully and twisted the key in the ignition again. nothing. “we broke down,” he said, jaw clenched, “i don’t know why, it was fine all day.” you sat up straighter, rubbing your eyes. outside the windows, there was nothing but open road behind you, a stretch of farmland on the right and dark hills rising in the distance. you looked around, blinking the sleep from your eyes, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in, “there’s no signal,” he murmured, holding up his phone and squinting at the blank bar of reception.
“where even are we?,” you ask. renjun leaned forward, resting his arms on the wheel as he exhaled, “middle of nowhere, apparently.” but just then, you both saw it — just past the fields on the right, barely lit by the sliver of moonlight peeking though the clouds. a faint flicker in the distance. warm yellow light. a house. you sat up straighter, “wait–look.” renjun followed your gaze, “that—is that a house?”
“i think so. there’s a path,” you said, already opening the door, the night air wrapping around you, “maybe they have a phone or…i don’t know…tools?”
renjun nods, grabbing the flashlight from the glove box, “stay close to me.” the gravel crunched under your feet as you walked hand in hand. the path wound past rustling trees until the house came into full view, an old hanok-style cottage, tucked neatly behind a row of lavender bushes and small wooden sign, hand painted in soft pastel green: mrs. suh’s farmstay – welcome home. you looked at each other, and without a word, renjun knocked. it took a few moments, but the door opened with a soft creak. she was tiny. maybe just over five feet, wrapped in pale pink cardigan and think knitted slippers, her short hair faming her face. her eyes widened when she saw you, then immediately softened into a warm, maternal smile, “oh my goodness,” she gasped, “you poor children! come in, come in…what on earth are you doing out at his hour?” renjun stepped forward politely, “we’re really sorry to bother you ma’am. our car broke down and we saw your lights.”
“well, then it’s a good thing i always leave the porch light on,” she said brightly, ushering you inside. the scent of simmering herbs and ginger filled the air. her home was cozy and cluttered in a way that felt like childhood. “i don’t usually take guests this late,” she said as she bustled into the kitchen, “my son helped me list this place online for weekend retreats. you’re lucky i still keep the guest room ready,” she waved a spoon in your direction, “you can stay here for the night, figure out your car in the morning. have something warm first.” and just like that, two bowls of steaming doenjang-jjigae were set in front of you, along with freshly made rice, kimchi and grilled mackerel. you sat at the little wooden table across from renjun, your cheeks pink from the warmth. “i’ll get you both some clothes to sleep in,” mrs. suh said, disappearing down the hall.
renjun watched you across the table as you lifted your spoon, blowing gently on the soup before tasting it. your shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension of the night ebbing away, “are we still in that indie movie?,” you tease softly, smiling at him. he swallowed hard, then smiled back, even though his chest ached. “yeah. a weird, kinda perfect one.”
moments later, mrs. suh returned with a stack of neatly folded clothes. “these might be a little big, dear,” she said kindly, “but they’re clean and warm. you’ll find towels in the bathroom, and the room at the end of the hall’s yours.” the both of you thanked her, heart swelling with a strange mix of gratitude and disbelief.
✿ I LIKE YOU IN MY SPACE ✿
the guest room was small and simple — faded floral wallpaper, a twin bed pushed against one wall, and an old bookshelf half-filled with yellowing paperbacks. it smelled faintly of cedar and looked untouched, like no one had been in here for years. renjun stepped in behind you, clicking the door shut behind him, “she’s really something, huh?”
“she didn’t even hesitate,” you said, smiling, already dressed in the oversized clothes mrs. suh had given the both of you. renjun nodded slowly, his gaze scanning the room, “it’s like… this place waited for someone to find it.” you turned to him then and he looked at you. really looked. the night was still. you were stranded, out of options, out of time, and yet, something about this place, this strange little miracle tucked between nowhere, made everything feel… suspended.
“so…what do you think? rustic charm? creepy muder house? somewhere in between? maybe her kindness is a trick to lure us in?”
you huffed a laugh, lightly slapping at his chest, “she gave us free stew and oversized shirts, not poison apples, snow white.”
renjun grinned, catching your hand and holding it for a second before letting go, “i’m just saying…nobody’s that nice without a catch.”
“don’t be so skeptical,” you grinned, “not everyone’s out to kill you and stuff you in a freezer.”
“that’s what someone lured into a freezer would say,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, laughing, soft and free in a way that tugged at something in his chest. he could watch you like this forever. but he shouldn’t. not when he was lying to you every second of every day. then your laughter faded into a yawn and renjun glanced at the bed. “...okay, sleep time,” he said, guiding you towards the bed. you climbed in without protest. the mattress creaked softly under you as you nestled into the pillow. meanwhile, renjun bent down to grab one of the throw blankets from the little rocking chair in the corner, fluffing it out and laying it gently on the floor beside the bed. you watched him quietly for a second, eyes narrowing as you propped yourself up on one elbow, "what are you doing?"
he looked up, sheepish, "getting ready to sleep?"
"on the floor?"
"...yeah?"
you blinked at him. “renjun. you’re literally my boyfriend.”
his ears turned pink, “right, i mean—yeah, but—”you cut him off by lifting the corner of the blanket beside you and patting the space, “get in the bed.”
his brows jumped, “it’s a twin.”
“so? we’ve been closer than this,” you said pointedly. renjun blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, still rooted to the floor like the decision required deep internal debate. you gave him a flat look, daring him to argue further. he huffed a quiet laugh as he slipped beneath the blanket beside you, careful not to move too much. the mattress dipped under his weight and suddenly the smallness of the bed became overwhelmingly obvious. your knees brushed. so did your elbows. his arm was barely a breath away from your waist.
“sorry,” he mumbled, stiff as a board.
“why are you sorry?”
“i don’t know. i just feel like i’m invading your space.”
you turned to face him, eyes soft in the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, “you’re not. i like you in my space.” renjun was staring at you now, his expression unreadable. his hair still a little damp from the shower, and the oversized borrowed shirt made him look smaller somehow. softer. you shifted onto your side, the blanket rustling softly as you curled slightly toward him, your legs brushing his under the covers, “thanks for today,” you murmured. the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, tired grin, “even if we might be cooked in her oven tomorrow?” you snorted, “you’re never letting that go, huh?”
“she had six rocking chairs in the living room,” he whispered, dramatically. “and not a single phone charger. that’s serial killer energy.”
“she made us stew, junie. stew. and gave us fresh towels.”
“exactly,” he said gravely, “so we’d be clean and tender before she seasons us with herbs and throws us in the dutch oven.”
you laughed again, quietly this time, your fingers brushing his under the blanket, “you’re so annoying.”
“but charming,” he added helpfully.
you hummed. “debatable.”
he let out a quiet puff of a laugh, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ,“i’m just saying, if we don’t make it out of here tomorrow, at least our last meal was decent.”
“and i got to spend it with you,” you add softly. his heart beating out of his chest. the room fell quiet again, just for a beat. your hand found his under the blanket. he laced his fingers through yours like it was second nature, thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, absentminded strokes. “you’re warm,” you said quietly.
“you’re cold,” he replied, glancing down at your intertwined hands.
“that’s why you’re here,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, “boyfriend duties.”
“mmm, i didn’t see ‘human space heater’ on the list when i signed up.”
“fine. i’ll revoke your boyfriend card.”
renjun gasped, mock-offended, “you wouldn’t.”
“watch me.”
a pause. then he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, “...i’d fight custody for moomin.” you opened your eyes, blinking up at him, “you monster.”
renjun grinned, “he’d want to be with me. i’m the one who rescued him from the ring toss.” you let out a half-hearted groan and shoved at his shoulder. he caught your hand again, pulled it back under the blanket, and held it to his chest like it belonged there. and maybe it did. you both fell into the quiet again, eyes drifting to the faint moonlight filtering through the old lace curtains, dust dancing in the air like soft snow. the silence wasn’t heavy. it was filled with that peace that always settles between the two of you. but there was also something else. something warmer. something slower. something thick with tension.
“renjun,” you said quietly, almost like testing the sound of his name in this suspended reality you’d both stumbled into. he glanced at you, gaze soft and unreadable again but you didn’t wait for him to second guess anything this time. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of his lips as you leaned in and kissed him. it started gentle, familiar, but it didn’t stay that way. renjun inhaled sharply against your mouth, and you kissed him again—deeper, firmer, pulling him in by the front of that oversized shirt until your chest pressed into his. your tongue swept past his lips when he opened for you, and just like that, the slow-burning tension that had been simmering between you all day caught fire. he kissed you back like he couldn’t help it, like it was reflex, instinct, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer, mouths moving together in messy, open-mouthed sync. tongue, teeth, breathless sighs and soft, desperate sounds against each other’s skin. you shifted, climbing over him, knees bracketing his hips as your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, palms splayed against the warm skin of his stomach.
“shit,” renjun whispered into your mouth, voice strained, one hand gripping your thigh like he was already losing control. he let you push him deeper into the mattress, let you kiss him until he was dizzy and dazed beneath you. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan and he responded with a heated kiss that nearly knocked the breath out of you. you could feel how hard he was under you now, could feel the way his body arched up, trying to chase your touch, your mouth, the friction.
“junie,” you whispered, dragging your mouth across his jaw, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. but then he stopped. like he always did. he turned his head, eyes squeezing shut as he gently gripped your hips to still them, “wait,” he breathed out, voice barely a whisper, “just…wait.”
you froze above him, still catching your breath, your fingers trembling slightly where they rested on his chest, “why do you always stop?” you asked, not accusing. just tired of wondering, “do you not…want me?” you say, voice so soft, almost a whisper, afraid of the answer. that made him flinch. he blinked once, sharp and startled, eyes snapping to yours like he couldn’t believe you’d ask that, “don’t,” he said quickly, voice tight, “don’t say that.”
you tilted your head, studying him, “then what is it?” his grip tightened on your hips, just slightly. he sat up a little, chest nearly brushing yours now, the covers tangled around your legs, your bodies still pressed close from the tension that had nearly tipped into something else. “it’s not you,” he said, low and hoarse, “god, it’s not you.”
“then why?”
renjun dragged a hand through his hair, fingers shaking, “because this feels too real,” he finally whispered. the words spilled out like they’d been pressing against the back of his throat all night.
“what does that even mean?”
he looked at you then, his eyes glassy in the dim moonlight. “it means i’m scared,” he admitted quietly, “i’m scared that if i give in— i won’t be able to stop. not just tonight. not tomorrow. i’ll want more, and what if…,” he searched for the words, his fingertips pressing into your back, holding on like he was afraid you might float away if he didn’t, “what if when you remember, you won’t want me like this anymore?”
you blinked, “what?” he looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to shove the words back down, “when your memories come back,” he said quietly, “what if everything between us fades? what if you look at me and this doesn’t mean anything anymore?”
your heart twisted at how small he sounded. how uncertain. but there was no hesitation in your voice when you reached up and cupped his cheek, bringing his face back to yours, “renjun,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the delicate skin just beneath his eye, “there’s nothing not real about what i feel for you right now.” his eyes fluttered shut at your words. you didn’t know what your past held. you didn’t know how things were supposed to be. but what you did know, what you felt, was this. him. here. now. “i want you,” you said softly, “all of you. not just tonight. not just until i remember something. i want the boy who drinks tea with me on the carpet. the one who wins me a moomin plushie. the one who holds me when everything is too much. the one who makes me feel… safe.”
renjun’s breath caught. his hand curled into your shirt. you leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, “we can be scared,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from it,” you whispered, “or from you.” his gaze searched yours. raw. wrecked. “don’t overthink,” you told him, lips brushing his, breath warm against his mouth, “just feel.”
and something in him broke. or maybe, finally, something in him let go. his hands lifted to cup your face, thumbs brushed your cheeks, and he kissed you — slow, reverent, like the world might end when your lips met. he didn’t stop this time. no hesitation. no fear. just deep, aching hunger wrapped in tenderness. his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, guiding you back into that warm, dangerous space between want and need.
you moaned softly into his mouth as he shifted beneath you, helping you grind down against the hard line of him, his fingers firm but reverent where they gripped your hips. his voice, a low rasp against your lips, “keep going, love. just like that.”
you gasped, your forehead falling against his as your hips rocked against him again, “renjun…”
“let me feel you,” he whispered, breathless, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “let me remember this.”you reached between your bodies, pulling down the borrowed pajama pants just enough to free him, your own damp underwear tugged off with a soft rustle of fabric. he held his breath as you sank onto him slowly, the stretch sweet and aching and right.
“oh my god…” you whimpered in whispers, your fingers digging into his chest as you took all of him, until he was fully inside you, warm and pulsing. your lips brushed over his as you rocked your hips, slow and smooth, he was so thick it made your head spin, the tight warmth of your body wrapped around him in perfect rhythm
renjun cursed softly under his breath, head tipping back against the pillow as he fought for control, “you feel so good,” he murmured, hands trembling where they held your hips, “so warm—fuck, love—ride me. just like that. slow.” you moved gently, rolling your hips in a rhythm that made his breath stutter, hands pressed to his chest as you rode him with a softness that bordered on reverence. every stroke was deliberate. every shift of your hips slow and sensual, dragging quiet moans from both of you as your bodies stayed pressed close in the warm hush of that tiny, time-frozen room.
you quietly whimpered as you rolled your hips again, the drag of him inside you sending sparks down your spine, “feels so good,” you whispered, voice trembling, lips brushing his jaw as your fingers clutched at his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, “you feel so good, junie.”
“yeah?” he rasped, his voice wrecked and low, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms. you moved like you were savoring every second, your thighs squeezing tighter around him. he slid a hand up your spine, the other gripping your hip to help guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your mouth, “fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, hips bucking slightly to meet your movement, “god, i’ve wanted this. i’ve wanted you like this.”
you leaned in, your forehead pressing to his, sweat starting to bead at your temples, “then take it,” you murmured, kissing him again—filthy, deep, desperate. but he didn’t flip you. didn’t take over. he gave in. you rode him in a rhythm that was pure indulgence—intimate, aching, soaked in tension. the bed creaked faintly beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the sounds you were both holding back. because just one thin wall away, mrs. suh lay asleep, which meant you still had to be careful. quiet. but that didn’t make it any less intense. in fact, it only made it worse. hotter. deeper. more dangerous.
renjun’s head tipped back against the pillow, his mouth parted in a silent gasp, chest heaving. his hands clutched at the sheets before one of them slid up your thigh, then higher, gripping your ass to pull you down harder onto him. his eyes fluttered, then locked on yours, pupils blown wide and desperate. “fuck…” he mouthed, barely audible, voice caught in his throat as his hips instinctively bucked up into you faster, rougher. you leaned down slightly, your hair falling like a curtain around both of you, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “stay quiet, junie…” he whimpered, his nails digging into your skin as you rocked into him faster now, matching his pace. your pussy clenched around him and he nearly choked on his moan, swallowing it back, blinking up at you like he was on the edge of unraveling, “please,” he whispered, barely managing the word, “please, i—” you kissed him, swallowing his next sound as you dragged your hips over him again, your walls fluttering around his cock, eyes rolled back, fingers gripping his shirt tightly.
“god, use me, love,” renjun gasped, tightening his hold on your ass, “just—fuck—use me…” your breath caught at the sound of it, need, pure and raw, pouring out of him like a flood. he was panting now, jaw slack, lips wet from your kiss, and his hands moved without thought—reaching up, sliding beneath the oversized shirt you wore, pushing it up just enough so his palms could cup your tits.
“fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching you ride him like you were made to, “so soft—so fucking warm—” you whined, biting your lip to keep quiet as your pace picked up, more purposeful now, your movements drenched in want. every time your hips met his, it was friction, heat, pleasure. renjun couldn’t stop touching you, hands squeezing your tits, sliding down your waist, then back up again. he was watching you with wide, dazed eyes, his lips parted in a near-silent moan as your hips snapped just right, grinding your clit against the base of him.
“you feel so good inside me,” you whispered, your forehead pressed to his, your breath mingling, “i could do this all night, fuck myself on your cock until the sun comes up.” his whole body shuddered. those vulgar words coming out of your sweet sweet mouth makes him lose all control, “fuck—love, i-i’m not gonna last—” you clenched around him again on purpose and his hand shot up to cover his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, his hips jerking beneath you. you could feel how close he was. but you weren’t done with him yet. you leaned back slightly, hands on his hips for balance as you rode him harder now, body glowing in the faint moonlight. renjun looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen. meanwhile, his flushed cheeks, messy hair, and trembling thighs painted the picture of a boy being absolutely wrecked beneath you. and he loved it.
“you’re mine,” he whispered, his hand going up to cup your jaw with slight force, “say it.”
“make me yours, junie, come for me,” you gasped, leaning down again, kissing his lips. and that was it. his hips jerked, breath caught in his throat, eyes snapping shut as he groaned your name, desperate, messy, before pulling you off him just in time. hot thick ropes spilled between you and you didn’t miss a beat, your hand wrapping around his cock immediately, stroking him through it, pumping him slow, firm, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. his cum marking your thighs, your hand, the lower part of his stomach from when his shirt rode up. but you didn’t stop.
“f-fuck–fuck–love,” he whimpered, biting down on his lip, writhing beneath you, cock twitching in your hand, “too much—fuck—it’s too much—”
“shhh,” you murmured, watching his face, how beautifully undone he was. how helpless he looked trying to keep quiet. you brought one hand up, covering his mouth. you didn’t stop. “you can take it. give it to me, junie. all of it.” you kept milking him, fingers slick with cum, slow and steady and he kept breaking for you — thighs shaking, moans muffled behind the hand you slapped over his mouth, whole body trembling, chest heaving, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, lashes damp and fluttering, as you wrung every last drop from him.
your bodies were still pressed together, slick with sweat and heat, heart pounding against his chest. renjun was breathless beneath you, chest heaving, lips slightly parted, eyes hazy with the aftershocks of his orgasm, “shit, love, i came too fast. i couldn’t help it—” he started, brows drawing together. you leaned down, brushing your lips across his cheek, “you were perfect,” you whispered, ready to lay by his side again, but renjun shook his head, eyes dark and gleaming now as he cupped your hips again.
“no,” he murmured, “you think i’m done?” he shook his head, dark eyes focused, gleaming with something deeper—need, devotion, worship—as his hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you wore. his voice dropped low, hungry and reverent, “not done with you yet.” you didn’t resist when he pushed the shirt up slowly, knuckles dragging across your heated skin. he sat up slightly to tug it over your head, lifting it off your arms with care, revealing your bare chest to the cool air. his eyes darkened instantly, his gaze raking over you like he was seeing something holy, “fuck,” he whispered, breath catching, “you’re beautiful.” your cheeks flushed, but before you could respond, he was already kissing down your sternum, slow and wet. then he reached your breasts. his tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, the light contact making you arch slightly into him. a soft gasp slipped from your lips as he circled it again, slower this time, letting the flat of his tongue drag across the sensitive bud before pulling it gently between his lips.
“renjun—” you whispered, the heat in your stomach increasing, fingers threading into his hair. he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. his mouth wrapped fully around your nipple, sucking it with just enough pressure to make your toes curl. his other hand came up to cup the other, thumb brushing over the neglected peak, teasing it in slow, lazy circles. he switched sides then, licking a trail across your chest to give your other breast the same attention— lips sealing around it with a moan so soft, so hungry, it went straight to your center. your hips shifted in his lap, the sensation pulling need from you like a string. renjun looked up at you, lips still wrapped around your nipple, eyes half-lidded and wrecked before he sucked harder. your back arched with a sharp inhale, breath came fast and shallow as he squeezed them gently, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers while his lips moved back to your neck, biting and kissing down your collarbone.“you’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice low and ragged, “makes you squirm… makes you wet, doesn’t it?” you nodded, too breathless to speak, hips instinctively rocking forward. he felt it—the heat between your thighs, the desperation building. and he grinned against your skin, smug and wrecked all at once.
“god, i want to taste you falling apart,” he murmured, voice dark with hunger as his lips brushed down your sternum, tongue tracing a line between your breasts, your heart slammed against your ribs. then, with a low groan, he looked up at you, eyes blown, lips swollen from worshiping every inch of you, and said it. “sit on my face, love. ride my tongue. be my good girl and use me again.” you whimpered before you could stop it, your whole body jolting with want. he was already moving, already guiding you upward with firm hands on your hips, his touch sure, hungry. the firmness in his voice only made it hotter, filthier. his fingers splayed across your thighs as he laid back, pulling you forward, coaxing you up over his chest. your hands gripped the headboard to steady yourself as you gently hovered above him, breath shaky, skin flushed. and then his hands locked around your ass, pulling you down with no hesitation, and buried his face between your thighs with a low, guttural groan that vibrated straight through your core.
“f-fuck—!” you slapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes flying open as his tongue devoured you. he licked into you with purpose—slow, deep strokes that curled inside your heat before dragging up again, only to circle your clit with maddening, devastating precision. your entire body twitching with every flick, every moan he fed into your cunt. his breath was hot, mouth greedy, and the noises, his noises, had your stomach tightening in seconds. his moans were soft, desperate, filthy, like he was the one being undone. every motion of his tongue coaxing pleasure from you like he was building it note by note, layer by layer. and fuck, he wasn’t gentle. he licked you like he needed it. like he ached for your taste. his tongue slid deep, slow thrusts inside your pussy before returning to your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jolt forward, and he groaned again when you ground against his face, like he wanted you to smother him in it. you were losing control, your fingers white-knuckling the headboard, your teeth sinking into the back of your hand to keep quiet, your hips moving on instinct now, riding his tongue, chasing friction, chasing more, “oh my—fuck.”
renjun loved it. loved the way you grind on his face, suffocating him. the way you whimper above him, trying to stay quiet while your whole body begged for release. his eyes fluttered open and met yours through the haze—wild, pleading, lips glistening, his whole face flushed and buried in your cunt. you’d never seen anything so filthy. so beautiful. he pulled you down harder, tongue flicking over your clit in rapid, cruel circles, moaning into you like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him alive. his nose bumped your clit just right as he licked up your arousal in broad, wet strokes over and over until your legs began to tremble. your moan slipped out before you could catch it, sharp and high.
“shhh,” he murmured against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out again.
“i can’t,” you gasped, legs shaking, voice barely a breath, “i—fuck, i’m gonna—” his response was to grip your ass tighter, pulling you harder against his mouth. like he wasn’t just doing this to please you. like he needed it.
“renjun,” you moaned, “i’m—fuck—i’m gonna come—” he growled low in his throat, tongue flicking your clit faster and then he sucked you so hard you shattered. your orgasm tore through you, sharp and overwhelming, body locking up before collapsing into wave after wave of wet, pulsing bliss. you bit down on your hand again, barely muffling your broken cry as your whole body shook, pussy gushing into his mouth.
then you felt it, his hand shifting, sliding from your ass to the heat between your legs. his fingers traced through your slick folds, just once, before—“renjun—!,” you couldn’t stop the scream. renjun smirked against your pussy. two fingers pushed into you in one smooth, practiced thrust, filling you to the knuckle while his tongue stayed locked on your clit. the stretch had your eyes flying open, breath stuck in your throat. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, the vibration from his mouth immediately sending another wave of pleasure ripping through your core. his face was soaked, glistening with your slick, eyes half-lidded and wrecked, but completely focused. he was feeding on you. slurping, moaning, fucking you on his fingers while you straddled his face like you were something holy.
“fuck, junie—” you gasped, voice wrecked as your body started to seize up again for the the third time, tears starting to form in the corner of your eye, “i—i can’t—”
“you can,” he growled into your pussy, voice muffled, feral, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, “be my good girl. and give me one more.” another cry escaped from your lips before you could stop it. the pleasure was too much, too fast, too perfect. it slammed into you before you could even brace for it. you came with a muffled sob, your thighs gave out and your body collapsed over his, twitching and soaked and completely undone. only then did he finally ease his fingers out of you, slow, gentle, kissing your inner thigh like a silent thank you.
renjun wrapped his arms around you again, guiding you down to rest against his chest, your bare body flush against his, slick and trembling. the room was still now, save for the soft whirr of the fan in the corner and the sound of your uneven breaths slowly syncing with his. you lay curled on top of him, spent and boneless, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his hands lazily stroking up and down your back in slow, soothing sweeps. your thighs still trembled, slick and flushed from how completely he had unraveled you—thrice. and yet, all you could do was melt into the safety of his hold, the warmth of his skin, the way his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.
after a long stretch of silence, you finally shifted, raising your head just slightly to look at him. his face was flushed, his lips swollen, chin and jaw glistening with your release. his eyes were hooded and soft now, completely wrecked but so full of affection it made your chest ache. you huffed a quiet, breathless laugh and reached for the oversized shirt he’d tossed to the side earlier, the one you’d both long since forgotten. you sat up just enough to bring the hem to his face, dabbing gently at his chin and lips. he blinked up at you, dazed, “what are you doing?”
“cleaning you up,” you murmured, brushing along his jaw, “i kinda made a mess.” he smiled, tired and boyish, lips quirking up at the corners, “i like it messy.” you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, “i’d drown in you,” he said shamelessly, eyes never leaving yours, “and i’d say thank you.” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, but your fingers softened as you finished wiping him clean. he caught your wrist before you could pull away, pulling the fabric from your hand and tossing it aside again. then he leaned up, slowly, languidly, and kissed you. soft. deep. sweet. you could taste yourself on him. his hand slid into your hair as he pressed your mouth to his, slow and unhurried, like the world outside didn’t exist. like nothing existed except you and him, tucked away in this little cedar-scented room in the middle of nowhere.
when you pulled back, his nose brushed yours, eyes heavy-lidded, voice barely a whisper, “are you okay?”
you nodded, heart swelling at the concern woven into his tone, “better than okay.”
“good,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek, “because if i didn’t make you feel like the only girl in the universe, i’d have to go again and try harder.” you giggled, burying your face in his neck, “please don’t tempt me…we should let mrs. suh get some proper sleep,” you whispered, grinning. he chuckled softly, arms wrapping around you again, “guess we’ll have to save round three for a time when you can scream my name as loud as you want.”
“shut up,” you said, swatting his chest with a smile. he kissed your hair, holding you close. you stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled, hearts full, smiles slow and sleepy, as the night crept around you and the stillness returned, safe and warm. and just before your eyes slipped closed, you felt him whisper one more thing against your skin: “you’re mine.”
✿ SOMEONE ELSE’S DREAM ✿
the morning sun slipped lazily through the lace curtains, bathing the tiny guest room in a soft, dreamlike glow. dust danced in the light, the air still heavy with cedar and the faint remnants of last night — warmth, want and whispered moans tucked beneath a shared blanket. you stirred, limbs tangled with renjun’s, cheek pressed to his bare chest. he was already awake, eyes heavy and soft, fingers tracing sleepy patterns on the small of your back. “good morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly, thick with sleep, but laced with something gentler. affection. peace. something dangerously close to joy.
“good morning,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and wrecked in a way that made his eyes gleam. he leaned in to kiss your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, “i like waking up like this,” he said, like a secret. like he almost couldn’t believe it was real. you hummed against his skin, smiling as you pulled back to stretch, wincing slightly as the soreness settled into your thighs. renjun caught the wince instantly and let out a guilty little sound, fingers ghosting over your hips, “too much?”
you shook your head with a sleepy laugh, “worth it.” that made his face flush in the prettiest way, pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. eventually, the two of you reluctantly got out of bed, redressed in your wrinkled clothes from the day before. renjun kept finding excuses to touch you — brushing your hair out of your eyes, sliding yours shorts up your legs, trailing his fingers down your spine as he kissed your shoulder one last time. you padded out of the room together, footsteps light against the wooden floor, following the smell of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen.
mrs. suh stood at the old stovetop, humming softly to herself, her back turned as she flipped something golden-brown in the pan. the table was already set—toast, fruit, a pot of tea, a plate of fried eggs. when she turned and saw you both, her eyes sparkled, “morning, lovebirds,” she said brightly, looking between the two of you, smile growing, “sleep well?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her tone. she chuckled with a wink, “next time you want to rock the bed that hard, at least put a pillow behind the headboard,” and with that, she waltzed out of the kitchen with her tea in hand, leaving you and renjun frozen, staring after her like deer caught in the headlights. it took a full ten seconds before either of you moved. then— “oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands.
“i want to crawl into the floor and never return,” renjun muttered behind you, dragging a hand over his burning face, “i’ve become everything i swore i’d never be.”
you looked at each other, faces flushed, and burst into laughter at the same time. it was breathless and mortifying and helpless — but real. sweet. a little unhinged. still red, renjun guided you toward the table and pulled you down into his lap before you could even reach the other chair. you gave him a look, “really?”
“what?” he shrugged, “she already knows and do you think i’m letting you sit anywhere else after last night?” he grinned, you rolled your eyes but didn’t move. you melted into him a little, cheek brushing his jaw as he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other grabbing a fork. without hesitation, he speared a piece of toast and smiled softly, “eat your breakfast,” he murmured. so you did. wrapped in his arms. still aching a little. still glowing a lot. surrounded by jam and toast and secondhand embarrassment and something else you weren’t quite ready to name but something that buzzed quietly under your skin, warm and steady. like the beginning of something.
you were still nestled in renjun’s lap, when the front door creaked open and heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. a second later, a tall older man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his oil-streaked hands on a rag, a cheerful glint in his eyes beneath a frayed baseball cap. “well, hello,” he said with a grin, glancing between you and renjun, “look at you two. all cozy.” you sat up straighter, cheeks heating again. renjun tensed slightly under you, though his grip on your waist stayed firm. “morning,” the man added, nodding toward the stove, “breakfast smells amazing, hon.”
“of course it does,” mrs. suh, called back from the living room, clearly still eavesdropping with zero shame, “they needed their strength after last night’s... activities.” you groaned, pressing your forehead to renjun’s shoulder. he shook with silent laughter.
“anyway,” the man said, clearly used to his wife’s antics, “i gave your car a look. it was just the battery, got it all charged and ready to go. should be good now.”
your head lifted, “wait—seriously?” he nodded, “try not to break down in the middle of nowhere again, yeah?”
“thank you,” renjun said sincerely, standing up with you still half in his arms before gently helping you to your feet, “really. that means a lot.”
“you two should go before the sun gets too hot,” mrs. suh called again, stepping back into view with her cup of tea, “and try to keep your hands to yourselves this time, or you’ll never make it home.”renjun chuckled, shaking his head, and reached into his back pocket. you blinked in surprise as he pulled out a thick wad of cash from his wallet — more than enough to cover the repairs, food, and probably a month’s worth of groceries. he stepped forward, pressing it gently into mrs. suh’s hand. she looked down at it. then back up at him, “oh no. no, absolutely not.”
“please,” renjun said, firm but warm, “you gave us food. shelter. fixed our car. all without asking why.” he turned toward the door before they could hand it back. you followed him, waving your thanks with a warm, sheepish smile. “drive safely!” mrs. suh called after you, “and don’t forget, you’ve always got a place here if you need it…though preferably with a little less thumping,” she added with a wink. renjun coughed into his sleeve. you nearly tripped over the porch steps. “thank you!,” you called out one last time, clutching his arm as the two of you made your way back to the now-fixed car parked in the gravel driveway. once inside, renjun reached across the center console to lace his fingers with yours, still red in the face but smiling softly. the car rumbled back to life, his hand in yours, moomin sitting in the backseat and the little house behind you fading into the distance. a strange sort of warmth settled over him — like he’d just lived a tiny chapter of someone else’s dream.
❤︎
renjun pulled up slowly in front of your apartment building, the car rumbling to a soft stop. he turned the engine off but made no move to get out. neither did you. for a second, the only sound was the gentle tick of the cooling engine and the muffled hum of city traffic in the distance. you both stepped out of the car. you clutched the moomin plushie to your chest, the same one he’d won you just yesterday, though it felt like weeks had passed since then. the farmhouse. his hands on your waist. his mouth on your skin. renjun felt like someone else in that version of the world, someone bolder and unafraid. but now, with the familiar skyline stretched above you and the buzz of city life leaking through the windows, he felt reality tightening again. you climbed the steps together and he reached to open the door for you when it suddenly swung open from the inside.
ningning stood in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw tight. her hair was slightly messy and her phone was still in her hand, screen glowing. her gaze snapped to you, then to renjun, a sharp breath catching in her throat. “where have you two been?,” she demanded, her voice high, sharp with relief and frustration. her gaze flicked between the two of you, then landed on renjun with a kind of urgency that made your stomach twist, “i’ve been calling you.”
renjun blinked, startled, “sorry—my phone died,” he replied clearing his throat. he lifted a hand sheepishly as if to show the invisible dead device in his pocket, “we broke down on the way home from the theme park and—” but ningning wasn’t listening. her eyes scanned you from head to toe, noting the wrinkled clothes, the slight limp in your step, the exhaustion clouding your features. she opened her mouth, then closed it, like she wanted to say something else. something important. you frowned, sensing the strange stiffness in the air, “ning…? is something wrong?”
her eyes snapped back to yours, “what? no. nothing’s wrong!,” she said too fast. she swallowed, then flicked another glance toward renjun, her voice lowering slightly, like it might slip and betray her, “it’s just—our friend is here.” you tilted your head, confused, “friend?”
“yeah,” ningning said, and you could tell she was choosing her next words very carefully, “our friend… yangyang.” the name hit the air like a dropped plate. behind you, renjun stopped breathing. that name again. the one that felt unfamiliar on your tongue and yet it tugged at something deep in your mind. like it belong to a memory that had gotten lost in the fog. ningning looked between the two of you, her expression unreadable, “he just got in last night. said he was done with his internship and wanted to…surprise you.”
you blinked, unsure how to respond, “me?,” your voice was soft, uncertain. you glanced over at your shoulder at renjun, like maybe he could offer something to fill the gaps, “why would your best friend want to surprise me?”
but renjun wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at ningning. and ningning was looking at him. something passed between them — fast and silent and impossible to decipher. the kind of look that said everything they hadn’t dared speak aloud. his jaw clenched just slightly. his hand at his side trembled. he felt sick. your eyes bounced between the two of them. then ningning laughed awkwardly. too loud. too forced. “i mean—he wanted to surprise renjun! obviously! i just… misspoke.”
you blinked, “oh. that makes more sense,” you smiled up at renjun, totally unaware, “that’s sweet.” and then, still hugging the moomin plush to your chest, you slipped past them into the apartment, kicking off your shoes and humming softly to yourself. behind you, renjun didn’t move. he stood frozen on the doorstep, as if the world had shifted underneath his feet and he wasn’t ready to fall with it. the weight of your trust pressed against his spine like a loaded gun. his pulse roared in his ears. his stomach churned. he’d told himself it was only temporary. that he could take care of you until yangyang came back. that pretending wouldn’t matter. but last night… last night ruined everything. last night made it real.
✿ THE BOY YOU FORGOT ✿
renjun sat rigid on the edge of the couch. across from him, yangyang was slouched in the armchair, legs spread, one hand curled around a cold glass of water he hadn’t touched. his face was calm, casual, but his eyes had been sharp from the moment the two of you walked into the living room. you were nestled beside renjun on the couch, knees tucked under you, body pressed against his side like it was second nature. your head leaned on his shoulder, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. completely at peace. completely unaware. you didn’t notice the way yangyang’s jaw flexed when you reached up and absentmindedly pushed renjun’s hair back from his forehead. or the way ningning kept chewing the inside of her cheek like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. renjun could feel yangyang’s stare burning holes into him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. he should’ve told you. he should’ve told you before it ever got this far. you laughed at something ningning said, light and warm, and then leaned closer into his side, your fingers sliding down his arm, twining with his without thinking. his breath caught in his throat. yangyang’s grip on the glass tightened audibly.
“so,” yangyang finally said, tone casual but just slightly too forced, “you two…close now?”
renjung didn’t answer right away. he didn’t trust his voice not to crack. you, on the other hand, you nodded, “yeah,” you said, looking up at renjun, “i mean, he’s my boyfriend.” a sharp inhale cut through the room. yangyang’s fingers tensed around the glass again, this time so hard it looked like it might shatter. renjun’s chest twisted painfully. he didn’t correct you. he couldn’t. one look at your smile and he was back in that tiny farmhouse, morning sunlight bleeding through the curtains. your hand brushing his jaw, half-asleep and glowing, wondering how long he could keep pretending before the world caught up. he wished mr. suh didn’t fix the car so quickly.
yangyang laughed. low. cold. “boyfriend, huh?,” he echoed, gaze sharp and unreadable, “is that what we’re calling it now?” you tilted your head at him, innocent and confused, “you must have been at your internship when we started dating?,” you offered gently, like you were trying not to offend him, “i’m sorry, i’m really bad at remembering things lately.”
renjun noticed the way his best friend’s throat bobbed when he swallowed, jaw clenching before it slackened again. the way his eyes softened just a little. “you’re right,” yangyang said after a moment, shaking his head, “don’t worry about it,” he adds, forcing a smile on his face.
you smiled kindly at him, curling right back into renjun’s side, resting your head on his houlder like it was your rightful palace. you let out a little sigh, “he talks about you a lot,” you added. renjun flinched. that wasn’t true. you didn’t even know who yangyang really was. but he knew you were saying it to be polite. trying to fill the silence.
“thanks,” yangyang muttered, “that’s…good.” silence stretched again. ningning was visibly sweating now. renjun felt like the walls were closing in, the air too tight to breathe. yangyang kept staring at you. but not in anger. not even in confusion. it was heartbreak. renjun could see it clear as day. he didn’t know what hurt more—watching yangyang try to keep it together…or knowing he was the one holding you like you were his. you shifted slightly beside him, sighing tiredly, fingers still tangled with his, your body tucked so naturally into his side it felt cruel. you looked so peaceful. so certain. like your whole world made sense. like the truth wasn’t sitting two feet across from you, trying not to fall apart.
renjun looked up, finally meeting yangyang’s eyes. and yangyang looked right back. it was all there in the silence between them. the betrayal. the guilt. the quiet plea for more time. the shared knowledge that eventually, it would all come crashing down.
you let out a soft yawn, rubbing at your eyes like a sleepy cat before glancing between the three of them, “i think I’ll take a quick nap,” you said, voice sweet and warm. you turned toward renjun, still tucked against his side, and leaned in. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. soft. slow. you pulled back with a sleepy smile, completely oblivious to the way yangyang froze, eyes narrowing just a little—like something inside him had broken. rising to your feet, you turned to yangyang and stuck out your hand politely, “it was really nice meeting you, by the way.” yangyang stood up a little too quickly, setting the glass down on the coffee table. his palm met yours – warm, solid, magnetic.
“yeah,” he managed, voice tight and barely above a whisper, “you too.” you gave him one last smile, “have fun catching up,” you said, and then disappeared into your room with a quiet click of the door. silence falls like a guillotine. the air is thick with the weight of the truth. renjun doesn’t move. yangyang stayed standing, shoulders tense, breathing shallow, staring at the shut door like it would open again and give him another second to hold onto something that had already slipped through his fingers.
“renjun,” he said, voice flat, empty, “what the fuck are you doing?”
renjun doesn’t flinch. he turns his head slowly to face him, dark eyes steady, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “you told me to take care of her,” renjun says bitterly.
yangyang lets out a hollow laugh, the kind that has no humor in it, “yeah? i told you to take care of her — not make her your fucking girlfriend.”
renjun’s mouth tightens. he drags a hand through his hair, the frustration finally cracking through the surface, “what did you want me to do, huh? dump all her memories on her like a fucking bomb and hope she miraculously remembers you? risk her breaking again? risk her not even recognizing you at all?”
“so instead you just let her fall for you?,” yangyang snaps, “you let her kiss you in front of me. like i don’t even exist?”
renjun stands now. quietly. slowly. but there’s a storm in his eyes. “you do exist,” he grits out, “every fucking day. i see you in every room she walks into. i hear your name every time ningning looks at me like she wants to scream. you think this was easy? you think i asked for this?”
yangyang’s face twists, voice sharper now, “then why didn’t you back off?!, why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“because she was scared!,” rejun fires back. his voice finally rising, “because she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense and i—,” he cuts himself off, breath catching, “i couldn’t be the one to take that from her.”
“so you just… kept pretending?” yangyang says, quieter now.
renjun swallows hard, staring at the floor, “at first it was pretending but i—i don’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”
renjun looks up, eyes rimmed red, voice cracking, “then where the hell were you?” the words hit like a slap. yangyang stares. his lips part, but no sound comes out.
“i told you to come home,” renjun says again, quieter this time.
“you know i couldn’t do that,” yangyang finally says, hollow.
“yeah?” renjun’s voice is ice, “well, you can’t fucking blame me for this, can you?”
the silence is deadly. both of them staring each other down. then, “okay—enough,” ningning sighs, stepping between them. she’s breathing hard, like she’s been holding it in this whole time, “we’re not doing this here.” both boys freeze. ningning glares at each of them like she’s daring them to say another word, “she’s right there,” she says, pointing at your door. her voice is shaking now, “she’s sleeping in the next room and if she hears even a fraction of this—if you ruin the only bit of peace she’s had in weeks—i swear to god you both aren’t making it out of here alive.” renjun turns away first. jaw clenched, chest heaving. yangyang still looks like he’s trying to breathe through the wreckage. ningning sighs, rubbing at her temples, “you two can tear each other apart later. but not here. not while she’s still in the dark.”
❤︎
the soft click of the door locking behind you had barely echoed before your knees buckled. you sank slowly, back pressed against the wood, fingers trembling as they clutched your chest, right where your heart was starting to split wide open. because the moment you walked into the living room and your eyes met his — yangyang. every memory hit you like a wave, crashing and cruel and familiar. you knew him. not in passing. not in the way you’d pretend to know someone because they smiled kindly at you in a hallway. no. you knew him. like laughter shared across sticky arcade machines and the way he used to steal your fries. like his hoodie sleeves always too long and his cologne smelling like orange peels and mint gum. like your first kiss, messy and breathless, right in front of your apartment door. it had all come back to you in a blink. like a dam bursting open. like drowning and breathing all at once.
you told them you were tired. and you were. exhausted from pretending you didn’t feel the shift in the air the second he looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. from trying not to notice the way renjun froze beside you. you curled into yourself against the door, palms clutching your head. everything hurt.
you heard renjun. his voice breaking as he defended himself. as he defended you — “you told me to take care of her.” “she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense.” “i didn’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”
you heard yangyang — “she’s mine.” “why didn’t you tell her the truth the second she woke up?”
and god, you wished you hadn’t heard any of it. because suddenly, it wasn’t just your memories that hurt. it was the now — renjun’s touch. his quiet smiles. the way his hand always found yours. the way he looked at you like you were a wish he’d never thought he could ask for. all of it. built on borrowed time. on borrowed identity. and the worst part? your heart didn’t know who to break for. the boy you forgot. or the boy you’d just started to remember. you let out a sound, quiet and strangled. a sob that stayed caught in your throat. you curled tighter into yourself, head bowed, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. because now, the truth sat heavy in your chest. too loud to ignore. too soft to scream. and all you could do was hold it, and cry. alone. on the other side of the door.
✿ I’M HER BOYFRIEND ✿
the sky outside had dimmed. renjun stood outside your door, guilt settling like lead in his stomach. his fingers hovered over the wood, hesitating. you hadn’t come out. not even once. he knocked gently, once. twice. “hey,” he called out trying to sound light. normal. “i’m heading out now. i…just wanted to say goodnight.” no answer. his chest tightening. “are you still asleep?,” he tried again, forcing a small chuckle. still nothing. something cold slithered up his spine. “...i’m coming in, okay?” his hand curled around the doorknob and turned it. he pushed it open. and froze. you were on the floor. curled up. pale. still. too still. for a split second, he thought you were just sleeping. but then he saw the tear stains on your cheek, the way your arm was twisted beneath you uncomfortably. the way your lips were slightly parted.
“y/n?,” his voice cracked. he rushed to your side, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as he touched your shoulder, “y/n—hey—wake up,” his voice pitched higher with panic, shaking you lightly, “hey. come on. please wake up–”
nothing. not even a stir. “y/n!” he shouted now, louder, frantic. he scooped you in his arms, hands framing your face, slapping your cheeks gently. your head lolled slightly, unresponsive. his blood ran cold. “YANGYANG!” he screamed, voice breaking. “NINGNING!” the sound of a chair scraping back. footsteps thundering. doors slamming. yangyang was the first one through the door, followed by ningning. both froze when they saw you on the floor.
“oh my god,” ningning gasped, already pulling out her phone, “i’m calling an ambulance.” yangyang was at your other side in seconds, eyes wide, panic all over his face, “what happened?! what the fuck—”
“i don’t know!” renjun choked out, tears streaming down his face. “she’s fucking burning up,” yangyang said suddenly, pressing a hand to your forehead.
“tell them to hurry!” renjun barked at ningning. he turned back to you, clutching your face like it was the only thing tethering him to earth, “you’re okay,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you’re gonna be okay. you’re strong. you’re okay—please be okay.”the room blurred around him. sirens were already in the distance. someone was shouting instructions. yangyang was holding your other hand now. ningning was crying into the phone. but all renjun could see was you — still. unmoving. crumpled on the floor with tear-streaked cheeks and lips that had kissed him like nothing was wrong.
in what felt like a blink, paramedics swarmed into the room. they assessed you quickly, lifting your limp body onto a stretcher, securing the oxygen mask over your nose and mouth. the room blurred for renjun. he couldn’t hear what they were saying. couldn’t breathe. a paramedic turned to the group, “one person can ride in the back. who's coming with her?” there was a beat of silence. and then yangyang stepped forward. firm. immediate. certain. “i am,” he said. “i’m her boyfriend.”
the words hit renjun like a punch to the chest. everything stilled. he didn’t move. couldn’t. all he could do was watch. watch yangyang walk beside the stretcher. watch his hand slip into yours. watch them wheel you away as if he hadn’t just spent the last few weeks living inside your smile. as if he hadn’t spent last night learning your body like it was the only truth he had left. ningning touched his shoulder gently, “come on,” she said quietly, “we’ll take your car.” he blinked, nodding numbly, forcing his feet to move. down the stairs. out the door. into the passenger seat. the last glimpse he caught of you was the ambulance doors closing. and yangyang climbing in without looking back.
❤︎
the sterile white light overhead hummed faintly. the office was quiet, except for the occasional tap of dr. lee’s tablet. renjun sat stiffly in the chair opposite the deks, hands wrung tightly in his lap. yangyang in th other, arms crossed, posture rigid. dr. lee glanced up from your chart, glancing at the two boys, back and forth, “she’s okay.”
renjun exhaled shakily, head bowing slightly. yangyang didn’t move. “what happened to her?,” he asked, voice rough around the edges.
dr. lee leaned forward slightly, “it was a collapse, likely due to an emotional overload. she must’ve experienced a sudden resurgence of memories — it overwhelmed her nervous system. add exhaustion and stress, and her body just… gave out.”
yangyang’s eyes widened, “so…she remembers?”
dr. lee nodded, “some, yes. enough to trigger the episode. only she know’s how much she actually remembers. but there’s no sign of brain injury and her vitals are stabilizing.”
renjun finally let out a shaky breath, “thank god.” but his relief was short-lived. cecause then dr. lee turned to yangyang, “so…you’re the real boyfriend?” yangyang nodded without hesitation. and renjun almost laughed. of course. he looked away. jaw clenched so tight it hurt. of course he is. never mind the fact that renjun had been the one by your side this time. holding your hand. walking you home. kissing you. none of it mattered now.
dr. lee looked between the two of them, sensing the weight in the room but not daring to address it, “she’s resting now. one visitor at a time, but i suggest letting her sleep a while longer. her body needs it.”
renjun’s hands clenched around the edge of the chair, “can i–” then he stopped. corrected himself, “can we stay nearby? just in the waiting room?”
dr. lee offered a smile, “of course, nurses will let you know when she wakes.” as he stood to leave, yangyang remained still, eyes locked on a framed certificate on the wall like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. dr. lee gave them both a polite nod and exited quietly. the silence that followed was dense and cold.
renjun stood slowly, but yangyang spoke before he could take a step, “this is your fault,” he muttered. voice low. accusatory. renjun froze. yangyang turned to face him now, jaw tight, “you had all this time and you let her live a fucking lie.”
renjun turned, anger sparking in his chest, “i was trying to protect her.”
“from what?”
“from this!,” renjun exploded, “from waking up in a hospital bed with a head full of broken pieces!”
yangyang shook his head, bitter, “she should’ve had the truth, renjun. not some made-up romance with a guy she doesn’t even belong to.”
that cut too deep. renjun swallowed, “i didn’t mean for her to fall for me.”
yangyang looked away, something wounded flickering in his eyes, “but she did,” he said. “and now…we don’t know who she’s going to choose.” neither of them said anything more. because that, more than anything, was the truth no one could argue. and it was going to break someone’s heart.
✿ THE BOY WHO NEVER SHOULD’VE STAYED ✿
renjun sat with his head in his hands, elbows braced against his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers he didn’t already hate. the waiting room was too bright. too quiet. time moved in slow, torturous beats. he hadn’t spoken much since last night. neither had ningning. and yangyang… he paced. sometimes sat. mostly stared at the wall like if he blinked too long, he might lose you again. renjun didn’t blame him. but that didn’t make it hurt any less. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. replaying everything — every time you looked at him like he was yours. the way you’d giggle with your whole body like joy couldn’t be contained in something so small. the way you whispered his name in the dark, tired and soft and full of trust, not knowing it wasn’t really his to keep. the way you’d pull him in like you needed him to breathe. he should’ve stopped it. should’ve told you the truth. but he didn’t. he let it happen. he let himself love you. he let himself pretend. and in pretending…he rewrote himself into your story. scribbled over yangyang’s name with his own fingers. skipped whole chapters just to hold your hand a little longer.
“excuse me,” the nurse stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. her voice was too calm, too casual for the storm brewing in renjun’s chest. “she’s awake.” three heads snapped up. renjun’s stomach twisted, “she’s asking for yangyang.”
“i’m yangyang,” yangyang said, already halfway down the hall. the nurse blinked, polite but firm. yangyang didn’t hesitate. didn’t even look back. renjun didn’t stop him. didn’t fight. didn’t speak. didn’t breathe. just watched as his best friend walked toward your room. walked toward the life that was always meant to be his. and in that moment, renjun felt the floor fall out from under him.
❤︎
the door creaked softly. you blinked against the sterile morning light filtering in through the hospital blinds, the thin sheet crinkling beneath your fingers as you shifted. your body felt heaver than it should. full of things you didn’t know how to carry. full of moments that weren’t yours a week ago but now lived inside you like they’d always been there. and then…he stepped in. familiar. striking. yangyang. his name whispered through your bloodstream like deja vu — soft, electric, bittersweet. it echoed in your chest before your brain could fully form the syllables. his eyes locked with yours. and for a moment, the world held its breath. he didn’t smile. neither did you. because how could you? how do you smile at someone who lived inside your forgotten memories? at someone who kissed you at an arcade, who spun you barefoot around the kitchen floor with the refrigerator light illuminating your steps, who packed picnic lunches and played you songs on his guitar just to make you laugh. how do you smile at someone who was supposed to be yours when all you could feel was someone else?
“i…,” you started, voice quiet, “...so, you’re my boyfriend?” his eyes softened at the sound of your voice, but there was something else there too. guilt. grief. exhaustion. the kind of weariness that comes from regret.
“i was,” he said carefully, walking a little closer, “i mean — i am. if you still want me to be.” you searched his face. and the memories came again. so many memories. the dream party where you first met last year during new years eve. renjun’s laugh somewhere in your ear as he introduced you to his best friend, the boy in front of you. yangyang’s flirtatious smirk. his terrible dance moves. his endless texts. the six months of pining and tension until you finally made it official in july. the way he used to call you “mine” like it was the most natural thing in the world. you remembered the way you fell for him slowly but surely.
but along with them, layered over like film over light, came others. renjun. renjun who became your safe place when everything else felt like a blur. who sat on your carpeted floors for hours, sketching together until the sun set and the moon took over. who held your hand and let you cry on his shoulder when the night would get too heavy. renjun who looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. who kissed you like nothing existed outside the space between your bodies. renjun, who stayed even when he didn’t need to. you didn’t fall into renjun. you just were in his arms, like you’d always belonged there.
your breath caught. the boy in front of you was the one you once loved. but the boy who was beside you when everything fell apart? he’s the one who made you feel safe. you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know what to feel. “i remember both of you,” you whispered finally, the confession trembling in your throat, “i remember everything now.” yangyang’s jaw clenched — a flicker of pain crossing his features before he masked it. you swallowed hard. “tell me the truth,” you said, your voice barely audible, “why didn’t you come back for me?”
he looked away. then back, “i– it was my career,” he answered, honest in a way that twisted something deep inside you, “it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“so instead you asked him to take care of me?,” you asked. he nods. you bit your lip. renjun had taken care of you. too well. because now, lying in a hospital bed, whole again, you weren’t sure which pain hurt worse — remembering the boy who left. or loving the boy who never should’ve stayed. yangyang stood at the foot of your bed like he didn’t know whether to move closer or vanish altogether. and you couldn’t even look away. because you knew him. you knew every inch of that face, every curve of that voice, every history-soaked shadow in his eyes. you remembered. and yet…you didn’t feel like the same girl who used to run into his arms at the end of every hard day. that girl didn’t know the quiet comfort of renjun’s presence. that girl had never fallen asleep to the sound of pencil scratches and soft humming. that girl had never been kissed like a secret worth keeping. but you did. you were her. and someone else entirely.
“i never wanted to choose,” yangyang said finally, breaking the silence, his voice low and rough around the edges, “you have to know that. i thought…i thought i was doing what was best. for both of us.” he took a tentative step closer. one hand lifting slightly, hesitating, then lowering again, “i didn’t know it would be this long,” he added, barely more than a whisper, “i didn’t know you’d forget.”
your eyes stung. you didn’t want to cry. you didn’t know who you’d be crying for. “but you did choose,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the trembling in your chest. “and it wasn’t me you chose.” not cruel. just honest. he flinched, something shifted in his expression, like the words hit deeper than he expected. and for a moment, neither of you said anything. then he reached for your hand. slowly. gently. carefully curling his fingers around yours, like he was holding something fragile. like if he gripped too tightly, it might all disappear again. his palm was warm, familiar, but also…strange. like a memory that didn’t quite fit in the present.
you didn’t pull away. but you didn’t hold on, either. “you don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly, thumb brushing once over your knuckles, “i know that. but i still love you and i’m willing to forget all of this if you are. i just want us to be happy.” your breath hitched. your heart splintered — not with joy, not with relief. but with confusion. because wasn’t that what you wanted too? to be happy? but what if your happiness came from the wrong person? what if the boy who left still held pieces of your heart, but the boy who stayed… put them back together?
“i missed you every day,” yangyang said, voice cracking like glass under pressure. “every single day. and i hated myself for not being here. i still do.” you swallowed. your mouth opened and no words came out. just silence. just ache. you looked at yangyang. at the boy you once loved. maybe still loved. maybe not. and whispered, “i need to talk to him.” his expression faltered — eyes glassy, smile broken, jaw clenched like he was holding back a dozen emotions at once. but still… he nodded. he didn’t argue. didn’t beg. just let go of your hand slowly. like he already knew…that even if he still had your past, someone else might have your heart.
he stood there a moment longer, just breathing. just watching you. and then he turned and walked out of the room. you didn’t even hear the door close. your chest tightened. hope fluttered weakly in your throat as you glanced up, expecting to meet his eyes — the ones that had been at your side when no one else was. but it wasn’t renjun. it was ningning. she stepped inside quietly, her expression already apologetic as she made her way to the chair beside your hospital bed. “where’s renjun?,” you asked, head tilted, voice softer now, smaller, “is he still here?”
ningning hesitated. and that was all it took. that one beat of hesitation, and your stomach sank, “he’s…” she exhaled, sitting down slowly. “he’s gone.”
your breath hitched, “gone?”
“he left right after yangyang entered earlier,” she said, “just said he wasn’t needed anymore.” a hollow settled into your chest. like something was missing. like something had been ripped out before you had a chance to hold it — gone. gone like he’d never meant to stay. gone like you were nothing but a responsibility. a burden he’d finally been released from.
“he didn’t even say goodbye?” you whispered, barely able to breath around it. ningning reached for your hand, gave it the softest squeeze, “i think that was his goodbye.”
and just like that — something inside you cracked. you took a slow breath. then another. but the air felt sharp in your lungs. because you took that silence as an answer. as a decision. he left without a word. no goodbye. no explanation. no hesitation. just… gone. he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. that whatever he’d said or done in those blurry days, while you were lost, wasn’t real. that maybe it had all been an act. a sense of duty. a lie wrapped in tenderness. and somehow, that hurt more than remembering. because remembering at least gave you back pieces of yourself. but this felt like losing someone you didn’t even realize you’d started to love.
❤︎
the road stretched out in front of him, long and empty, edged with trees that blurred past the windows. he had to get away before he made it harder. before he made you hesitate. this was always the plan. always the ending. he’d never let himself imagine more than this. he’d never let himself picture what it would feel like to stay, really stay — not just as a placeholder, a borrowed title in a borrowed life, but as someone who belonged beside you. because that was never his role. he was the in-between. the soft landing. the temporary. the lie wrapped in warmth and kindness because the truth would’ve hurt too much. and now the story was catching up to itself. the real narrative was back in motion. you remembered the boy who came before. the one who had the right to call you his. the one who was meant to be there when you woke up.
renjun had done what he had to do. you were okay. whole again. breathing and alive in ways that made his chest ache with something too big to name. he gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, heart folding in on itself. you didn’t need him anymore. you didn’t need someone to take care of you, to lie, to blur the lines between love and survival. and he wasn’t going to stay just to make you choose. he wouldn’t put that weight on you. he refused to be selfish. even if he still needed you. even if his whole body felt hollow, each mile a quiet kind of devastation. he glanced at the passenger seat. empty. but he could still see you there. sleeping, head tilted towards the window, fingers laced with his, too trusting, too soft, too his in ways he didn’t have the right to claim. he blinked hard. shook the image from his head. forced himself to keep driving. don’t turn around. don’t be weak. you’re with yangyang now. always was with yangyang. this is the truth. this is the ending he had no right to rewrite. because renjun was just the bookmark. just the quiet pause between chapters. just the space that held you until you remembered where you left off. and now that you had…he let the silence fill the car. let it press down on him like gravity. he didn’t look back. even if every part of him was screaming for one last goodbye. even if your name was still echoing through his chest. even if he loved you. silently. hopelessly. always.
✿ ONE LAST KISS - SIX DAYS LATER ✿
the whispers started small. a few murmurs in the hallways. a passing comment in class: “she’s back with yangyang?” “but wasn’t she with renjun like last week” “god, that poor guy” “how the hell did she get two best friends?”
renjun didn’t want to hear any of it. didn’t want to see the pity in his classmates eyes or the way people talked about you like you’re a scandal, not a person. he knew how this would go. knew how people chose sides. knew he’d already lost before he even understood the game. so he stopped going out. he skipped classes. skipped practice. skipped the parties and all the things that once made his tiny world feel manageable. he locked himself in his room like it could keep the pain out. like the walls would protect him from the stupid, aching vulnerability he’d let fester too long.
at first, the boys gave him space. renjun was always a little closed off, a little quiet, they were used to that. but as the days passed and the light behind his door stayed off longer and longer, concern began to grow — jaemin knocked first. no response. chenle left a plate of food outside his door and returned hours later to find it untouched. haechan said he was being dramatic. that he’d snap out of it. but even haechan’s voice lowered when he whispered later, “this isn’t him. not like this.” and inside that room, renjun let it all rot. he lay on the floor sometimes, not even bother with the bed, the carpet rough beneath his cheek, eyes trained on the cracks in his ceiling like they held answers. his phone buzzed with notifications, but he ignored them all. except for the one that finally made his stomach drop — a picture. posted by someone from the art department. a candid of you and yangyang walking together on campus. he had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you were smiling.
renjun stared at it for a long time. he zoomed in on your face. just your face. you looked… happy. radiant, even. he stared until the image blurred, then blinked away the tears that shouldn’t have been there. not for someone who was never his. with a bitter laugh, he reached for the bottle beside him and poured another shot. the alcohol burned, but not as much as the ache in his chest. “what the fuck am i doing,” he muttered to no one, pressing the cool glass against his temple. “what happened to not believing in this shit?” love. feelings. whatever this was. he thought he was smarter than this. he shouldn’t be wrecked over a crush. destroyed over something as fleeting as affection. but now look at him. alone. drunk. pathetic. another shot. he tried to remind himself that you didn’t do anything wrong. that you didn’t owe him anything. that all of this — the soft nights, the stolen glances, the aching silence — was born from misunderstanding and coincidence and a brain injury. nothing more. but his heart didn’t care about logic. his heart was too busy remembering the way you smiled at him when you thought he was yours. now you smiled at yangyang like that. and renjun couldn’t compete with a memory that was real. a memory where he didn’t even belong. he slumped back against the wall, bottle cradled against his chest, and let the darkness wash over him. he didn’t cry. but there was something about the way he sat there — silent, still, haunted — that felt even sadder than tears. he didn’t sleep that night. didn’t try to. didn’t want to. because the moment he closed his eyes, he saw you. smiling at someone else.
❤︎
you tried. you really did. tried to make it feel the way it used to. the way it should feel. you held yangyang’s hand walking across campus. let him kiss your forehead before class. let him curl around you on the couch while a movie plays in the background. you told yourself to lean into familiarity. that this is where you were supposed to be. this was your life before the accident. before the fog. but it didn’t feel like before. not after renjun. not after soft-spoken confessions whispered in the dark. not after arms that held you when the insecurities came. not after the warmth of someone who looked at you like you were more than a memory, more than obligation.
every time you kissed yangyang, you thought of renjun. every time you laced your fingers with his, you missed the way renjun’s thumb brushed your knuckles absentmindedly, like it was second nature. every time you laughed with yangyang, your smile faltered, too aware of how the echo no longer reached your chest the same way it used to. and he noticed. yangyang wasn’t stupid. he was patient. but not blind. so one quiet evening, when the world slowed and the sunset cast long, tired shadows across your apartment floor, he finally spoke. you were sitting on the edge of the bed. he stood by your dresser, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, his expression unreadable.
“i’m not going to ask you again to love me the way you used to,” he said quietly.
you blinked up at him, “yangyang…” his eyes dropped to the floor, then lifted again, tired but honest, “it’s him, isn’t?”
you opened your mouth. closed it. tried to find a softer answer. one that didn’t hurt so much. one that didn’t ruin everything. but none of the lies would come out. so instead, your voice cracked around the painful truth.
“...it’s always been him.”
yangyang nodded, slowly. like he already knew. like he’d known for a long time. and that broke you even more. you covered your face with both hands, ashamed, voice trembling, “even the night we met…i remember now…renjun was there. i went to that party to talk to him.”
yangyang sat down beside you, silent, listening, taking it all in for the first time. you continued, your voice unraveling, “i had a crush on him. a stupid, silent, quiet crush. and i think…i think that’s why my brain made me believe he was my boyfriend after the accident. maybe it wasn’t about memory at all. maybe it was just what i always wanted deep down. and i didn’t even realize it.” tears slipped down your cheeks, “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“i know,” yangyang whispered, “i know you didn’t.”
you turned to look at him, guilt clawing at your chest, “you were so good to me. we had our happy moments and i did love you. i tried so hard to go back to how we were.”
“i know you did.” he swallowed hard, then looked away, “but it shouldn’t feel like trying.” a heavy silence settled between you. then gently, yangyang reached over and took your hand — not the way lovers do, not with possession, but with the tenderness of letting go.
“i love you,” he said softly, “but i think…we’re not what each other needs anymore.” you nodded, eyes burning. yangyang gave your hand one final squeeze, then let go. and in that quiet room, under the wright of truth, something unspoken passed between you — not anger, not blame, but the quiet mourning of something that almost made it. the silence lingered, stretching between you like the space between two pages in a book that would never quite close properly. he sat beside you for a while. like maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, the moment wouldn’t hurt so much. you glanced at him through tear-blurred lashes. he still looked like home — familiar, steady, kind. but your heart didn’t reach for him the way it used to. and he knew it. he’d felt it in the way you’d flinched slightly when his arm brushes yours. in how your smile wilted a little too fast when he kissed your cheek. in how your gaze always drifted, unconsciously, to the door. like you wre waiting for someone who wasn’t him.
“can i—” he hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “can i ask you for something?” you turned to him, nodding gently, afraid to speak. he offered the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “one last kiss. just… goodbye. that’s all.”
you felt your breath hitch, your chest splintering under the weight of that simple request. and then, slowly, you nodded again. yangyang leaned in, careful, reverent, like he was touching a memory for the last time. his lips brushed against yours — soft, familiar, aching. there was no spark. no pull. just warmth and sadness and the final thread of something once beautiful unspooling quietly between you. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment longer, just breathing. “i don’t regret loving you,” he whispered, voice thick. “and i hope he makes you feel everything i couldn’t.”
your throat tightened, tears slipping down your cheeks freely now, “you were everything good. you know that, right?” yangyang nodded, “so were you.”
he stood slowly, giving you one last look — not full of resentment or regret, but of quiet acceptance, “all i want,” he said, voice hoarse, “is for you to be happy.” and then he left. no slammed doors. no shouting. just the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway — and with him, the final chapter of the life you thought you were supposed to want.
✿ YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND’S GIRLFRIEND ✿
the next day is tuesday. the door to painting ii. creaked open with the familiar groan of rusted hinges, and the moment you stepped in, the scent of turpentine and oil paints hit your nose like memory. you weren’t expecting him to be there. but of course, he was. renjun sat near the back, slouched in the seat he always claimed, third row from the windows, right beneath the flickering ceiling light. his hair was longer than before, a little unkempt, dyed color fading slightly at the tips. he had dark circles under his eyes. his flannel was wrinkled. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. your heart clenched at the sight. it was the first time you’d seen him in a week. a week since he disappeared. a week since you remembered everything. a week since he walked out of your life without a word. you stood in the doorway a second too long, unsure whether to walk in or walk out and pretend you forgot your schedule. pretend you hadn’t just spent the last six days pretending to be someone you weren’t for someone who wasn’t him. but then he lifted his head. just slightly. his eyes found yours. he didn’t look away. neither did you. and somehow… you knew where you were meant to be — not beside him. not avoiding him altogether. but two seats ahead. within reach, but not too close. where you always belonged. you walked down the aisle with your sketchpad clutched to your chest, footsteps echoing louder than they should have. you felt every pair of eyes flick between you and him as you passed. you ignored them. you sat down. the room buzzed with voices and the scrape of easels being dragged across the floor. but the two of you sat still, stiff, pretending not to feel the ache in your ribcages, the way your hearts were pounding with every breath. the air between you felt thick with everything unsaid. the hours crawled by. professor yuta’s voice droned on in the background, and you painted because it gave your hands something to do. you didn’t dare look back at him. but you could feel him. like gravity. like weight. and he didn’t look at you either. but he was listening for you. every shuffle of your brush. every inhale. every sigh.
eventually, the class began to thin out. people packed up, filed out, left in pairs. the usual chatter echoed down the hall, fading away with every swing of the door. and then it was quiet. you didn’t notice at first. you were still pretending not to feel anything. still pretending your brush strokes were more important than the heartbreak lining every breath. but then the silence became too loud to ignore. you glanced up. everyone was gone. except for you. and him. renjun hadn’t moved. he sat hunched over his notebook, not drawing, not writing, just… sitting. like maybe if he stayed still enough, the pain would forget he existed. it was strange, how after all the chaos, the gossip, the tears — you found yourselves here again. just the two of you in a quiet room, like the universe was waiting for someone to break first. you stood up slowly, the chair scraping the floor. the sound made renjun flinch, barely noticeable — but you caught it. you walked back, your footsteps soft this time. stopping by his side. he didn’t look at you. but he didn’t leave either. you offered a weak, crooked smile. trying to be light. trying to pretend you weren’t scared of breaking.
“you haven’t fought me for custody over moomin.”
it was meant to be teasing. playful. normal. but your voice cracked halfway through the sentence. and it just sounded sad. renjun finally looked up. his eyes met yours, and in them was every emotion you tried not to name—hurt, guilt, longing, exhaustion. he looks older. he looks tired. he looks like he’d missed you. your smile trembled. he opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. he swallowed hard. his throat worked around silence.
then finally, voice hoarse and quiet, “he’s happier in your arms.”
he looked back down after he said it like he hadn’t meant to let the words slip. you didn’t speak for a second. your eyes stung “he’s happiest when you’re there,” you reply. renjun stopped breathing. it wasn’t about moomin. you both knew that. it was about everything you hadn’t said. everything you were too scared to say, even now. but maybe this was your only chance. so you sat beside him, folding your arms over the edge of the table so you could look at him without needing to stand taller, without needed to be braver than you were. “renjun,” you said softly and he flinched at the way you said his name. gentle. familiar. like you still meant it.
“i woke up and you were just…gone,” you whispered.
he finally looked at you again. the weight in his eyes made your chest tighten. “i thought it would be easier,” he said, the words dragging, “i thought if i wasn’t there, you could just go back to him. like it was supposed to be. you wouldn’t have to feel confused.”
you shook your head, eyes glassy, “you think that’s what i wanted? that you leaving without a word would make anything easier?”
he pressed his lips together, “i didn’t want to make you choose.”
“you didn’t let me choose.”
that silenced him. a quiet breath passed between you. you looked down at your hands, voice trembling, raw, “i took it as a sign. that you wanted nothing to do with me. that i meant nothing to you.”
“you mean everything to me,” renjun said, almost instantly. almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. but this time, he didn’t take it back. “you mean everything. that’s the problem.”
you looked at him again, tears threatening to spill, “why is that a problem?”
“because you’re not mine,” he said, voice cracking, “because i fell in love with you, and i’m not allowed to.”’
“says who?,” you ask, there’s a slight teasing to your voice but renjun wasn’t in the mood to joke around.
“y/n,” he said, firm, pained, “you’re my best friend’s girlfriend.”
“was,” you corrected quietly. his head turned towards you, “what?”
“i was your best friend’s girlfriend,” you say. he blinked. you watched the words sink in slowly, like they didn’t quite land at first. his lips parted, but nothing came out. he looked stunned, dazed, almost. “we broke up,” you said gently. renjun’s brow creased, “why?”
you turn to him fully. the truth sat on the edge of your lips, aching to be known, “because someone else stole my heart,” you whispered, “and i’m still waiting for him to give it back.”
there was a beat of silence. his breath hitched, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. his eyes found yours, wide and glassy, and in them you saw it all — the fear, the longing, the love he’d tried so hard to bury. then, barely above a breath, he said, “i don’t think he’s giving it back.”
you tried to hold it together, but the smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. trembling with emotion, with disbelief that this moment was real, “no?”
he shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe you were really here saying these things to him. “finders, keepers.” and then — he kissed you. he leaned in with a kind or urgency that wasn’t rushed, just full of everything he hadn’t let himself feel. one hand came up to cup your cheek, careful but sure, like he didn’t want you to flinch away. and when his lips met yours, it was soft. so soft. gentle. all-consuming. like the ache inside you had finally found its match and settled. like something wounded had been wrapped in warmth and given the space to heal.
you leaned into him, breath trembling as your hand slid up to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like you were scared he’d vanish again. but he didn’t. he stayed. he kissed you like he’d never meant to leave in the first place. his mouth moved like he was still trying to apologize — for the lies, the silence, the goodbye he thought would protect you. and you kissed him back with the same trembling desperation. when you finally pulled apart, you didn’t go far. your foreheads touched. noses brushing, breaths mingling. it was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. it was full of every unsaid thing you finally understood now. renjun’s voices cracked as he whispered, “i’m sorry. for lying to you. for not stopping it. for taking advantage of you.”
you shook your head, your hands moving to either side of his face. your thumb brushed away the tear slipping from the corner of his eye, “i told you what i wanted,” you said, your voice soft, steady, “i wanted the boy who stayed and drank tea beside me. the one who held me through the pain. the one who kept trying until he won me the prize. the one who makes me feel safe even when the world doesn’t.” your gaze held his, voice breaking on the next words, “that is you. no one else.”
renjun’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your words was too much to bear. when he opened them again, he looked at you like you were something sacred. something he didn’t know if he deserved — but something he’d never stop trying to. and this time, when he kissed you again, it wasn’t out of apology. it was out of love.
✿ WHAT HAPPENED TO TAKING IT SLOW? ✿
the walk home was quiet. but not the kind of quiet that felt empty or strained. it was peaceful, the kind that only came with him. the air between you buzzed gently, renjun walked beside you, his hand enveloping yours as he absentmindedly rubbed gentle circles on your skin. you didn’t talk much, but you didn’t need to. there was something grounding in the silence. like the storm had passed and you were finally catching your breath in the calm that followed. and it felt right. him and you. here, together. when you reached your apartment, you turned to him with a soft smile, “you coming in? for tea?”
his lips quirked faintly, like they always did when you asked. like it was a question with only one answer, “yeah,” he murmured, “of course.” you unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of your home. the lights were low, the world quiet outside your windows and everything about it — the air, the space, him, made your chest ache in the best way. you slipped off your shoes and padded toward the kitchen, speaking over your shoulder as your reached for the kettle. you turned towards the fridge, ready to pull out the honey you know he loves but you never made it that far — one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other already cradling your jaw as he turned you, pressed you against the wall before you could blink. his lips crashed into yours, hot and urgent, and all the air rushed from your lungs.
“renjun–,” you gasped, between kisses, trying to catch up to the storm that was him. he kissed you harder, hungrier, like he was finally letting the pleasure consume him after denying the craving for too damn long. his tongue slid against yours, mouth opening wider as a groan rumbled low in his throat. his body crushed yours, solid and commanding, pressing you into the wall like he needed to feel every inch of you. your knees went weak, his hands steadied you, one slide down to your ass and grabbed a handful, squeezing hard like it was his and his alone. somewhere in between breathless whimpers and fevered kisses, you dared a teasing smile, “what happened to taking it slow?”
renjun pulled back just enough to look you in the eye and the expression he wore made your breath catch. eyes blown black, jaw clenched, that pretty mouth slick and swollen from kissing you like it hurt him to stop. “fuck that,” he said, voice rough and low, like gravel and heat all rolled into one, “i’ve been patient long enough.” then, without hesitation, he picked you up. your legs instantly wrapping around his waist with a sharp gasp. his mouth claimed yours again as he walked through the hall like a man on a mission. the door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. he didn’t stop. not to talk. not to undress you gently. he threw you onto the bed like he owned it — like he owned you. and god, maybe he did.
you scrambled back on instinct, heart pounding, but he was already on you with an edge you hadn’t seen before, eyes drinking you in like he couldn’t decide where to start. the hunger in them a sharp, burning thing. “do you have any idea,” he muttered, dragging your shirt over your head in one swift, rough pull, leaving you in your white lacy bra, “how long i’ve been holding back?” his mouth was on you before you could answer, teeth grazing your collarbone before soothing it with his tongue, slow and sinful. you whimpered, arching into him, already shaking with want. “i see you in my sleep,” he growled into your skin, “think about you every fucking night.”
your shorts were gone before you even realized he’d unbuttoned them, dragged them down your legs at a torturous pace just to hear you whimper. he palmed your thigh, then slid his hand between your legs, over the soaked fabric of your panties. he was dominant, commanding, like every part of him had been waiting to ruin you in the most perfect way. and, it turned you on more than you could stand. “dripping for me already?,” he asked, dark amusement threading through his voice, thumb rubbing slow, delicious circles over the wet spot. “look at you, love. so fucking needy.” he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice soft but cruel, “this–,” he pressed harder, making you whine, hips bucking up to his touch “–is mine.”
then your panties were gone too, tossed somewhere on your floor. he didn’t even bother with his clothes. he just shoved your thighs open and dropped between them like he’d been waiting years to do it. the first lick was devastating. hot. slow. deep. from your entrance all the way to your clit. he moaned into you, a filthy, reverent sound that vibrated straight through your core. his tongue moved with skill, flicking and circling your clit, then flattening against your folds in relentless, wet pressure. your back arched clean off the mattress.“renjun–fuck–please,” you sobbed, fingers twisting in his hair. he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. he sucked your clit into his mouth with a ferocity that made you cry out. you were shaking, legs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets and he just kept going. his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open and down, forcing you to take it. no escape. no mercy. he grunted into you like a man possessed, grinding his hips into the mattress like he was the one being touched, cock straining visibly through his jeans. the sight made your walls clench around nothing. you couldn’t even speak anymore. just broken moans, whimpers, gasps. he’d eaten you out before, but not like this. this was punishment, worship, completely in his hands. he growled against your clit and it made your vision white out. “you taste like fucking heaven,” he muttered when he finally pulled back, mouth shiny, chin slick. his chest was heaving. his eyes met yours – wilde and completely gone for you, “sweeter than fucking honey. better than anything i’ve ever had.”
you couldn’t even respond. just writhed beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure, still gasping, legs trembling. he didn’t give you a break, “i’m never running away again,” he said softly, a moment of sweetness before he dove back in. this time, he hooked two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just the right way while his mouth latched back onto your sensitive bud. the combination made you scream — loud, raw, involuntary. he moaned with satisfaction. you shattered. once. then again. and again. overstimulation crashing over you in brutal, beautiful waves as he worked you through every aftershock until your legs were shutting closed around his head and your voice broke into gasps.
“too much–renjun–please–” he finally pulled back, fingers slipping out slowly, dragging your slick down your thigh. he kissed your inner thigh sweetly, then your hipbone, then up your trembling stomach.
“shhh,” he soothed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, even though it did nothing to clean the mess, “my sweet girl, you can take it. you’re mine. you were made to come for me.” and you believed it. because in that moment, wrecked and trembling, soaked in your own arousal, staring up at him as he loomed over you with that sweet little smirk and ruin in his eyes, it didn’t feel like anything else could be true. his lips ghosted up your stomach, slow now, his fingers quickly unhooking your bra with a gentle flick, you didn’t even notice it coming off until he captured one nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. your back arched like you’d been shocked.
“fuck,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair again, nails sinking into his scalp as he tongued your nipple, flicking over the sensitive peak in tight, merciless circles. he hummed against you like he liked the way your body jolted, the way your chest heaved under him. he popped off with a wet sound, only to take the other one between his fingers, rolling it slowly, almost too slowly, then pinching just hard enough to make your hips jerk.
“sensitive already?,” he murmured, dark and amused, his breath hot against your skin, “but you’re still so fucking responsive.” he dragged his tongue across your chest, from one breast to the other, before closing his lips around your other nipple and sucking harder this time, until your thighs clenched around his waist and your moans grew wrecked and breathless. you were squirming, trying to pull away from the unbearable sharpness of his mouth and fingers, but his hands gripped your hips, pinning you to the mattress. “gonna show you what it should’ve always felt like,” he growled. his free hand slid up your ribs, slow and deliberate, until it reached your other breast. he palmed it, squeezed it, his thumb brushing your nipple, featherlight at first, then dragging down and flicking it roughly. you gasped, whole body arching, breath catching on the edge of a sob.
“you sound so pretty when you whimper,” he whispered, letting your nipple slip from his lips, now swollen and wet. he blew hot air over it and you shivered violently. both of his hands came up now, thumbs and fingers teasing, tugging, kneading your tits like he was obsessed with them. with you. you were panting. eyes glassy. hips grinding up into nothing because you didn’t know what else to do. and then he slapped one breast lightly, watching it bounce with hooded eyes before his hand smoothed over it, soothing, then squeezing again with a quiet groan. you were shaking under him all over again, your core pulsing with need, arousal dripping down your thighs even though he hadn’t touched you there in minutes. your whole chest was flushed, shining with his spit, nipples red and swollen and hypersensitive — and he looked addicted. he kissed the valley between your breasts, then your jaw, finally reaching your mouth again. when he kissed you this time, you tasted yourself on his tongue, whole body on the edge again.
“you’re gonna come again just from this, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, hand sliding down your body like he already knew the answer. his hand dipped lower, between your legs again, and when his fingers brushed your soaked slit, you sobbed, already trembling. he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep, “god, you’re soaked.” he bit your bottom lip. you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe. all you could do was moan — every part of you aching for him.
“say it,” he whispered, his fingers thrusting slow but deep, thumb circling your clit again as he dragged his tongue over your nipple one more time, “tell me you’re mine.”
you bit your lips, already trembling from the anticipation, “i’m yours, renjun.”
he leaned down and kissed you — soft and sweet and when he pulled away, his voice dropped to something deeper. rougher. the edge of restraint completely gone. “i’m done holding back.” he didn’t ask permission. didn’t warn you. he just stood up, yanked his shirt off, shoved his jeans down and let his cock spring free — flushed and hard, thick and leaking at the tip, his breath ragged as he stared down at you like he’d waited his entire life for this. he climbed back onto the bed. grabbing your thighs and yanking you down the mattress toward him. you gasped at the sudden manhandling, arms scrambling for anything to hold onto. then he grabbed your legs and folded you. bent you in half beneath him, knees pressed up by your chest, your dripping pussy spread wide for him, trembling and ready, “fuck, look at you,” he growled, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your folds, “so wet for me. so fucking perfect. i should’ve done this the first night.”
“renjun–please—” he slammed into you in one thrust. your body jolting up the bed, the force of him knocking the air clean from your lungs. he didn’t give you a second to adjust, just pulled out halfway, then slammed back in again, harder.
“mine,” he grunted through clenched teeth, hips slamming into yours, “you’re mine.” he folded you deeper as he pounded into you, rough and hungry, draggingg moans and gasps out of your throat every time he bottomed out. your hands clawed at his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground you as he fucked into you like a man making up for lost time.
“wanted this for so fucking long,” he gritted out, sweat beading at his temples, hair falling into his eyes, “every time i walked away. every time i told myself to wait.” he thrusted harder, deeper, his cock hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you again and again until tears blurred your vision. his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you wide open for him, using your body like he owned it.
“never again,” he growled, leaning down until his chest pressed against your bent legs, forehead nearly touching yours, “you’re not getting rid of me now. i’m in you. i’m not leaving.” you sobbed, overwhelmed, from the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words, the way his cock dragged perfectly against your walls with every punishing thrust.
“fucking—so tight,” he snarled, biting down on your shoulder just enough to leave a mark. “squeezing me like you were made for me. you are, aren’t you?”
“y-yes,” you choked out, nails digging into his back, “only you, renjun—” that broke him. he snapped his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep inside you over and over, every thrust driving more wrecked moans from your throat. the bed shook. the headboard slammed against the wall. your body bounced beneath him, moans rising in pitch as the coil inside you tightened fast — dangerously fast.
“come on, love,” he groaned, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, fast circles, “come on my cock. let me feel it. let me have you.”
“renjun—oh fuck, i—” you shattered. came with a cry so raw and desperate it sounded like you’d been torn open, your whole body spasming under him as your orgasm hit like a wave. he kept fucking you through it even as your walls clamped around him like a vice. he was buried deep, grinding into you slowly like he couldn’t bear to let go, hips stuttering as the pressure built fast in his gut.
and then, with a strained growl, he pulled out, “f-fuck—” he hissed, gripping the base of his cock, stroking it hard and fast. his other hand stayed locked around your thigh, holding you spread and folded open beneath him, pussy dripping and raw from the way he’d just ruined you. his breath was ragged, his body tight with tension — and then he came. thick, hot spurts of cum spilled from the head of his cock, landing messily across your stomach, your hips, streaking your inner thighs. one shot high and painted your breasts, glistening across your already spit-slick nipples.
renjun groaned deep in his throat, hand slowing as the last spurts pulsed out of him. he was panting — flushed and wild-eyed as he looked down at you. at your wrecked body. at his cum covering every inch of your soft skin. “look at my cum marking you,” he breathed, voice dripping with awe and filth. he leaned in closer, rubbing the tip of his cock through the mess on your stomach, dragging it up your body, over your navel, over your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of the sight. “i fucking painted you,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “so pretty like this. all covered in me. mine.” he hovered over you, his cock slapping your lips, “open,” he said, gentle but firm. you obeyed without hesitation. as he slipped his member inside your mouth, watching you clean off your shared arousal, with blown pupils, and groaned again, cock twitching even though he’d just come. you could taste your mixed juices, licking him clean.
“so perfect,” he whispered, pulling out and leaning down to press a soft, reverent kiss to your jaw, “i could do this forever. keep you messy and all mine.” he kissed your temple, his hand still trailing your skin — gentle now, though the possessiveness in his gaze hadn't faded. “you look like a painting,” he murmured. every inch of you claimed. used. worshipped.
renjun collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. his cheeks were flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, lips swollen. for a long moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and tangled between the sweat and the sheets and the wreckage of everything you both had been holding back for so long. but you weren’t done. because something had shifted in you, too — something dark and delicious unfurling beneath the surface. he looked at you with that dazed, post-orgasm softness — but your sweet smile had vanished, replaced by something sharper. playful. predatory.
you straddled him slow, deliberate, hips sinking over his thighs while your fingers wrapped around his cock, still twitching, still sensitive and soaked. he hissed. “love—” his voice cracked, eyes flying open when you gave him a gentle stroke. his whole body jolted. “f-fuck, love—wait. give me like ten minutes.”
you just cocked your head and smiled, mean and slow, “ten minutes?,” you echoed, dragging your fingers lightly down his chest, “junie, you didn’t give me ten seconds when you had me folded in half.” you hummed thoughtfully, thumb pressing just beneath the head as you pumped him once. his whole body flinched, “you deserve to be punished.”
renjun’s lips parted instantly, a breathless moan slipping out as his hips jerked away, instinctively trying to escape your touch. but you caught him — your hand locking around the base of his cock, holding him there, unmoving. his stomach flexed under the pressure, “for what?” he whimpered, voice breaking like he already knew.
you leaned down, lips brushing his ear, “for being so mean to me…” you pouted innocently, “…for all those times you edged me…” your hand began to move again, slow, tight strokes with a cruel twist at the tip. he choked on a moan, muscles spasming beneath you, arms trembling where they lay limp at his sides, “—just to leave me on my own,” you continued, voice a sultry threat in his ear, “so fucking needy for you. so desperate. and you’d just leave me there, aching.” renjun groaned, hips lifting into your hand as his cock twitched to life, the look on his face caught between overstimulated terror and pure, unfiltered need. your hand moved faster now, relentless. ruthless. you knew exactly what you were doing — exactly how to ruin him. renjun cursed under his breath, hands clutching at the sheets, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm as he tried to breathe through the stimulation. you gave him no mercy.
you cooed, mockingly, “aww, junie, is it too much?” your eyes sparkled as your hand twisted at the head again, making him twitch. “because this?” you leaned close, kissed the underside of his jaw, “this is barely a taste of how bad you’ve been.”
“shit—fuck—” he gasped, body straining under you, legs tensed like he didn’t know if he should run or beg. and then — slap. you flicked his cock with a sharp smack that made his back arch violently off the bed. “fuck!” he yelped, voice high and wrecked, “love—please—!”
you cooed sweetly, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw as your hand didn’t let up, “can’t take it?” you mocked, voice syrupy with amusement, “thought you were the one in charge tonight?” his head fell back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth hanging open with helpless gasps. he was trembling. falling apart in your hands. you sat up, palm pressing flat over his chest to keep him pinned down, your fingers still stroking him with obscene rhythm. he was a mess — whimpering, twitching, begging under his breath. every part of him shook with tension. submission. “that’s it,” you whispered, licking your lips as you leaned close again, “make it up to me.”
“g-gonna—” he choked out, voice cracking, hips stuttering under your palm. “love—shit—i’m gonna come again—”
“do it,” you purred, stroking him even harder now, merciless and fast, “come for me, junie. cry for me while you do.” and with a loud, broken moan, his cock jerked in your hand, spilling thick, hot release across his stomach, your fingers, your thighs. he sobbed through it, hips bucking helplessly, body twitching with overstimulation. his jaw went slack, head thrown back, chest heaving like he’d been dragged through it. and you just smiled again, slow, indulgent, before lazily bringing your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean one by one like you had all the time in the world to destroy him again.
you weren’t finished. your other hand dipped lower, between his legs, fingers cupping his balls with a slow, deliberate squeeze. he whimpered at the touch, whole body jerking weakly, overstimulated and twitching. you rolled them in your palm, gentle but firm, just the way that made his voice pitch into something ragged and helpless. “god,” you whispered, kissing along his throat, “you’re such a mess.” and then — lower. bolder. your fingers slid further down, teasing over his perineum in soft, slow circles that made him shudder. his legs shifted, hips twitching from the unfamiliar touch, breath catching in his throat. before he could ask, before he could even process, you dragged your slick fingers over the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. his whole body tensed. his breath stopped. and then — a moan. low. vulnerable. accidental.
his eyes flew open, locking onto yours — wide and wild and full of something that wasn’t quite fear but shock. curiosity. need. you raised an eyebrow, your voice a soft purr, “do you like that?” he swallowed hard, lips parted. his answer was a shaky, honest nod. he’d never let anyone this far before. never trusted anyone with his body like this. never trusted anyone this much. and now he’s let you inside him, in ways more than one.
your smile softened just slightly, a flicker of real affection breaking through the dominant haze, “good boy,” you whispered. encouraged, you circled his rim again, slower this time, and gently pressed the tip of your finger in. just barely. just enough to feel him tighten around it. renjun gasped, loud, shocked, hips jerking upward as his hands clutched desperately around your wrist. you leaned over him, kissed his cheek, murmuring, “relax, let me make you feel good.”
your finger slipped in further, your other hand stroking his cock slowly, coaxing him through the overwhelming sensation. your touch was careful but deliberate, curling just slightly, teasing the sensitive spot deep within. the reaction was instant. renjun let out a strangled, broken moan, high and wrecked, his entire body spasming beneath you as his hips lifted like he couldn’t help it. his thighs were trembling. chest rising and falling with shallow gasps. he was wrecked, ruined, eyes locked on yours. desperate. shaking. bare and open beneath you. utterly yours.
your finger grazed that tender bundle of nerves inside him. renjun’s mouth dropped open, eyes fluttering shut as a guttural, broken sound spilled from his throat — somewhere between a sob and a moan. his thighs trembled around your hips, and you could feel him tightening all over again, like his body didn’t know whether to run or surrender. like his mind couldn’t accept that was going to come from this. you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmuring, “feels good, doesn’t it?” and he nodded, frantic, needy, breath catching every time your finger moved inside him just right. your other hand never stopped pumping his cock, slow and deliberate, squeezing him gently every time he pulsed in your palm.
“s-shit—love—” he whimpered, voice cracking with desperation, “why does this feel so good—fuck—i can’t—”
“yes, you can,” you whispered softly, placing a careful kiss on his tip, “you’re taking it so well, junie. letting me play with you. letting me break you open. you're so fucking pretty like this.” he moaned again, hands finally flying up to clutch at your hair like he needed to anchor himself to you. he was flushed everywhere, pink-cheeked, sweat-slicked, his eyes glassy and pleading.
“i wanna make you come like this,” you breathed against the head of his cock, sucking his tip, curling your finger again and feeling the way his body clenched around you, so hot and tight, “wanna feel you fall apart just from my finger.” renjun gasped sharply, back arching, legs falling further open — a wordless answer. you pressed in just a little deeper. stroked him a little faster.
“that’s it, junie,” you cooed, watching him unravel, “you’re doing so well.”
his hips were bucking now, shallow and helpless, caught between the overstimulation and the impossible pleasure. his voice was hoarse when he begged, barely more than a whisper, “please—please, love—don’t stop—”
“i won’t,” you promised, smiling, “not until you give me everything.” and he did. moments later, with a loud, choked cry, his body convulsed again — hot release spilling over your fist. his cock twitching violently in your grip as his thighs locked around your hips. you kept your finger inside him, working him through it, stroking him gently, lovingly, even as his body trembled and seized beneath you. he sobbed through it. beautiful and broken and breathless. you leaned over him again, kissed his temple, whispered, “good boy. that’s my good boy.” his eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and wet, and the look he gave you was pure devotion.
❤︎
you both lay tangled in the sheets, bodies still trembling from everything that just happened. renjun’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, face flushed and dazed like he just stumbled out of a dream. your fingers lazily traced circles on his chest, the silence thick with intimacy and exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you spoke, too caught up in the aftermath, too drunk on each other.
“...did you just–?,” he started, voice hoarse and a little incredulous. his eyes flicked to you.
you bit your bottom lip, smirking, “put a finger up your butt?,” you asked far too casually, “yes. yes, i did.”
renjun let out a sound that was somewhere between an embarrassed groan and a laugh, covering his face with one hand. “jesus christ.”
“you liked it,” you teased, grinning against his shoulder.
he peeked at you from behind his fingers, cheeks now fully pink at this new discovery, “i didn’t not like it.”
“oh?” you turned toward him, propping yourself up on an elbow, “big words for someone who moaned like a porn star.”
he shoved you lightly, eyes wide, “i did not—”
“you did,” you sing-songed, kissing the side of his neck as he tried to hide his face again. “sounded like a soprano in a church choir. i was expecting hallelujahs.” renjun groaned into the pillow, “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.” you laughed softly and kissed his temple. “you’re just emotionally fragile after being fingered for the first time.” he paused, groaning again. but this time it sounded more like a laugh, “you’re so annoying,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. only fondness. you were quiet for a second, then tilted your head, suddenly curious, “do you… wanna try more stuff like that? like…pegging?” renjun made a choked noise and turned to stare at you like you’d just offered to set him on fire, “you’re bringing that up now? while i’m still trying to process what happened?”
you smiled innocently, “i’m just asking, you seemed pretty into it.” he buried his face in your chest this time, grumbling something incoherent. then, muffled, “…maybe in the future.” you grinned, threading your fingers through his hair, “look at you. such a brave little explorer.”
he lifted his head to glare at you, eyes narrowed, “say one more thing and you’re banned from my ass forever.” you raised an eyebrow. “liar.” the two of you broke into helpless laughter, warm and breathless, the kind that only came after being stripped completely bare with someone — desire, fears, fantasies, all out in the open.
then your eyes landed on something just past his shoulder, a little plush figure slumped in the corner of your dresser, watching with a blank, wide-eyed stare. you froze. “…oh my god,” you whispered, horrified. “moomin saw everything.” renjun blinked, then looked where you were staring — and absolutely lost it. “STOP—” he laughed, clutching his stomach. “not moomin’s innocent little eyes!”
“he’s traumatized!” you said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “we committed war crimes in front of him…we need to burn him. or at least turn him around!” renjun was howling with laughter now, curled into you, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “you’re never gonna look at him the same again.”
you buried your face into the curve of his neck, giggling into his skin. comfortable silence passing for a beat. “but seriously, i’m sorry if i overwhelmed you,” you murmured, voice a little quieter now, a little more unsure, “i got kind of… carried away.”
renjun shook his head instantly, arms tightening around your waist, “you seriously need to stop apologizing,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, he paused, trying to find the right words. “i’ve never trusted someone that much before. or even felt that safe to do that.” you lifted your head, and he met your eyes. his was glassy, almost shy, but full of something achingly sincere, “you didn’t overwhelm me. you just… broke me open a little,” he added with a crooked smile.
you smiled, teasing gently, “only a little?” he laughed under his breath, brushing your hair back from your face. “okay. a lot.”
he exhaled a slow, dazed breath and muttered, “i really didn’t expect this from little sweet you.” you raised a brow, glancing down at him, “oh yeah?” he tilted his head to look up at you, a lazy, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “i thought you were gonna maybe kiss me real nice and then pat my head or something. not—” he gestured vaguely toward his thoroughly wrecked, boneless self, “—all of that.”
you grinned, voice syrupy sweet. “well, that’s because you always ran away before it got fun.” he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the pillows like he’d been mortally wounded, “god, don’t remind me.”
you giggled, leaning in to kiss him, slow, open-mouthed, nothing frantic or needy, just a quiet exchange of breath and emotion. when you pulled back, you whispered, “i love you.”
renjun looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. like hearing those words would never stop making his chest ache, “say it again.”
“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time. his smile trembled, eyes darting across your face like he was trying to absorb it all, your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the shine of affection that hadn't left your eyes once.
he melted instantly, arms curling around you like home. “i hope you know you’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your skin, “and i love you more.”
you hummed happily, arms tightening around him. “say it again.”
“i love you. i love you. i love you.” he said, peppering your face with kisses.
you nuzzled into his neck, “one more time.”
he laughed, pure and quiet, brushing his nose along your temple. “you’re greedy.”
“only for you.”
he kissed your forehead, “i love you,” he whispered again and he kept saying it, over and over, until the words wrapped around both your bodies like a second blanket, warm and infinite and real.
✿ PANCAKES, NINGNING & MY GIRLFRIEND ✿
you took a bite of the pancake and blinked, surprised, “…wait. these are actually good.”
renjun gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “actually good? of course it is. i made it.” you snorted, grinning as you plucked a strawberry from your plate. you turned slightly on his lap, legs draped over his thighs as he held you steady by the waist. he opened his mouth obediently, biting down on the fruit with a pleased little hum, eyes flicking up to meet yours. the. he sliced a bite of pancake with his fork and bringing it to your lips.
you leaned in, letting the syrupy sweetness melt on your tongue, “mmm. still can’t believe you could make this.”
he pinched your thigh gently, making you giggle. you shifted slightly on his lap to get comfortable and paused, fingers absentmindedly brushing through his hair as you tilted your head, “your roots are showing.”
“yeah,” he sighed, “i’ve been meaning to get it done again.” you tapped your chin playfully, “can i pick the next color?” he gave you a slow, suspicious look, “depends. what are you thinking?” you smiled innocently, looping your arms around his neck. “pink.”
renjun groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back, “why did i ask.”
“come on,” you laughed, peppering kisses along his jaw. “soft, dreamy pink. you would look so cute.”
“i’d look like a bottle of strawberry milk.”
“exactly,” you beamed, “delicious.” he groaned again, but this time it melted into a chuckle, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “fine. you can have your pink fantasy.”
you kissed him sweetly, “you love me.”
he rolled his eyes yet kissed you back just as sweet, “yeah. i really do.”
you were just settling back into renjun’s lap again, feeding him the pancake, when ningning’s door creaked open behind you. this time, her hair was a tangled mess, her face scrunched into a look of profound betrayal. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there. in a hoodie three sizes too big. blinking. processing. you, perched on renjun’s lap, syrup-smudged plates on the counter, kisses still fresh on both your faces. “i knew i wasn’t hallucinating those sounds last night,” she muttered darkly, rubbing her temples. “i woke up thinking i was dying, only to realize it was just you two clapping cheeks down the hall.” you froze with your fork halfway to your mouth. renjun choked on the bite you'd just fed him. ningning pointed at you like she was calling out a crime, “i live here! this is my home! not a fucking pornhub set!” you burst into laughter, nearly falling off renjun’s lap. “i was wearing noise-canceling headphones and I still heard it,” ningning went on, flopping dramatically into a kitchen chair like she’d lived through a war. “like. full surround sound. dolby atmos. spatial audio.”
renjun groaned, “i want to die.”
“i want to die more!” she snapped, “i heard your boyfriend moan like a porn star, and i cannot un-hear that, thank you very much!”
renjun made a choked noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and immediately buried his face in your shoulder. but you caught it: the tiniest, giddy smile tugging at his lips. you blinked. he was blushing. ningning was still ranting, but all you could focus on was renjun, whose ears were turning red, whose shoulders shook a little from silent laughter, whose hand reached blindly for your thigh like he needed grounding. because she said boyfriend. and he liked it. really liked it.
“you’re smiling,” you whispered, nudging him with your elbow. “i’m not,” he said, muffled behind your skin. “you are,” you teased, leaning close. “because she said boyfriend.” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face, grinning now in full. “shut up.”
“my boyfriend,” you repeated, deliberately softer this time, and he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated and lovesick.
ningning groaned. “oh my god, i’m still here! don’t make it worse!!!” you turn your attention back to her, wheezing into your iced tea. “i’m traumatized,” ningning added, deadpan. “i’m gonna need an exorcism.”
“you’re so dramatic,” you finally managed, wiping tears from your eyes. she grabbed her water bottle, pointing at the both of you. “if you have sex in my kitchen, i will commit arson.” then she turned and shuffled away, muttering about sage and bleach and lost innocence. you and renjun stared at each other for a beat, stunned into silence—then burst into fresh laughter, collapsing into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it was. after all. you are his girlfriend now.
✿ PINK SUITS YOU ✿
the next day, you stood barefoot in your tiny bathroom, plastic gloves already snapped on, a bottle of bubblegum-pink box dye you bought at the nearest store in one hand and a towel draped dramatically over renjun’s shoulders like he was about to get a five-star spa treatment instead of a chaotic dye job from his slightly-too-excited girlfriend. he sat on the edge of the tub, legs splayed lazily, arms crossed as he eyed you through the mirror with that mix of love and mild apprehension he reserved exclusively for when you said things like “let’s bleach your head at home!”
“this is a bad idea,” he muttered, even as he tilted his head obligingly forward so you could section his hair.
“you agreed,” you sang back, grinning as you combed through his roots.
“i was full of pancakes and post-sex serotonin,” he deadpanned. “my decision-making was compromised.”
you laughed, nudging his head with the comb, “too late now, junie. you’re gonna be the prettiest strawberry at the farmer’s market.”
he snorted, “as long as i don’t end up bald.”
“don’t jinx it,” you whispered ominously, and he gave you a withering look through the mirror that only made you giggle harder. the dye squelched as you started massaging it into his scalp, careful and focused despite the teasing. your tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and renjun watched you from beneath his lashes, soft-eyed and quiet now, lips tugging into a smile he didn’t bother hiding. soon, his dark roots were hidden beneath thick streaks of bright pink. the color looked ridiculous and so fun already — vibrant and loud and everything renjun usually wasn’t, which made it even better.
“you’re gonna look like a k-pop idol,” you said cheerfully.
“better than looking like someone who got attacked by strawberry yogurt.”
you gasped, offended, “take that back.”
he smirked, “make me.”
you leaned down, gloves still slick with dye, and kissed the top of his forehead anyway, “too cute to fight,” you mumbled.
renjun just hummed, hand reaching up to lightly squeeze your thigh as you worked, “you’re cute.” the moment stretched, soft and warm. the smell of hair dye filled the room, your fingers threading through his hair gently as you coated every strand, and his knees kept brushing against yours like he couldn’t help but be near you. he let you squish the plastic cap over his head while laughing softly, and when you stood back to admire your work — dye-streaked cheeks, stained shirt, and all — he opened his arms with a crooked grin.
“come here, you little chaotic ball of sunshine,” you quip a brow but sat in his lap on the edge of the tub anyway, arms looping lazily around his neck, his hands finding your waist like they always did. and as the pink set in, you stayed there, warm, tangled together in the tiny bathroom, laughing into each other’s mouths like time didn’t matter at all. when the timer beeped, renjun sat on a tiny plastic stool inside the bathroom, his head tipped under the sink, your bare hands carefully massaging his scalp under the gentle stream of lukewarm water. the bright pink dye ran in swirls down the drain like melted candy. “not gonna lie,” he mumbled, eyes closed, “this feels kinda nice.”
you smiled, using your fingers to gently detangle his hair. “told you i’d give you the full salon treatment.”
“mhm,” he hummed, voice gone soft with sleepiness, “can i tip you with kisses?”
you leaned down, placing a soft peck on his lips, “stop distracting me.” you ran your fingers through his hair one last time, feeling the strands squeaky clean beneath your touch. the pink peeked through the rinse water now, soft and vibrant, a sweet pastel bloom against his pale skin.
“okay,” you said gently, reaching for the towel, “moment of truth.” he blinked up at you, hair wet and clinging to his forehead. you wrapped the towel around his head and rubbed lightly, then turned him around to face the mirror with a breathless little smile. renjun looked up slowly like already knew he was about to be roasted for eternity if it looked ridiculous. but the moment his eyes landed on his reflection, he froze.
“oh my god,” he whispered. your heart jumped, “what?” he turned to look at you, eyes wide, and glowing, “i look so cute.”
you burst into giggles, bubbling up beside him, “you do! you look like a strawberry milk prince!”
“a hot strawberry milk prince,” he corrected.
“absolutely. the hottest.” he reached for you with, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you sweetly, “thank you.”
you brushed a strand of hair away from his face, “you really like it?” he nodded, nuzzling into your neck with a sleepy smile. you softened. “you’re gonna get so many compliments.”
“i only care about yours.” you rolled your eyes but your cheeks were already pinker than his hair. “sap.”
renjun smirked, “you picked the color. you brought this monster to life.” you kissed his forehead, letting the damp settle between you as you held him close in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, “pink suits you,” you whispered.
“being yours suits me more,” he murmured back, barely above a breath. words that he never thought he’d ever say a month ago. words that old him would’ve scoffed or faked gagged at. but there, in that tiny steamed-up bathroom, with your arms around him and his heart so wide open for you, everything just felt warm and whole.
✿ SOFT FOR ONE PERSON ONLY ENERGY ✿
it was friday night, and the dream fraternity house was already pulsing with music, bass thrumming under your shoes as you stepped in, fingers interlaced with renjun’s. his newly dyed bubblegum-pink hair caught in the glow of the overhead lights, impossibly soft and bright, paired with a white shirt he stole from your closet, a little cropped on the waist. he looked effortlessly hot (and lowkey breedable). you matched him in a white summer dress and a pastel pink cardigan, your own version of his new hue. you looked like you were made to be beside him — the two of you hadn’t been apart at all. he stayed the past two nights, sleeping in your bed, stealing your shirts, making iced tea the way you liked it. you both blew off classes without shame, too wrapped up in stolen kisses and lazy sketches and sleepy mornings. so tonight, walking into the party hand-in-hand, with renjun radiating soft for one person only energy, felt like debuting a brand-new era.
but — first thing’s first on the party checklist: renjun had to find yangyang. he owed him that much. after everything. it didn’t feel right to walk around with you in his arm, grinning and in love, without first facing the person he betrayed. the person he hurt. he quickly spotted yangyang by the back patio, red solo cup in hand, mid-laugh with the wayv frat boys — hendery and xiaojun. renjun gave your hand a squeeze, “i’ll be right back,” he said softly. you nodded, teasing, “go make peace with your ex-boyfriend.” renjun snorted, brushing a kiss to your forehead before slipping through the crowd.
as renjun approached, yangyang’s gaze flicked over — and predictably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “dude. the pink?” renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”
yangyang gave a lopsided smile, “it looks nice. makes you look… weirdly happy.”
renjun relaxed a little. “yeah, well. y/n picked it.”
“of course she did,” yangyang said, amused.
a pause. then renjun asked, quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him. it wasn’t tense, just… careful. like they were both balancing something fragile between them. renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”
“you love her,” yangyang said simply, “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”
renjun nodded, “yeah.”
“i already forgave you,” yangyang said, with a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other.”
renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.”
there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway,” he added, more casually now, “the internship called me. i got the job.”
renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”
yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year.”
“so really,” yangyang went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”
“what do you mean?,” he asks, curious.
yangyang grinned again, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”
renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”
“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” yangyang warned, laughing a little. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for a new color since sophomore year.”
renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”
yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, “as long as you don’t mess this up.”
renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”
yangyang gave him one last look, fond, final, then clapped a hand to his back and turned, heading back into the house. as he passed, he caught your eye from across the room. you both shared a smile. quiet, full of understanding. renjun stood still for a moment, taking a breath — and then made his way back to you. you looked up at him, brow raised. “everything okay?”
“yeah,” he said, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. “better than okay.” you laced your fingers with his, and the two of you stepped into the party, hearts lighter and unburdened, glowing pink under the lights.
the reaction was immediate. jaemin spotted him first, doing a visible double-take over his cup before bursting into laughter, “oh my god. your hair is my favorite color.” angel, snug under his arm, gasped with delight, “you actually let her dye it?”
renjun rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from you, “not let. she bullied me into it.” you rolled your eyes, smiling innocently, “please, it didn’t take much convincing.”
jeno came up next, bunny trailing behind him, and smirked like he’d just uncovered classified information, “we thought you were dead or kidnapped. turns out you’ve just been—” he eyed the way renjun was standing next to you, soft-eyed and relaxed, your hand in his like it belonged there “—domesticated.”
bunny gasped dramatically, “who are you and what have you done to our cold-hearted, ‘i-work-alone’ renjunnie?”
“you even skipped classes,” haechan added, coming out of nowhere, arm slung around princess’s shoulder’s, “voluntarily.”
chenle and baby appeared behind him, both blinking like they’d stepped into an alternate universe. “and he’s smiling,” chenle said flatly, pushing his face towards renjun and tapping the inner corner of his lips, like it was the most shocking development of all.
renjun shoved him away, a palm to his friend’s big head, “you’re all so annoying,” he muttered, pink already blooming on his cheeks to match his hair. he tugged you closer like a shield, his arm slipping around your waist.
kitten nudged mark, “he’s in love. renjun’s in love.”
“i feel like crying,” mark whispered dramatically, eyes shining with fake emotion.
jisung stumbled over with cherry, mouth already open, “i thought the pink hair was a prank,” he said in awe.
“it looks so good!” cherry beamed, then looked up at her own boyfriend. “what do you think about going red?” jisung rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her off him.
jaemin grinned at you, “congrats on being the only person alive who could turn renjun into a loverboy. he’s been fighting feelings for years.” renjun groaned, trying not to look like he was enjoying this attention too much. he wasn’t exactly used to being the one everyone was teasing, but the way his fingers curled possessively around your waist and the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips said he didn’t mind it, “say one more thing and i’m dying my hair neon green next,” he warned.
“okay, one more thing,” haechan shot back, winking. renjun flipped him off with one hand, the other still securely wrapped around you. you giggled into his shoulder, nose brushing against the soft cotton of his (your) shirt, and he turned to you with that smile, that rare, slow, real one. then —right there in the middle of the chaos, he leaned down and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t a performance. just a gentle, steady press of his lips to yours. sweet, and soft, like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. you melted into it, smiling against his mouth. it was so easy, like kissing you was something he was always meant to do. and then—“ughhhhhh! get a room!,” jaemin groaned, clutching angel like he was physically ill, “we came here to party, not to witness a romcom finale!”
“please,” jeno added, dramatically shielding bunny’s eyes, “there are innocent people present.”
mark pretended to gag, “our eyes. our poor, innocent eyes.”
even chenle was whining, “someone spray them with cold water or something.”
“i’m gonna throw up,” haechan gags, “like im literally going to throw up.”
you pulled away from the kiss, breathless and laughing, as renjun flipped them all off with the laziest middle finger in history, still holding you close, “cry about it.”
“you’ve changed man,” jisung accused, squinting at him.
“yeah,” renjun said easily, eyes on you. “isn’t it great?” they all groaned in unison, the kind of theatrical exasperation only longtime friends could get away with. but beneath all the fake gags and teasing, no one missed the way they were all smiling.
❤︎
the party slowly melted around you. the guys drifted off with their girlfriends, leaving you and renjun, alone in the soft golden haze of fairy lights and pulsing music. the dj had shifted to something slower, sweeter. you swayed together. his hands on your hips, yours wrapped lazily around his neck, foreheads brushing every so often as you moved in your own little bubble. his eyes never left yours, soft and searching, like he was trying to memorize everything about this moment. then he leaned in close, breath brushing your cheek as he murmured, “yangyang said you were always meant to be mine? what did he mean?”
you stilled slightly in his arms, pulse skipping before letting out a breathy laugh, “you really don’t know?”
he blinked, brows furrowing. “know what?”
“that i’ve had a quiet crush on you for ages,” you confessed, eyes darting to his lips before settling back on his gaze. “since painting i. in junior year, basically…that night on new year’s? i was gonna finally make a move. walked right up to you in that ridiculous sparkly dress, only for you to smile and introduce me to yangyang like it was some kind of matchmaking party.”
renjun froze. “no way.”
“i swear,” you laughed, cheeks heating. “i went home that night and told ningning i was going to delete my entire personality.”
he stared at you, stunned into silence for a beat—then his lips parted in slow, incredulous awe. “you liked me?”
“still do,” you teased softly. he blinked once. twice. then a grin broke across his face, dazed and delighted, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck. his hands tightened on your waist, tugging you closer until your chests were flush.
“you should’ve said something.”
“i was trying to!” you laughed. “you just kept being oblivious and pretty and you set me up with your best friend.”
he laughed at the cruel hands of fate. “god, i want to go back and shake myself,” he whispered, “i could’ve had you sooner.”
you smiled against him, nose brushing his. “you have me now.” and when you kissed him, it hits him all over again. he’s in love. not in a slow, creeping way like he'd feared for months. but in a crashing, undeniable kind of way that left no room for doubt or retreat. it felt like blinking and finding color again after too long in grayscale. he was never supposed to be this guy. the one smiling into a slow dance. the one openly cuddled up at a party. the one everyone teased for looking so stupidly, obviously in love. but here he was — renjun smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek, “i used to think love was all just chemicals and hormones. temporary. predictable. something people convinced themselves into.” you watched him quietly, eyes soft, “but you…” he huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “you feel like forever.”
your lips parted in surprise before a smile overtook your face, “that was so cheesy,” you whispered, voice cracking from emotion.
“shut up,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck, “i’m new at this.” you laughed, hugging him tighter, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck. and renjun let himself close his eyes and breathe you in, swaying with you under the lights, in no rush to ever let go. because for once, the escape artist, the skeptic, the anti-romantic, the boy who once flinched at the idea of belonging to anyone, was exactly where he wanted to be. hopelessly, completely, and terrifyingly in love.
✿ BONUS SCENE: I NEED TO GO PRAY ✿
the living room is a cozy chaos of pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. popcorn bowls are half-empty, soda cans roll lazily on the coffee table, and the t.v. flickers with the opening credits of some action movie the boys chose. everyone’s paired up, some on the couch, some on the floor, cuddled under blankets, others sprawled across each other like overgrown golden retrievers. you’re tucked into renjun’s side on the armchair he claimed for the two of you the second you walked in. but just as the plot thickens on screen — “pause it!” angel calls out, sitting up. without needing to be told twice, jaemin leans over and hits the remote. the screen freezes.
“girl talk,” bunny declares, already pulling you up by the wrist. “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” kitten chants, hopping up with baby, princess, and cherry on her heels. you blink as you're swept into the tide of giggling girls, eyes shocked as they dragged you halfway through the hallway before realizing renjun is still trailing after you like a loyal duckling, phone in hand, already claiming his usual spot by the kitchen counter. bunny catches him mid-step, palm flat on his chest, “nuh uh. out.”
renjun stares down at her hand, bewildered, “what? why? this is my spot.” he gestures vaguely at the counter stool like it belongs to him by law.
“yeah,” princess snorts, crossing her arms. “but your girlfriend’s here now.”
“you’ve been voted out,” cherry sing-songs.
“but—” he protests, eyes darting from from one girl to the next, “i’m your emotional support renjun! i’m the guy perspective!” baby gives him a gentle push toward the hallway. renjun stumbles back a step, sulking like a kicked puppy. “traitors. every single one of you.” the girls collectively giggle.
back in the living room, the guys erupt into laughter as renjun trudges back out. jaemin is the first to clap him on the back. “ahhh, welcome to the dark side, loverboy.”
“tough break, man,” jeno smirks.
“bet it was easier being single now, huh?” chenle teases, tossing a pillow at him.
“this sucks,” renjun grumbles, “i don’t even like you guys,” he mutters under his breath, collapsing dramatically on the couch.
in the kitchen, meanwhile, the girls are already deep in discussion, whispers and gasps flying like confetti. “okay, so,” angel starts, elbowing you, “how is it having the resident grump as a boyfriend?” that sends everyone into a wave of laughter, even you, who roll your eyes affectionately.“he’s not a grump!” you defend, half-hearted.
princess smirks, opening a chip bag, “i bet even when he flirts it sounds like a critique.”
“actually,” you murmur, a little too quietly.
bunny leans forward. “wait. wait.” she points at you with wide eyes. “no way. i cannot even imagine renjun being freaky.” the room erupts. “RIGHT?!” cherry giggles. you try to hold back your smile. but your lips twitch, and suddenly, all heads whip toward you.
“oh my god.” baby sits up straight, gasping, “wait. WAIT.”
“noooo.” kitten’s jaw drops, her voice going an octave higher. “you’re smiling like he’s not vanilla.” you unwrap one of the lollipops, innocently looking at them, trying to hide your smile. “SHE’S SMILING LIKE SHE’S SEEN GOD,” princess yells, shoving your leg.
“you’re gonna have to hold my hand through this,” cherry says, fanning herself, “you’re telling me renjun—buttoned-up, pretentious, art-boy renjun—is into freaky shit?” she whispers the last part. you shrug, trying to be cool, but the heat rising in your cheeks gives you away completely. “define freaky,” you mumble.
“babe, if you have to define it, you’ve already said too much,” angel deadpans, cracking everyone up again. “so what is it?” baby leans in like she’s about to hear the world’s juiciest gossip. “handcuffs?…dirty talk?… choking?….slapping?…..anal?—” you choke on your spit, coughing into your sleeve while all the girls scream in delight. then all hell breaks loose.
“OH MY GOD—THAT WAS A CHOKE.” princess slaps the counter. “SHE CHOKED.”
“that wasn’t a no!” kitten screams.
“that wasn’t even a maybe!” angel yells, eyes huge.
“THAT WAS A GUILTY CHOKE,” cherry points, practically vibrating with excitement.
you’re waving your hands, still coughing, face tomato-red, “i—no—wait—guys—”
“I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET JENO TO DO THAT FOR MONTHS,” bunny wails, dramatically collapsing onto baby’s shoulder.
“SAME!” baby cries out, throwing her head back. “and renjun beat him to it?! renjun?!”
“that man literally scolded me for talking during a gallery tour!” angel fans herself with a paper towel. “…holy shit. quiet men are dangerous.”
“girl. spill,” kitten demands, eyes huge. “what exactly are you doing to that man?” you're flustered, beet-red, covering your face with both hand, “nope. nope. i’m taking this to the grave.”
“oh, come on,” princess whines, nudging you with her elbow. “it’s not like we’re gonna judge you. or him. it’s girl talk. safe space. no judgment.” you groan, defeated, cheeks on fire, and mutter, “…it was my finger, okay?” the kitchen goes silent. like, dead silent. you look up slowly to see every single girl staring at you like you just walked in wearing a crown.
“…in his butt?” bunny finally whispers. you nod slowly, and it’s like lighting a firecracker in a tin can.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” angel screams.
“you did it?!” baby cries, grabbing you by the wrist like you’re moses parting the red sea. “WHATS the secret?!?!”
“HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THERE?” cherry demands, “do you just—like—surprise attack? or do you schedule it in his planner?”
“did he say yes? voluntarily?!” bunny looks personally offended.
“i mean,” you smirk, finally relaxing, “he tensed a little at first, but then he moaned and looked at me like i unlocked the fucking universe, so—" chaos. screaming. kitten throws a paper towel roll across the room. angel is lying face-down on the counter muttering “how, how, HOW.” baby’s googling psychological manipulation tips to get boyfriend to try ass stuff. cherry is pacing, “i literally offered jisung a full body massage and a PS5 and he said, and i quote, i don't like anything near my exit only zone.”
“mark,” kitten hisses, “won’t even let me touch his lower back without jumping like i tasered him.”
“jaemin said if i try anything he’s calling the police,” angel mumbles, holding her head in her hands.
you shrug with exaggerated innocence, “renjun’s an artist. he’s open to new experiences.”
“I’M SO JEALOUS,” princess yells. “I THOUGHT WE WERE ALL LIVING IN THE SAME WORLD.”
“YOU’RE LIVING IN THE FUTURE,” cherry groans, “I’M STUCK IN THE DARK AGES OF ‘babe, that’s gay.’” you’re wiping tears of laughter from your eyes now, half-guilty, half-proud.
“i swear to god,” baby mutters, pulling out her phone, “i’m texting chenle right now.”
“what are you gonna say?” bunny wheezes.
“step up your game or renjun’s stealing your crown.”everyone loses it again. and back in the living room, the boys all glance toward the kitchen at the sudden, repeated shrieks.
“nah. that’s insane,” jeno finally breathes. “you let her in… the back door?” renjun just nods once. regal. unbothered. enlightened. “but—but why?” jaemin sputters, scandalized. “you know the exit’s not an entrance, right?”
“it can be both if you believe in yourself,” renjun replies dryly. chenle groans and claps his hand over his face, “bro, we’re freaky, but that’s a different tax bracket.”
“i let bunny do whatever she wants,” jeno mutters, shaking his head, “but the minute she even glances below the equator i’m outta there.” mark’s ears are so red they match the bowl of spicy chips he’s nervously nibbling, “kitten joked about it once and i told her my soul would leave my body if she tried.”jaemin raises a hand like he’s in court, “angel has tried to trick me into it during head. the second i felt her hand get adventurous, i almost hit a backflip off the bed.”
haechan, leaning over with a grin, “and yet, our sweet little renjun…doesn’t let anyone touch him…”
“…actually took a finger in,” jisung whispers, finishing his sentence, face full of awe. “and didn’t even protest?!” chenle says dramatically. the boys all groan and laugh, half-impressed, half-horrified. then chenle’s phone buzzes in his pocket — “oh no.”
“what? what?!” mark leans over, trying to peek. chenle holds the phone out, screen up, and they all crowd around. it’s a message from his girlfriend. just one line.
my baby 😎🎀: so….renjun let her do it.
a beat of silence. “NOOOO!” jaemin howls. “IT’S STARTED,” jeno gasps. “THE GIRLS ARE FORMING A MOVEMENT—” mark wails into a couch pillow. chenle drops his head back with a dramatic groan, pointing at the villain of the hour, “renjun, you traitor. you absolute menace,” he glares at him, “how am i supposed to turn her down now without sounding like an insecure little bitch?!”
renjun rolls his eyes, “just stop being an insecure little bitch then?”
jisung’s eyes widen. “wait. can you turn her down now?”
“i—” chenle blinks, “i’m so fucked.”
mark’s already texting kitten:
mark 🕷️♥️: hey just so you know i’m not into butt stuff like renjun okay???
chenle groans, eyes still glued to his phone, “oh god. she’s typing again.” jisung folds his arms, deadly serious, “we have to stop this before it spreads.” chenle, whispering like he’s in a horror movie, “i think she just sent me a lube emoji.”
“nope. not getting anywhere near my butt,” mark says immediately, standing firm.
“speak for yourself,” haechan shrugs, “if renjun can do it, i think i can too.” everyone turns — “WHAT?”
“don’t act surprised,” haechan says smoothly, “i moan when princess scratches behind my ears. you think a finger’s gonna kill me?”
the living room erupts. “oh please,” renjun finally cuts in, rolling his eyes, “all of you are nasty behind closed doors. don’t act like a finger is too much now.”
a beat. “okay but… did you like it like it?” chenle asks carefully. renjun leans back. shrugs, “i mean, i can see the appeal.”
jeno lets out a scream. “i’m throwing myself out the window,” jaemin declares.
“i need to go pray,” mark says, looking genuinely afraid. there’s another howl of laughter from the kitchen. chenle is laying face-down on the floor. jeno’s stress-eating popcorn one kernel at a time. jaemin is half-listening with an expression of morbid curiosity, haechan is enjoying every second, while jisung has gone disturbingly still, staring at the ceiling like he's dissociating. but renjun’s not smiling anymore. because he knows exactly what happens in girl talk. it doesn’t just stop at “oh, he’s tried a finger in the butt.” it goes in extreme detail. what position. what face he made. how he sounded like. every detail laid out for the girls to blush over. he used to be in the inner circle. and right now he’s realizing how much it sucks to be outside of it. another round of screaming erupts from the kitchen. renjun shoots up, “alright. that’s enough.” the boys all go silent, watching in awe-slash-fear as renjun storms off toward the kitchen.
“oh no,” jaemin mutters.
“he’s doing it,” jisung whispers. “he’s going in.” but renjun doesn’t hesitate. he throws open the kitchen door with the confidence of someone who’s already heard too much, “okay,” he says flatly, stepping inside. “you’ve had your fun. my turn.” every single girl freezes. you’re sitting in a kitchen chair, lips wrapped innocently around a strawberry lollipop like you didn’t just start a girl group revolution. your cheeks are still pink. the rest of the girls are in various states of chaos. renjun’s eyes lock on you. he sees the lollipop. your smirk. something in him snaps. without a word, he walks over, grabs your wrist, and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. the lollipop stays in your mouth as you blink up at him, blinking wide-eyed and sweet as sin.
“upstairs. now.” you barely have time to be shocked before you’re being pulled toward the hallway.
“OH MY GOD—HE’S TAKING HER.”
“THAT MAN IS ABOUT TO REPAINT THE CEILING,” angel yells.
“WE HAVE CREATED A MONSTER,” bunny screams, tossing a kitchen towel in mourning.
“FREAKY RENJUN IS REAL?!?!?,” baby shrieks.
from the hallway, renjun glances back over his shoulder, eyes dark and focused on you, “don’t talk about me like i’m not going to hear it.”
❤︎
the second the door closed, renjun’s gaze dropped to the lollipop still tucked between your lips. his jaw ticked. you sat at the edge of his bed, raised an eyebrow, smug, slow-sucking on it just to be a brat. “something wrong?”
he stepped closer, grabbed your chin roughly, and forced you to meet his eyes. “you think i didn’t hear what you told the girls?”
your mouth popped off the lollipop with a soft, wet sound. “it was just girl talk.”
his fingers tightened, “you really think i’m okay with them knowing what you did to me?” his tone dripped venom, but his pupils were blown wide, “you like making me look weak?”
you smirked, licking the candy again with a slow drag of your tongue, “you didn’t seem weak when you were under me.”
that was it. renjun snatched the lollipop out of your hand, glaring, “you wanna act like that?” and with no warning, he flipped you over, raising your ass up, shoving you on his mattress and yanking your shorts down. the sudden aggression knocked the breath out of you, but the heat pooled instantly.
he held the lollipop up between two fingers, “open.”
you blinked, “what?”
“your legs.” they already were, but the way he said it made you tremble.
“wider.” you obeyed. then, without missing a beat, he dragged the sticky candy down your ass. swirling at your asshole. loving the way you clenched. for a second you think he might insert the lollipop there. a little payback for what you did. you tensed immediately. but then he traveled lower. until the sticky, sweet tip grazed your already-throbbing clit. you jolted.
“oh—”
he chuckled darkly. the lollipop slipped lower, gliding between your folds. he dragged it lazily, watching your reaction with a cruel sort of satisfaction.
“renjun—”
“you think i appreciate the boys knowing i let you do that to me?” he hissed, pressing it in just the tiniest bit, the slick pop teasing your entrance, “that i let you fuck me and then brag about it?”
your breath hitched, hips twitching, “i wasn’t bragging—”
“yes, you were.” then he shoved the lollipop inside you. your gasp was sharp and desperate, the initial stretch making you grip his sheets. the candy was cold compared to your heat, sticky, obscene. renjun didn’t give you a second to process. he worked it in and out slowly, rhythmically, watching your face twist and your thighs quake.
“bet you feel real smart now,” he sneered, lips brushing your ear as his other hand clutched your hair, “telling them how i moaned for you. how i let you finger me.”
you whimpered, “i didn’t mean—” he pulled the lollipop out slowly, wet and glistening. then he turned you over, making sure you saw him suck on your-arousal-filled treat. your mouth dropped open, the sight of him incredibly turning you on.
he hummed around the candy, lips wrapping around it deliberately, eyes still locked on yours. “mmm,” he said, voice like sin. “sweet.” he murmured, deliberately loud, deliberately cruel, eyes glinting with something sharp and unrelenting.
he twirled the lollipop slowly between his fingers, dipping it through your folds again, then held it up to your mouth. “suck.”
you hesitated, lips parted, chest heaving. he raised an eyebrow, voice dropping, “oh, now you want to act shy?” he cupped your jaw, forcing you to open. you took it in your mouth, trembling. the taste of yourself hit your tongue, and you blushed hard, moaning softly around the stick.
his eyes darkened. “slut.” he muttered, voice low and deadly, “you like that, don’t you?” you nodded, too far gone to lie. heat pulsed between your thighs. but the second you reached out for him, desperate for his touch. desperate for more. he pulled back. “nuh-uh,” he chuckled, “you don’t get to have me that easily.”
your protest died in your throat when he dropped to his knees between your legs, grabbing your thighs like he owned them, and dragging you to the edge. he spread you open and stared like you were something to devour — but refused to touch. “you really thought i was just gonna fuck this pussy like nothing happened?” he sneered. “after you went around bragging about what i let you do?”
“i wasn’t—” he shoved the lollipop in again, thrusting it in and out. rough. fast. your hips jerked. “fuck—!”
“you don’t learn, do you?” he twisted it slowly inside you, the hard candy pressing against sensitive walls, catching every nerve ending. “you act like you can do whatever you want just because i let you inside me once.”
your head fell back, nails digging into his sheets, “junie, please—”
“no.” he pulled the candy out with an audible pop, then shoved it back in hard. “you don’t get to ask me for anything.” your legs shook, your body lit up, and every time you got close, every time the pressure mounted, he pulled it out again.
you whimpered, shaking. “please, i’m— i can’t—”
“can’t what?” he mocked, rubbing the sticky, wet candy over your clit now, small circles that made your stomach coil tight. “can’t stop being a brat? can’t stop running your mouth?” you sobbed out a breath, hips lifting, not answering. he pulled away again, “then you don’t get to come.”
you whined his name. he leaned forward, his mouth right at your ear, voice low and wicked. “say it.”
you moaned, wrecked. “say what?”
“say you’re sorry for making me look weak.” silence stretched. you hesitated — prideful, needy, ruined.
he laughed coldly. “that’s what i thought.” then he licked you, just one slow, teasing stripe of his tongue, and backed away again. he kept teetering you on the edge. you almost cried. “say it.”
you whimpered, “i’m sorry!— i’m sorry!, i shouldn’t have.”
“shouldn’t have what?”
“told them.”
he smiled darkly, cruelly satisfied. “that’s better.” and then, like a reward, he pushed the lollipop back inside you, this time curling his tongue around your clit while the candy fucked you fast, deep, deliberate. you shattered in seconds. body tense, thighs clamping around his head, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
when you finally stopped shaking and opened your eyes again, renjun was sucking on the ruined lollipop — your slick and cum still shining on his mouth. watching you. possessive, smug, dark-eyed and dangerous. he let the stick fall from his mouth, finally discared then leaned over you, slowly, bracing one hand beside your head, “next time,” he said, face hovering above yours, voice like smoke, “you keep your mouth shut unless it’s for me.” then, without breaking eye contact, he reached down and unzipped his jeans. the sound alone made your breath catch. he gripped your thighs again, bruising, commanding and spread you wide. you whimpered, helpless, as he lined himself up with your still-sensitive entrance. “don’t tense,” he warned, voice a razor, "scream my name, love. let them know what i do to you.”
❤︎
downstairs in the living room, the movie had long since faded into background noise. but the headboard thumping upstairs? that was front and center. a rhythm so steady and relentless it could've been mistaken for construction—if not for the sharp, unmistakable “renjun!” that followed. everyone froze. again. louder.
“oh my god,” angel muttered, eyes wide.
baby’s jaw dropped. “holy shit. the movie ended and they’re still going?!”
kitten glanced at the paused credits, “it’s been, like…forty minutes.”
“i can’t believe renjunnie is making all that happen,” bunny whispered, scandalized. the headboard thumped again. louder this time.
jisung was frozen, slack-jawed, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him, “bro, that is not the renjun i know.” cherry snickered beside him, “the quiet ones are always the loudest.” he looked at her with a raised brow, like how do you know that. she leaned in, smirking, like it was a secret, “sungie, you can be louder than them combined.” jisung choked.
haechan looked half horrified, half impressed. “did he tell her to scream like that? that was like—performance-level vocal work.” princess burst into laugher, “i bet we could be louder.” haechan sends her a devilish grin, “oh, now that’s a challenge.”
jeno, still as stunned as bunny, whispered, “i can’t unhear any of this.”
meanwhile, chenle blinked slowly, like he’d seen a ghost. he clicks his tongue, looking at baby with horrified eyes, “you girls got her in so much trouble.”
mark shook his head, a light grin on his face as he teases kitten, “yeah. she’s never gonna join your precious girl talk session again.” but the girls just sat there with the most satisfied, smug, secret little smiles on their faces. like this was exactly what they had planned all along.
angel smirked, “please. she’ll be thanking us tomorrow.” jaemin chuckled beside her, squeezing her shoulder, “you’re all evil. proud of you.”
𓏲 the end.
—
18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content
bonus: loverboy links 2 (these were the hardest ones to find)
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an: and this is 7/7! my goodness. i cannot believe i actually finished a series!!!!. when i first started this, i genuinely didn’t think i’d get this far. these all started out as little synopsis i wrote down one day cause i was bored and wanted to challenge myself. i didn’t think so many of you would love it as much as i do. i’m feeling so emotional omygod not me crying as i type this out. BUT first thing, i want to say this isn’t over yet! i do have bonus scenes that i want to write out. i also threw away the idea that this was the finale because holy shit, ya’ll don’t understand how much pressure that gave me. instead, i just decided to focus on renjun’s story without thinking about how this is the end. AND the nickname! only one of you guys suggested it so i’m sure it’s not what a lot of you were expecting. i was going back and forth between love and sweetheart for the longest time but then i got stuck on the concept of renjun, the most annoyed by love, ending up calling his girl, love. it just made sense to me. i hope you liked renjun and love! she’s definitely the sweetest girl out of all 7 (and i hope you finally believe me now when i say she’s not angel). thank you so so so much for reading this story! and for those who have read all seven, i am so grateful for your time. your support. your love. looking forward to your reviews!
likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎
🍊if you enjoyed this series and would like to show extra love and support, my ko-fi is open! <3
Genre: war au, drama, hate to love, romance, slow burn, smut, suspense
Word Count: 29,5k
Summary: Amidst war, a fallen soldier who's lost his memories discovers that not all of his ghosts have been laid to rest and that he carries more wounds than meet the eye. But on his path to healing, he finds more than he bargained for - only to lose it all over again.
Warnings/Disclaimer: There are indirect mentions of s*ic*de, but it's not committed. Certain war situations/happenings regarding attacks can get very detailed. It should be noted that this story doesn't have any correlation to real life and everything is made up.
A/N: Hi guys! This story had been on my mind for so long and there was no better time to share it with you than now while Jaehyun is enlisted to make his absence a little more bearable. Please leave feedback either here or in my inbox if you want, I'd be so happy and grateful to hear your opinions! 💓
They called him “The Blood Wolf”.
A soldier who had slain his enemies high up in the snowy mountains. It was said he stood against hundreds of soldiers as his own comrades had fallen one by one. He remained the last man standing on a battlefield that had left the mountain peak stained, the snow dyed in bloody red which was visible from miles away - if only you looked closely enough.
“They don’t know who he is exactly. His name cannot be found in the list of soldiers who were assigned to that area and he's lost his dog tag,” one of the nurses close by whispered. “He’s an entire enigma to the military and they are still in the process of identifying him. But they treat him like a god considering the fact that only he came out alive from that battle.”
“I heard that too! He also rarely speaks and suffers from memory loss,” the other nurse added. “He doesn't remember his own identity and past. When they found him a month ago, he was just lying in the snow, frozen to the bones with a broken leg. He had already given up on being found alive.”
“For someone called ‘The Blood Wolf’ by the public, he doesn’t look scary at all,” the first nurse remarked. “He rather looks-”
… so distant. As though he was barely in this world anymore, you ended her sentence in your head as you all watched the soldier slowly getting heaved out of the car. You saw the displeasure written all over his face as he only reluctantly accepted the help of the caretakers. His messy hair was longer than allowed, the skin around his face sunken and gray, and his overall appearance too weak for a man his age.
"The Blood Wolf" had remained up there in the mountains for at least a week without food after everything he had been through, enduring indescribable physical pain and being exposed to the merciless weather. That was why he had been brought here to your institution. It was a place solely intended for treating soldiers’ wounds after their war service - visible and invisible ones.
Instantly, once the soldier was seated in the wheelchair with his fractured leg in a cast, he raised his head and let his gaze wander over the building where many people, patients and employees both, tried to secretly peek out of the windows to get a glimpse at the legendary “Blood Wolf”. When it had been announced a few days ago that he would be shifted to get treated here in your clinic, many nurses had volunteered. You hadn’t been one of them.
The soldier brushed the peoples’ nosy behavior off by dismissing their entire existence altogether and eventually let his eyes rest on the three nurses who had been ultimately assigned to him, waiting by the entrance. Your two younger colleagues started whispering again, this time followed by a shy giggle of each.
“Silence now, girls, and straighten your shoulders!” the head nurse standing with you scolded strictly. “We always want to leave a good first impression and this is not how I taught you to behave!”
You found their reaction inappropriate as well, because when you had briefly exchanged a glance, you had seen that "The Blood Wolf” was barely hanging onto this world by a thread. He didn’t seem to live up to his legendary nickname at all, and you wondered what more there was to the story.
Not all soldiers walked out of the battlefield unscarred, though most scars were invisible to the eyes of outsiders. Most patients themselves were unaware of how deep their wounds actually reached - until one day they couldn’t take the pain anymore. There had been a few patients you had lost by either succumbing to their injuries or their own choice of leaving this world since you had come here one year ago.
At one point, you had stopped trying to form a friendly relationship with them, because you couldn’t bear the feeling of being a failure after losing patients you cared about. If you got affected too much by their fates, it would only lead you to lose focus on your actual goal: finding your lost brother who had gone missing right after the start of the war.
You had been lucky to have attended school all throughout the compulsory years despite being a girl and coming from a rural area. Becoming a nurse later in life had only played into your cards as you had been able to transfer to this institution one year after your brother had gone missing from the frontline. The government and the military had declared him dead, but you had never believed this, because there had never been proof. If anyone would have more information on your brother's alleged disappearance, it would be the soldiers finding their way to this clinic right from the battlefields.
So day for day, aside from your own sincere determination of helping the wounded soldiers as you knew it was what your brother had wanted, you simultaneously interrogated as many patients in secrecy as possible. No matter how many times you failed and how long it would take, you had promised to yourself to find him. You knew he was still alive, siblings felt that. And this “Blood Wolf”...
You warily watched the caretakers readying themselves to push the wheelchair towards the building’s entrance, but he slapped their hands away and grabbed onto the wheels himself. But he failed to move on his own. You already had a feeling that he wouldn’t be an easy patient to deal with, but when you had been asked to tend to him, you had seen the chance and taken it.
“He’s a rather difficult patient from what they told me, but I rely on the great competence that you have shown so far,” the head nurse addressed you directly. “The other two newer nurses will assist you. Come to me if any inconvenience occurs.”
You nodded. “You can count on me, ma’am.”
She handed you the clipboard and his file. “His name is Jaehyun, he seems to be in his mid to late twenties. His leg had gotten shot at and the fracture is very severe, so treat him accordingly."
You froze. Weird, you thought as a cold shiver then ran down your spine. He had the same name as your brother. But the man getting wheeled towards you with a grim expression bore no similarities with your brother at all. It was a fairly common given name, that was a fact. Even though you had yet to meet someone with the same name.
“Very well, ma’am.” You failed to notice how difficult it was for you to get these words out as your gaze didn't waver from the file in your hands, shelved as… "Jaehyun".
“The Blood Wolf” shared the same name as your tender, good-hearted and soft spoken brother… Perhaps, it was a sign. You just weren’t sure which kind of one yet. What you were certain of though was that if someone had information on him, then it would be "The Blood Wolf" himself. And for that, he needed to regain his memories. You knew exactly why you had accepted him as your patient after all.
____
“This is your room, Jaehyun,” you explained to your new patient. “I hope it’s to your liking. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
It was not a small room, Jaehyun was lucky in that. Perhaps, his reputation had something to do with it. But it was just as sparsely furnished as every other room with only the necessities: a bed, a nightstand, a chair, a closet, a lamp and a connecting, very small bathroom.
You had guided Jaehyun all the way to his room in his wheelchair and he had not once complained. As a matter of fact, he hadn't said a single word. He now just lifted himself up to his bed by only his arms, dragging his injured leg after him onto the mattress. You didn’t offer him assistance as he clearly didn’t need it at least for that.
Even after a month spent in the military hospital where his leg was operated on several times due to the complicated fraction, he still had to wear a cast from which a few screws were looking out. In his file, it was reported that a bullet went right into the shin bone, splintering in his leg. He could count himself lucky that they had been able to save his entire leg. In a few weeks, the cast would come off, and then the real healing process would begin as he had to build up muscle and start learning to walk again.
“Don’t call me like that.”
You were taken aback by the sudden raise of his voice. It sounded much softer and deeper than you had imagined. “How? By your name Jaehyun?”
He turned his head to look out of the window. “I don’t like that name.”
That name? What was it about his name that he despised so much? The name you actually loved and which, every time you spoke it out loudly, resonated with deep pain inside you that nearly shoved tears into your eyes. If it bothered him, it bothered you even more and he had no right to cause you pain. But you were a professional.
Not many patients were easy to deal with upon hospitalization, and you understood to some point. They had been fighting at the frontline for so long, powerful and independent. Falling back to being dependent on other people, especially young female nurses, was not a circumstance they could easily adapt to, building up much frustration over everything possible in the long run. Especially for someone called "The Blood Wolf", now rendered too injured to even follow mundane tasks all by himself, it must be very hard. You tried to be as understanding as possible and treat every patient as you wanted your brother to be treated in case he ever found himself in such a situation. But you also had to put them in places sometimes.
“'Jaehyun' it will be as this is your name.” You dismissed his request and made your position clear from the beginning. You read out loud from his file while positioned in front of the bed, “Wake up time is at 6.30 am, followed by a check of your vital signs and medication. Breakfast is served from 7 to 7.30am. There will be meal options tailored to your nutritional needs later on, but right now, we need to focus on rebuilding your overall health for the cast to be removed. After breakfast, we will focus on your morning hygiene before we continue with the physical therapy . Lunch is served at 12, followed by resting time. From 2 pm on, you will have sessions with a psychiatrist before you can continue with leisure time all throughout the afternoon. Dinner is served at 6 pm. We will still figure out your wind down routine for the hours that follow until bedtime at 9 pm, depending on your progress. Do you have any questions about your routine… Jaehyun?”
You prepared yourself to not get any response at all, but eventually, you heard him ask, “When can I go?”
“Go where?”
“Go away from here.”
“Apart from treating your physical injuries, we need to find answers to your identity and background so that we can inform your family about your status. I’m sure they are all already very worried. Additionally, it might be in your interest as well, regaining your memory. So I assume your stay here won’t be very short. But once you’re fully recovered, you can go home.”
“I didn’t say I want to go home,” he corrected and snapped his head back at you. “I said I wanted to go away.”
You were confused, directly looking into his dark brown eyes that were a little too challenging. “Either way, it will take time… Jaehyun.”
A slight frown formed on his forehead. “Why are you saying ‘Jaehyun’ like that?”
You frowned. “How am I saying it?”
“As if you… don’t like it either.”
Either…? You hadn’t noticed. You forced a smile on your face. “I don’t know what you mean, Jaehyun. The other nurses will soon bring you dinner, followed by the doctor’s visit. We will see each other in the morning.”
You nodded and then left the room, the feigned smile falling from your face the moment the door shut closed behind you. Your heart suddenly felt so heavy, making you miss your brother even more.
____
“How did it go yesterday?” the head nurse asked you when she came over to the dorms before your shift started. You had just gotten dressed in your nurse uniform, having taken the breakfast to your room as today would be very busy and you needed to save time. “I hope he didn't make it hard for you.”
You pondered for a bit, but eventually answered, “A man this broken cannot be as dangerous as people make him out to be ma’am. I think he’s just…” You looked for the right words. “... Very characterized by past events. If you know how to deal with it, it’s going to be fine.”
“I made the right decision.” She patted you on the shoulder. “I rely on you.”
“I won’t disappoint you, ma’am.”
The head nurse was the only person who knew about your brother missing, but not much more. Instead of making it your weakness though, she had turned this broken side of yours into your strong point and often relied on you for a second opinion as you could handle the fine line between being rational and being empathetic. You couldn’t have been more grateful for such a supportive supervisor.
When you entered Jaehyun’s room after checking in on two other soldiers first, your patient was supposed to have finished his morning hygiene routine already. But upon inspecting the room, his breakfast had remained untouched and his bed was empty safe from the two assistant nurses standing insecurely next to it. You frowned, but then detected noises coming from the bathroom before they could explain the situation to you.
“Hello?” You knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Are you alright in there?”
“Go away!”
“He insisted on doing the morning hygiene himself,” one nurse eventually disclosed. “But he could barely get out of the wheelchair. Before we could run to assist him, he had already blocked the door behind him.”
“Blocked with what? Weren’t you supposed to never let him out of your sight? Don’t you know the dangers of these situations?” you asked sharply and they just shrugged innocently. “You two are dismissed for the morning. I don’t need your assistance here anymore.”
After the nurses had left, you gently knocked on the door again. “Jaehyun… It’s only me now.”
“I said go away!”
You took a deep breath. At least he was responding, that was good. He was not going to actively hurt himself. “I’m aware that getting assistance during your morning routine might be uncomfortable, even a little bit embarrassing. But I promise you, we are all very professional and only intervene when you explicitly ask for help. We just need every room to be accessible at all times for your own safety, Jaehyun.” Every time you spoke out his name, it was pure torture. But you kept going for the sake of professionalism and trust.
A snort could be heard from the other side. “You think I could be embarrassed?”
“Well, what else would it be?” It was the only plausible explanation as to why a soldier would hide from nurses in the bathroom. They wanted to save their faces by proving that they still could do the mundane things, such as washing up, by themselves, refusing help when there was much need for it due to their conditions.
“It’s- it’s…” Pause. “Forget it. Go away!”
You grabbed onto the handle and shook it. The door only moved a little bit, but then slammed entirely shut again as though Jaehyun had just thrown himself or something against the wood and was now bracing against the barrier with his or its entire weight.
“Are you deaf? I said go away!” he yelled.
You only had one last option left. This was not your first day as a nurse and you had certainly learned many things during mandatory military service. Even though several years had passed since that time, you still remembered everything from basic training. You took a step back and physically prepared yourself. Then, you lifted your leg and rammed it against the door which unsurprisingly moved under the heavy, punctual hit. Whatever had been blocking the way eventually gave in and the bathroom door opened in front of you.
Jaehyun was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, the wheelchair that had apparently blocked the door rolling past him to the other side of the small bathroom. The red liquid running down Jaehyun’s face stood in stark contrast to his white clothes and the white tiles. It reminded you of… blood in snow. “He was called ‘The Blood Wolf’”.
“What happened?!”
You were highly alarmed and sprinted to Jaehyun’s side, your gaze falling to his wrists that were, against your expectations, unharmed. Upon looking into his face, you figured the blood rooted from a wound on his jaw only. A short, open line that caused the liquid to drip on his white clothes. Luckily, no blood had gotten on his casket or the screws. The razor Jaehyun was holding in his trembling hand told you everything you needed to know about the situation unfolding in front of you. He had not attempted something for which you would have come too late. Again.
Carefully, you took the razor out of his hand and placed it on the edge of the basin. Jaehyun didn’t utter a single word when you put a clean towel on his wound that you then urged him to press against his open jaw. You quickly cleaned the floor with the help of the shower head, the blood disappearing in the drain and leaving behind only slight red streaks.
“You could have just asked the nurses for help,” you said with no hint of reproach in your voice. “We can carry out these tasks as well.”
“I already needed their help washing up and getting dressed, because apparently, I can’t do these things myself anymore,” Jaehyun complained bitterly. “So do you really want to blame me when I at least want to keep doing this myself?”
You left the room before immediately returning with a first aid kit. Wordlessly, you treated Jaehyun’s wound. And wordlessly, he let you. You then cleaned the razor under the running water in the sink and eventually, when Jaehyun’s wound had stopped bleeding for the majority of the time, you took the shaving cream into your own hand.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to do this yourself,” you reassured him after all. “But admitting that you’re refraining from doing so, because you currently lack the physical strength to carry out the task is a far greater and manlier act than putting yourself at risk. We respect that more than false pride.”
You put a bit of shaving cream on your fingers and expected Jaehyun to yell at you again, but he was sitting still, only averting his eyes as though in silent drawback. Inwardly, you sighed as you had seen these scenes so often and focused on putting the cream on his skin. His stubble weren’t that much visible yet, but you knew how important it was for soldiers to always be clean-shaven.
“I know it’s frustrating, but give it time and don’t force your body to do anything it’s not ready for yet. You will achieve your goals much faster that way.” You drew in a breath. “I’ll start now.”
You carefully placed the razor against his cheek, pausing when you felt him slightly flinch at the touch or cold, you didn’t know. When Jaehyun almost unnoticeably let out a sigh of ease, you started moving the razor from his cheekbone all the way down to his jaw, but left out the wounded area.
“I don’t know how it was for you… out there,” you started a conversation to bridge over the awkward silence that had taken over the atmosphere while you shaved him. Spot for spot, with much care and attention. “But I read your records, and your condition was not the best, to say the least. You were on the brink of death, starved and nearly succumbed to hypothermia and sepsis. You were so lucky.”
When you took a short break from the task to clean the razor under the running water once more, Jaehyun spoke up, “If you think being alive after such an event is a blessing, then you truly are an airhead.”
“I’ve been through several things as a nurse that people my age shouldn’t experience in the first place. I know soldiers have to turn off a certain part inside themselves to carry out their duties, and I don’t blame them for that. We all cope differently with the ongoing war. It may take time until you figure out that being alive is a blessing and your existence has a purpose. When you realize it, you might find yourself living right in the middle of it already.” You put your finger under his chin and lifted up his head to tend to the area beneath his jaw. Jaehyun complied with an unexpected quietness. Perhaps, some of your words were going into his head after all. “But you’re not a soldier anymore. Right now, you’re a patient who has to focus on his recovery, because for some reason, you have lived through these events. I know you’re frustrated and angry, but I only have the best for you in my mind, and no matter how long it takes until you realize it, I will remain by your side.”
You carried the rest of the task out in silence, and even though Jaehyun hadn’t said a word either all along, you had felt his body ease and him growing more cooperative in terms of leaning in to you to give you better access to shave areas that were harder to reach. By the end of the routine, your patient was all clean-shaven and apparently pretty satisfied with the results.
When you handed Jaehyun a fresh towel to wipe his face, he only murmured, “Do you always talk this much? Annoying.”
You smiled forgivingly and helped him back into the wheelchair to accompany him to his first physical treatment. Again, had let you without a single complaint. "Let's go, Jaehyun."
Speaking out his name felt just a little less aching. Perhaps, you were also just detaching from it, because his personality was just so different from your brother's.
____
“Look what a beautiful day it is!”
During leisure time later that day in the afternoon, you had decided that Jaehyun would need some fresh air and thus you had led him into the clinic’s garden. Early spring had finally reached these northern lands after a long and harsh winter, and the days were not too frosty to spend a few minutes outside anymore.
“I want to go back to my room,” Jaehyun opposed and hid his face up to his eyes in his scarf.
“Come on, today is quite mild. That’s very rare here at this time of the year. After spending the winter in the southern mountains, don’t you enjoy a little bit of sun?”
“No,” was Jaehyun's plump reply.
But you didn’t listen to him and wheeled him closer to the fountain which was located right in the middle of the garden. Admittedly, the yard consisted more of cobblestone and concrete than of greenery like trees and flowers. However, the large building complex was surrounded by nothing but endless fields, making the yard and its fountain the highlight of the entire clinic grounds.
“I'm aware it might not seem much to you,” you said when you guided the wheelchair closer to the centerpiece where a few other patients already lingered nearby, “but this is the only highlight in some patients’ lives. There are a few that have been here long before me already.” You stopped by a free bench, positioned Jaehyun next to you and then seated yourself. “And it’s also a little silver lining in the nurses’ lives as we cannot leave the grounds for long either. Treasure this feeling before this yard becomes the highlight of your day as well.”
You tilted your head up to let the sun shine directly on the tip of your nose. In a cold warden, it felt warm. From the corner of your eyes, you observed Jaehyun and expected him to grip the wheels and flee, but although his fingers twitched, he eventually quietly remained by your side.
“I grew up on a farm, so I spent most of my time in nature, regardless of the weather. Now, whenever I can go outside to catch a breath, I bring my patients along. It’s not much that I can offer, but whenever I'm here, I remember the happiness I felt before, the normality before the war. And I hope my patients will remember too and continue seeing life worth living.”
You could have sworn you saw Jaehyun tense in the way his shoulders suddenly trembled, but when you looked at him, he had fallen back into his old position, as silent as ever.
“Where did you grow up, do you remember anything at all? At least whether it was, in a city or the countryside? Personally, I-”
It was just an idle conversation to pass time as you didn’t expect an answer anyway due to his condition. You would have just continued speaking to yourself as you knew how to set the atmosphere with difficult patients, engaging them but not quite letting them actively participate.
Against your expectations though, Jaehyun replied, “In a city.”
You raised your brows in surprise. This information hadn’t been in the report! Or maybe you had simply overlooked it. “I’ve never been to a city! Not even on one of my rare days off. I haven’t been to the beach either, even though we’re so close by. But maybe I’ll get the chance one day.”
You expected a snarky remark from Jaehyun again for talking a lot, but instead he asked, “You’ve never seen the sea?”
You pursed your lips and shook your head. “It happens that city residents can’t fully grasp the fact that it’s very hard for us countryside people to leave our home villages. Infrastructure, electricity… it’s not something we can take for granted, especially not now in times of war."
“It must be miserable.” He didn't sound derogatory, more pitying even.
“I wouldn’t describe my life as miserable. My family has been growing crops for generations and that made me privileged enough. As a girl from the countryside, I was able to attend school until last year and started working as a nurse as soon as I finished mandatory military service. This is what I've always wanted, I never wanted more.”
“Have you ever thought about it at some point?” Jaehyun suddenly questioned you. "Leaving the country."
You looked at him as though he had just gone insane. “To where? There is no way up to the north. Then… to the southern country you mean? Our enemies? Never! They have it even worse than us! The people there live in extreme poverty, they are homeless and unemployed. We have it so good here already. They attack us, because they fear us."
You tried studying Jaehyun's expression after this extremely provocative question of which you were glad no one had overheard. But his features didn't give away much more. He continued staring at the fountain until he asked, “Is that what you people think about the southern country? Is it the same as you believe?”
It was odd to you how he spoke about this country and the people like he didn’t belong to the same nation. “It’s what we get taught and told. You will remember at some point.”
“And you never thought about questioning something you have not validated yourself?”
“How can I seek for things I have never seen myself? I could ask you the same.”
“It’s getting late,” Jaehyun then closed the topic. “We should go back.”
In the following days, Jaehyun’s mood seemed to worsen for some kind of reason, so you didn’t interact much anymore aside from the necessities. A week later, a bombing at a city on the other side of the country kept the institution busier than usual as many hospitals were already at their maximum capacity, so there was not much time for you to think about Jaehyun anyway.
But somehow, your conversation kept popping up in your head and you started wondering how the sea looked like in reality and how the sand would feel beneath your feet when you walked along the beach. However, you didn't tell anyone about this.
____
“I heard you did not talk at all with the psychiatrist today again,” you rebuked Jaehyun when you picked him up from the doctor a week later. “You weren’t very cooperative during your physical treatment these days, either.”
Typically, soldiers were more focused on regaining their physical health rather than talking about their traumas. For longevity though, they had to be treated in both fields, physical and mental, which was why their days were divided into two blocks. In the morning, they were taken care of by a physician and in the evening, they talked to a psychiatrist.
Jaehyun refusing both treatments was a huge warning sign. You guided him in the wheelchair along the corridor as you reminded him, “I thought you wanted to soon be able to do the morning and night hygiene routine yourself, such as shaving.”
He barely brought himself to reply, “I don’t care anymore.”
With this mindset, Jaehyun was at risk of getting stuck and shutting down entirely before making any progress at all. Helping a patient out of this hole required more than months of therapy. You had seen it happen more times than you had wanted, and you had sworn to yourself to never let someone get dragged into that darkness again if you were in a position to prevent it.
“If you had started on your first day here, you would already be able to shave yourself. In a week, the doctors could have removed the cast and begun treatment on your legs. It's not much right now, as it's a slow process, so you need to be patient and take things step by step. Start again, tomorrow. It's not late yet. In a few weeks or months, you'll be walking and feeling like your old self again.”
“My old self?!” Jaehyun’s head whipped back at you, fingers gripping hard onto the armrests in rising anger as he yelled, “Look at me! I'm in a wheelchair, I'm all alone, I’ve lost everything I’ve ever fought and lived for! How can I ever be my old self again?!”
You had been yelled at by patients before, and in this institution, it was a daily occurrence, so only a few curious pairs of eyes had turned to you both to watch the scene unfold. But you shrugged it off and continued your way along the corridor. “I know-”
“You know nothing!” Jaehyun raised his voice again. “You know nothing about me!”
Despite your developed callousness, his words still hurt you. It was true that you knew nothing about him, but it was also true that he knew nothing about you. He was just as clueless about you as you were about him. Truthfully, you didn’t know what to reply, so you replied with silence and rather pondered over this spoken words. What did he feel he had lost? Was there more to his story than he actually let on to everyone yet? It wouldn't be your first time seeing this happen as many people tend to live in denial for a long time.
“This isn’t the way to my room,” Jaehyun brought himself to remark a little while later.
“Exactly. Because we’re going to visit a friend of mine,” you declared as you led Jaehyun into another wing of the institution.
"Outrageous!" he protested and wanted to grab onto the wheels himself, but you harshly slapped his hands away. “Hey! Get me back to my room at once!”
“It’s leisure time, so you don’t have to return,” you answered casually while pushing him along the new ward.
“But I want to return!” he yelled and tried grabbing onto the wheels again. But again, you didn’t let him. “This is not allowed! Get me back at once!”
Several heads had turned to you again, clinic employees and patients both, but you only put on a smile and nodded at them as though in assurance that everything was alright and your patient was only overreacting. Which was close to the truth anyway.
“See, we are already here!” You both came to a stop in front of a room. “In here is a patient who has quickly become a friend of mine. Sometimes, when I have free time, I don’t go into the garden, but visit him here to read to him. He loves literature, but since our resources are very limited, it’s usually the same books. He doesn’t mind, but treasures even these repetitive routines, because he cannot do much else.”
You opened the door to the slightly larger room, and inside, on a narrow bed, laid a tiny figure. It was a small child whose pale face immediately lightened up upon seeing you.
“Did you come to read to me today, miss?”
“Yes! But my patient here will do it instead.” You pushed Jaehyun into the room and closed the door behind you. It was more than big enough to fit more people. “He arrived here not long ago and doesn’t have any friends yet. I thought I might introduce you to each other. His name is Jaehyun. Jaehyun, this is Cheol, our youngest patient.”
“He has the same name as your brother!” Cheol suddenly blurted out.
You smiled and nodded. Sooner or later, Jaehyun would have found out anyway, so it was better for someone else to reveal it. He might forget and never mention it again if you were lucky enough.
The boy pointed at something that stood by the other side of his bed and Jaehyun only now discovered what it actually was: a wheelchair. “You are also unable to walk, mister?” he asked with the bluntness of a child. He was only eight years old, and a fourth of his young life, he had already spent here.
“Uhm I-”
Jaehyun didn’t know what to respond, so you quickly jumped in, “He will be able to walk again soon if he puts in enough effort.”
“Lucky you!” Cheol exhaled in relief and leaned back. “I wish I would also be able to walk.”
Jaehyun gave you the most devilish side glare. By now, he had figured out your intentions and almost unnoticeably shook his head. Yet, he put on a kind expression as he answered Cheol, “I’m pretty sure you will be able to do so soon.”
The boy dropped his head in visible defeat. “Walking will never be possible for me again.”
“Cheol has gotten his back severely injured when the southern region was one of the first areas to get attacked,” you explained and walked over to the bedside where you seated yourself next to him. “It has left him partially paralyzed, and he’s been here for almost two years already. We focus on training his remaining physical abilities so that he can live life as normally as possible again. He's here because his mother is the head physician and she wants him under her close surveillance. In the beginning, Cheol could barely move his arms and upper body as well. Now show him what you can do, Cheol!”
With a bright smile, the boy lifted both of his arms and wound his upper body to the left and right. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“This is the reward for his hard work throughout the past years, and he will be able to go home very soon!” you cheered.
Jaehyun looked at you, then at Cheol, obviously at a loss for words. Of course, a little boy who had it much worse than him still being filled with so much hope and light would shake something inside him awake that he had long deemed dead. But on the other hand, he was also very aware of the fact that in contrast to him, Cheol still had the majority of his life ahead of him.
“You have been here for two years?” Jaehyun asked carefully.
Cheol nodded. “I can’t remember much of my life before this clinic, but I hope that once I go home, I can explore the country. That’s my dream.”
“In a wheelchair?” Jaehyun sounded more offended by his own surprise than he had intended and quickly wanted to correct himself.
But instead, Cheol replied with no less brightness, “Yes, in a wheelchair. My arms are much stronger than anyone my age, so I can easily compete with anyone, even in a wheelchair! It’s not my handicap, it’s my advantage.” Suddenly, Cheol faltered. "You speak so funnily, mister. Why did you emphasize 'wheelchair' like that?"
"Cheol, Jaehyun is very sick. He's still learning." Of course you had noticed that Jaehyun accentuated some words differently or used entirely different characters. You and the doctors were reasoning it with his memory loss, it was plausible.
But Jaehyun didn't seem to be bothered. Instead, he leaned in to speak to the boy more privately, “If you had one wish that could be granted, what would you wish for?”
“For my father to come back from war.” No, it was not the ability to walk again as Jaehyun might have wrongly assumed. Out of all the things this little boy could wish for, it was for his father to come back. It had always been this. “And you?”
Jaehyun got startled by the counter question, and his answer didn’t come as easy over his lips as the child's. Eventually, he decided that he didn’t have one yet. “I’ll let you know when I know.”
You then carefully placed a book on Jaehyun’s lap. “How about you read to Cheol now?”
“Yes, please mister!” The boy clapped into his hands. “I cherish your efforts too, miss. But I have to admit, you cannot imitate the male voices as perfectly as the female ones. So I need variety.”
You happily left this part to Jaehyun this time and he started without any protest. As he read out to the boy, you could swear that he did it with a faint smile on his lips. It was genuine, and your heart warmed upon seeing him content for the first time since he had come here. Both of them.
The very next day, Jaehyun started his treatments. He was still reluctant even during the physical therapy, but it was better than not starting at all. It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to finally do all mundane tasks by himself. A week after his first treatment, he was able to brush his teeth, shave, change and bathe, all by himself. A month later, Jaehyun’s leg cast finally came off.
____
What Jaehyun still absolutely refused to do was learn how to walk. He was willingly doing all the physical rehabilitation and his muscles were slowly, but steadily growing back. However, when the physician asked him to stand up or do anything on the ground with his own two legs, he straight out refused.
You placed the razor on the edge of the sink under Jaehyun’s wary eyes and then crossed your arms, turning back to face him. “Go get it. Then you can shave.”
“I still cannot walk,” Jaehyun pressed every syllable through his gritted teeth while sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Can’t you see, I cannot stand up! I cannot walk!”
“You’re not even trying!” you retorted. “How can you know if you don’t even try?”
“I’ve been trying!” he screamed and you flinched, startling him just as much by the sound of his own voice that was filled to the rim with frustration. Quieter, Jaehyun then continued, “I’ve been trying every night in secrecy, because I just cannot fathom the embarrassment of failing in front of the physician… in front of you. And every night, I’m failing. I, who people call 'The Blood Wolf', cannot even stand on my own two legs. What does that make me when I’m not a soldier, not a man anymore?”
“Human,” you whispered. “It makes you human.”
“Save me from your wise words,” he laughed resentfully, his shoulders quivering. “You’re not in my situation, so you wouldn’t know how I feel, what I’m fighting with.”
“You’re right,” you admitted. “I don’t know. But I’ve accompanied many patients through similar treatments and I’ve been telling you that in order to achieve a fast, full physical recovery, you have to be cooperative with the psychiatrist as well. But to this day, you refuse to speak to them.”
He dropped his head and led his hand to his forehead, hiding his face from you. “I don’t see what speaking to a psychiatrist would have got anything to do with me being able to move every limb.”
“It has so much to do with it, Jaehyun." You were surprised at how easy his name now rolled from your tongue, not accompanied by indescribable pain for quite a while already, and you found yourself saying it more often nowadays. "Again… the accident that has led you to this state are connected to a trauma that is not easy to overcome. Whenever you try to use a leg muscle, your protective mechanism will hinder you from going through all this again and cause your brain to shut down. This is why it's very important to treat your trauma as well.”
You then knelt down before Jaehyun and reached out to him. Cautiously, you pulled his hand away that was hiding his face, and with only a little bit of reluctance, he let you. Agony was sketched into his face, but at least he was not fighting you off, letting you see his vulnerable side for the first time.
“Tsk. How would you know it will work for me too?”
“If it works for an eight-year-old boy, why wouldn’t it work for 'The Blood Wolf'?”
“Don’t call me like that.”
You shrugged, already having come to terms with the fact that you would never address him to his satisfaction. “Think about the fact that a little boy is much wiser and less hard-headed than you.”
“Do nurses speak to patients like this nowadays?” Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “What if I submit a complaint about you, will someone else then get assigned to me?”
“Most likely,” you responded casually. “But I promise you that they won’t tell you something different than me. They would be even harsher.”
That was a lie. The other nurses were just as competent and skilled, but a majority would let their personal preferences get in the way. Now even more than before, because Jaehyun was slowly regaining his overall health, and it made people's heads turn. His features had turned more striking, his muscles had significantly grown. And when he, rarely though, smiled… You swallowed. But you didn’t tell him this. You also didn’t tell him that the other nurses asked you about him several times a day and you refused to give specific responses. Anyone would be glad to take over your position. But you wouldn’t let them, for the sake of your goal.
“I don’t care. Maybe I should risk swapping you out.”
He wanted to purposely hurt you, but you didn’t want to let him know it actually affected you. “If I’m not assigned to you, then I will tend to another patient, Jaehyun. Do you think we never have someone complain about us? The only thing that you can hope for is that everyone else is just as determined to help you. And until you get discharged by the clinic or picked up by acquaintances, you're stuck here. Either with me or someone else."
You were impatient for the moment he finally regained his memories as this was the reason why you were sticking around in the first place. If anyone had recent information on your brother, it would be him, who had fought with and against so many soldiers for such a long time. Only for this, you remained by his side. Was it…?
“Was there someone looking for me?”
Jaehyun was asking every day if someone had found him. And every day, you had the same answer, “There is no news about it today either.”
It was odd, because after your reply, you always caught a glimpse of relief in his eyes. You were only hoping that you were wrong, but clearly, there was an undeniable satisfaction mirrored in his gaze whenever you had to give him a negative answer. As though… he didn’t really want someone to find him. Or the other way around?
Jaehyun didn’t say anything further, so you grabbed the razor from the sink and passed it to him along with the shaving cream. “Wash up, then I’ll prepare everything for the physician's visit.”
Jaehyun took the items into his hand, but didn’t move.
“Do you need help?” you asked.
He lowered his head. “I’m s-” He stopped, then snarled, “Get out!”
You knew what he wanted to say and were so disappointed he couldn’t bring himself to do even that. To say that he was sorry, even though it would have made you so happy. Wordlessly, you left with a heart that felt so heavy like never before.
____
Two weeks later, you read through Jaehyun’s file in the psychiatrist's office.
“Is it true, doctor?” you asked. “He started talking about what happened in the mountains?”
The psychiatrist nodded. “He started describing the situation when he was found and what he felt like as it's the only thing he remembers. It’s the first step.”
“I’m so relieved!” you let out an audible sigh. “I was so worried!”
The psychiatrist tilted his head in seeming confusion. “I’ve never seen you so invested in your own patient. But with him, you support him more than you need to. You could have left him in someone else's care when he was not cooperative, but you're remaining by his side. How come?”
It was true. Despite your rough start, you endured and remained, no matter how hard it was for you. It was because you wanted to be the first to interrogate him when he remembered who he was, where he came from, based on the trust you would have gained as his personal nurse. Or at least it had been in the beginning.
Now, you were catching him constantly letting down his guard, though not towards you. He had loosened up, but was still careful and reserved since people tended to point out the way he emphasized and used some words. There was overall so much more to him that was so different from everything you had encountered before. Everything he did and said was irritating you, yet drew you in at the same time. You slowly came to a point where you didn't know how to behave around him anymore and tried avoiding him as much as possible as he didn't seem to care about warming up towards you either.
“I feel pity for him, doctor,” was your meek attempt at an explanation.
The psychiatrist smiled knowingly. “That's not true. You’re rooting for him. For some reason, you care." And that was the answer you had been trying to avoid acknowledging all this time. "It’s not something to be ashamed of admitting. You’re a nurse and you care about Cheol. Why wouldn’t you care about other patients too? It’s human.”
The words sounded familiar to you. “I cannot get attached to every patient, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to be a good nurse anymore. It would destroy me.” And it would come into the way of your true purpose at this clinic, but you didn't tell him that. "And Cheol has never been my personal patient, that's why it was okay with him."
“The world is filled with too much pain and coldness already. The least you can do is allow yourself to feel something.”
The psychiatrist's words still lingered within you when you left the office and started your daily check up on the patients, ending with a visit to Cheol. But when you entered his room, someone else was already there.
“Jaehyun?”
He was sitting by the boy’s bedside, a book opened in his hands. Your visit clearly took him off guard as he looked at you with widened eyes. But then he quickly turned his head away from you again, avoiding eye contact at all cost.
“Miss, please join us!” Cheol invited you. “We’ve almost finished the novel already!”
It was a relatively thick book for which you personally always needed at least a month with the little time you could still spare. How often was Jaehyun then coming here to read to Cheol during leisure time?
"I’m good,” you smiled. “I won’t keep interrupting you. Have fun.”
After you had closed the door behind you, you leaned against the wall and took a deep breath in. You figured Jaehyun finding a purpose outside of his routine was a huge step forward despite him not being able to walk still. It kept him busy, alive. And in a world filled with pain and coldness, everyone had to find their own joy in even the mundane things. You were proud of him, that much was true. Just like the fact that you had long passed the point of not caring at all.
When you visited Jaehyun before your shift ended, you observed him a bit closer. You wondered why you had failed to notice earlier. He had regained his overall weight, his cheeks soft and rosy, his hair longer and shinier. Not much had changed between you since the incident in the bathroom, and you wondered why it still hurt the way it did. Was that why you had been so avoidant too? Because there had been no coming back from the incident for you and you feared Jaehyun felt the same way?
“I was talking to Cheol a lot these days,” Jaehyun suddenly said when you prepared the bed for the night. “In case you wondered what I was doing there.”
“You are free to do whatever you want, Jaehyun."
“I just figured…” He paused and rolled closer to the bed with his wheelchair. “I wondered why I wasn’t able to walk just yet despite the treatments. I’ve been doing everything... And I was so mad at you this entire time.”
You halted and put down the pillow. So it was true. He hadn't come back from the incident in the bathroom either. “At me?”
He snorted as though he couldn’t believe his own words. “Because I did everything you told me to, yet I still couldn’t walk. I wondered what was wrong with me, if it was even worth… continue fighting.”
“Jaehyun…” Why had you failed to notice this too? The demons he had been fighting while you were blaming his moodiness and avoiding him, because it felt too much for you. Instead of being persistent and helpful, you had shut down and refused support. And for what? Selfishness, because you had felt hurt by someone deeply hurt himself?
“I wanted to talk to Cheol, that’s why I went there two weeks ago.” He snickered, but more in amusement. “After you said that an eight year old boy was wiser than me, I needed to find out whether you were right.”
You swallowed a huge lump in your throat. “And…?”
With less struggle and so much more ease than before, Jaehyun was able to heave himself up and onto the bed in one swift motion. You had failed to acknowledge this progress as well.
“He, too, told me I needed a purpose,” Jaehyun explained. “Wanting to just walk is not enough. For Cheol, he desperately wanted to hug his father again when he returned from war. That was why he needed to regain his ability to move his upper body.”
You had never heard Jaehyun talk so much before, yet you held yourself back to reply elaborately. “I understand.”
“You had once told me I'd figure out the purpose for my existence, why I was the last one alive," he continued. “It's the same now. What do I need to walk for?”
You put the blanket over him and then shifted around to draw the curtains together. You couldn't face him. Even now you weren’t much of a help as you only wanted to listen to him talk more, because you liked the sound of his voice and the way he looked at you nowadays. Just two of the very many things that irritated you. What kind of nurse did that make you?
“I suppose I still need to find it out,” Jaehyun concluded. “A reason as to why I need to walk again, because as of now, I don’t have a good enough one.”
You were relieved that Jaehyun was at least trying. Talking to Cheol on a regular basis had finally dragged him out of the darkness that had threatened to consume him entirely. Even the little boy had been more helpful than you as his nurse, because the man chatting to you now was not the one from two weeks ago. When had this change happened and why had it passed by you entirely when you spent almost every day together? What had suddenly gotten into the way of you focusing on your actual work?
It couldn't be the way Jaehyun's teeth showed when the corners of his lips tilted up now. Or the way his nose scrunched when he laughed in response. Or the way he brushed his slender fingers over his hair in slight embarrassment. They all now only added onto the list of things that irritated you, yet drew you in at the same time.
With a fake smile, you turned around to Jaehyun. “I’m happy to hear that! I wish you a fast recovery.”
You then left him, totally perplexed. And the next day, you didn’t return. You didn’t return on any day after that anymore. You had been a good nurse. But you weren't one with him around anymore.
____
When you returned to the nurses’ wing a few days later after having finished the extra check ups, Jaehyun was already waiting for you by the entrance. You stopped in your tracks when you saw him lingering there in his wheelchair.
“What took you so long?” he barked. “Do you know how long I’ve waited?!"
You wanted to elude him, but he blocked the door. "Why are you here, Jaehyun?"
“Why did you abandon me?”
There was much hurt swinging in his voice that was also mirrored in his eyes, and it took you aback. Hadn’t he been the one to suggest replacing you in the first place? You shirked from his look. “I didn’t abandon you. You wanted it, didn't you?”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“Well, you had never said so and neither have you ever apologized." You shrugged, remembering his hurtful words all too well again. "It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re in good hands with your new nurse.”
“But I don’t want her!” he backpedaled. "I'm sorry, okay? Just please don't abandon me."
"I…" Your breath caught. There they were. The words you had been longing to hear, but why didn't they bring any relief? You had come to the conclusion that you didn’t need him to find your brother in the end. What kind of information would he have after all that gave him an advantage to everyone else? There was no reason for you to stay.
“Is it because I have the same name as your brother?” Jaehyun wanted to know. “Do I remind you of him?”
“So much and then again, not at all,” you brought yourself to confess.
“What happened to your brother?”
You rarely talked about him, but perhaps, this was the time and place to do exactly that. “He disappeared from the frontline two years ago right after war had started and I’ve been searching for him ever since. I’ve been questioning the patients here if they know someone by the name of Ha Jaehyun. But to no avail until now.” You joked bitterly, not expecting an answer, “You don't happen to remember your last name to be 'Ha' by any chance?”
But Jaehyun wasn’t feeling like laughing. Instead, he suddenly got very serious and it seemed like all the color had vanished from his face. Then, he asked, “Do you think he is still alive?”
“Yes, of course! Siblings know something like this. I feel it. I just… cannot find him.” You were still mid-sentence when a sudden thought crossed your mind that you had never dared thinking of before. “Or… he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Wouldn’t that explain why, after two years of searching, you cannot find a single trace of him?”
“But why would he?” you defended your brother. “He has his family, he has me! For sure he would have contacted me if he had the chance to!”
“What if… he doesn’t have the chance?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! My brother would always find a way!” You suddenly didn't want to stay here, arguing with him anymore as you knew your brother the best. "Good evening, Jaehyun!"
But he still refused you entrance to the dorms by grabbing your wrist and holding you back by your hand. “What do I need to do for you to come back?” he urged.
His hand was warm around yours, you suddenly noticed. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been touched like this, and it irritated you even more. Why did your heart feel like breaking apart and exploding at the same time with a yearning that had never settled in there before?
“I stand with my decision.” You pulled your arm back and brought more distance between you two. “Good evening, Jaehyun.”
You walked through the entrance door into the dormitory, doubting your decision the moment you were finally alone. Why was he making it so hard for you? Why couldn’t he have just accepted the situation and moved on? Why had he, for some reason, suddenly chang-
You heard the first sounds of descending planes way too late. Usually, you weren’t this negligent, but you had been too deep into your thoughts this time, and thus, the first bombs went off not too far from the institution before you had made your way back to Jaehyun.
The entire ground shook, but you were able to keep our balance as you ran back towards the entrance door, opened it wide and screamed, “Jaehyun!”
You spotted him still in the corridor, pushing the wheelchair in your direction and yelling your name in the same desperate manner as another bomb went off in your area.
“We have to seek shelter at once!” You grabbed onto the handles of Jaehyun’s wheelchair once you closed the distance between you and pushed him out of the ward. “It’s too dangerous here, there are too many windows along the hallway!”
“Is there no shelter in this ward?” he shouted.
“No, we have to go back to the main wing as it's the closest to us! There is a huge bunker there!”
You had broken out into a cold sweat. Why did you also have so much trouble breathing now? Was it the sheer panic? Your hands were trembling, you could barely lead the wheelchair. Sweat had gathered at the back of Jaehyun's neck as well, wetting the lower strands of his hair. His hands were similarly pale and shaky as yours, but you both focused on reaching safety rather than giving into your fear.
In the main corridor, many patients had already gathered along with the personnel. Some people were screaming, some crying, and some were under so much shock, they barely grasped what was currently happening. The patients witnessed an attack as civilians and not as soldiers for the first time - just like Jaehyun. It could trigger the resurface of trauma, shutting down their rational thinking, so the clinic personnel were specifically trained to act accordingly in these situations. This was just not happening in a textbook now, it was not a drill. This was reality. Usually, this part of the country was far away from the active war zones and thus more peaceful. What did it mean that you were suddenly under direct attack too?
“Hurry!” you screamed across the hallway. “We have to seek shelter in the underground levels!”
When you guided Jaehyun along the corridor to the end of the main wing, the patients followed you after initial chaos had erupted. But the personnel had been quick in establishing an organized escape route according to the drills.
“I want to help!” Jaehyun looked back at you. “I need to help!”
You couldn't pay attention to him, because at that moment, another bomb went off. This time, much closer though, and the ground shook again, deafening noise bringing you all to a stop. You wanted to press your hands against your ears and close your eyes, but you couldn't. People were relying on you.
“You cannot help!” you eventually said to Jaehyun. “You cannot help, Jaehyun!”
It probably only dawned on him now that no matter how much he wanted to help, he physically wasn't able to. And simultaneously, he realized that he was partially responsible for his disability. But this was an emergency and not a situation in which you should hold his own decisions against him. He knew himself as well, now more than ever. Turning from a protector to someone who needed protection themselves was not a change soldiers could easily accept.
The door to the lower levels were already wide open and guards were leading people inside, patients and clinic personnel equally. After you had pushed Jaehyun past the doors, you left him in the care of another nurse though, and he turned around to you in disbelief.
“Where are you going?!” he yelled.
“I need to check on Cheol!”
“Are you insane?!” A look of terror spread across Jaehyun's face. “The bombs can reach this building in a minute!”
“And they can reach him too! I have to make sure he’s safe!”
“No, wait!” Jaehyun stretched out his hand as though he could stop you physically, or as though he wanted to follow you. But again, he was physically restrained for both. “Come back!”
You turned around. “I’ll be okay!”
And then you vanished behind the doors that immediately got sealed shut in front of him.
____
“Cheol!” you screamed along the hallway. “Cheol!”
Luckily, no further bombs had gone off again close to the clinic. Every person that you had met along the way, you had urged to seek shelter until every room you had checked on your way to the child had been cleared by you. You had helped where and whom you could.
“Cheol!” you screamed again, finally reaching the little patient's room with a quick sprint.
… to find it entirely empty. He had already been evacuated. You let out a breather of relief and leaned against the wall in the corridor to take a moment to catch your breath. But you weren't even given five seconds when another blaring noise, followed by a blow, suddenly carried you off your feet and forced you to your knees.
You slung your arms around your head and remained crouched on the floor with your forehead touching your thighs to protect yourself. The silence that followed was the worst, and you pondered whether you should stay like this or take a chance and flee. But you hesitated for too long. Another bomb detonated, a little closer now, shattering the windows next to you and letting the shards rain over your back. Cracks had started forming on the floor as well.
You had to act. Now. You got back up on your knees and put your hands over your ears as another blast occurred. The ground shook again in unison with the shelves, beds and every other piece of furniture in the patients’ rooms. Rumbles followed the noises, seemingly coming from closets that yielded to the gravity. On both of your knees, you crawled along the wall that ran parallel to the rooms until you found a spot where you couldn’t get hit by loose objects threatening to fall as another bomb ripped through the air.
You then hid under an arch that served as a stabilizer in the hallway and pulled your knees up your body around which you then wrapped your arms, making yourself as small as possible. Now that you were alone, your survival mode locked in. But simultaneously, fear as well. You remained pressed hard against the pillar when another explosion broke through the short silence, and another one and another one, each one rupturing with fury.
If only it was over already. You couldn’t go down without finding out what had happened to your brother. You couldn’t go down without knowing where he was. You couldn’t go down without helping Jaehyun regaining his health-
“-you?!”
You opened your eyes wide. You could have sworn you had just heard him calling out for you.
“- where are you?!”
You carefully raised your head and blinked through the chaos, through the heavy dust coming from the cracked floors and the outside that partially restricted your vision. By now, the institution was running on emergency power which only added to your limited field of vision. But at the end of the hallway, you clearly saw a figure in a wheelchair that was approaching you.
“Are you here?!”
No, he shouldn't be here. He was in safety and should be prioritizing that. He should not be in danger.
“Jaehyun?” you whispered more to yourself and rose to your knees to get a better look at the person still moving with much struggle into your direction. “Jaehyun!” you called out, a bit louder this time.
There he was, emerging out of the semi-darkness and into the bit of light that had still found its way through the holes that had once been windows. Panic was written all over his face as he pushed his wheelchair closer and closer to you. Why had he come here when you had specifically instructed him to stay in the shelter?
“Why?!” you yelled as another bomb went off and left Jaehyun tumbling on the wheels. “Go back!”
He shook his head and kept going, just a little bit and… But at the same moment, a large shelf fell over in a straight line with a thundering noise. It was suddenly blocking his route, preventing him from reaching your spot. The remaining gap it had left to the opposite wall was too narrow for the wheelchair to pass through.
“I’m coming!”
“Did you… come for me?” you asked, barely audible.
A smile tugged on the corner of Jaehyun’s lips and he nodded. By now, he had reached the shelf that was lying across the hallway, almost directly in front of you. He stretched out his hand. “Get up.”
You braced your hands against the floor and pushed yourself to your feet, but flinched and went back to seek shelter under the arch when another bomb detonated, the whole ground shaking again.
“I can’t!” It was safer for you to stay here and if Jaehyun wouldn’t immediately seek shelter as well, it was looking very bad for the both of you.
“Listen!” Jaehyun instructed out loudly. “You just have to crawl a few meters and climb over the shelf, then you’ll be with me. I’ll bring you to safety, I saw a spot over there. You can do it!”
Blinking against the dust that was already burning in your eyes, you looked at Jaehyun’s hand that was stretched out to you. If he was able to come all the way here in his wheelchair, just for you, then you could also close this remaining distance between you two. So you took a deep breath in, nipped your fear in the bud, and positioned yourself on the floor. On your hands and knees, you crawled towards the shelf when another blow rippled through the hospital’s grounds. You didn’t let the explosion distract you from reaching your goal this time.
“Just a little bit more, come on!”
You felt a surge of new courage welling up inside your body and hurried, closer to the shelf, closer to Jaehyun, your safety. That was until you saw his expression suddenly change from encouragement to complete shock, leaving him petrified as he looked above you.
“Wait-!” he was able to call out before you lifted up your gaze to see for yourself what he had just discovered.
But you didn’t come that far anymore. Mid-motion, your entire field of vision suddenly darkened. Or was it because your eyes closed? You didn’t know what followed the striking blow that suddenly sent pain down your body, rooting from the top of your head. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs, all at once. You felt it to every fiber of your body. Pain so endless, you were sure you were dying now.
The last thing you remembered was falling back on the ground with your face forward. The pain was probably immense, but at that moment, it was futile in comparison to your biggest fear. Now, you truly wouldn’t know what had happened to your brother and whether Jaehyun would finally walk again. You felt so sorry you couldn’t have been more of help and had not only failed as a nurse, but as a sister too.
____
You had a recurring dream.
In that dream, you were standing on the beach, your feet buried deep in the soft sand. The waves came and went, caressing your ankles, the salt water cool against your skin. You could smell the fresh breeze, inhaling it as if time were fleeting and the moment would pass all too soon. The sun hung low on the horizon.
You had never been to the sea, but this dream felt too real. You were even able to see the emerald color of the ocean right in front of you. This was exactly how you imagined it. This and…
“Don’t go.”
… a warm hand holding yours, squeezing your fingers as though the person feared you might wander off at any moment. But where would you even want to go? There had never been a place more beautiful than here.
“Please stay with me.”
It was a man speaking to you. Had you finally found your brother?
But in this recurring dream, whenever you turned around to find out who that voice belonged to, the person vanished and along with him, the warmth of his hand. You had never once caught a glimpse of his face.
So sometimes, when you dreamed this dream, you purposefully didn’t look back, but rather lingered in the comfort of his gentle touch just a little longer. And sometimes, you squeezed his hand back. Just strong enough to assure him that you wouldn’t leave. Not even into the ocean.
And sometimes, you found him responding with another squeeze of your hand.
____
“She’s awake!” someone confirmed and then, turmoil erupted.
Your ears were ringing, and only with great effort were you able to fully open your eyes, emerging from the vacuum you had slipped into in the minutes since your consciousness had returned. Three heads were hovering over you, surprise and relief written all over their faces. One pair belonged to a doctor, another to the doctor’s assistant, and the last one to the head nurse.
“How are you feeling, dear?” the head nurse asked while the doctor pulled one of your eyelids wide open with his fingers, then the other. He shone a small lamp right into your pupils. “Do you know who we are? Do you know who you are?”
It was exhausting to part your chapped lips, but you brought yourself to croak, “Yes. Yes.”
“Excellent,” the doctor announced proudly. “We still have to run a few tests, but as far as I can examine, no further injuries have been sustained except for the physical ones. I’ll send someone to run the tests soon, please get ready by then.” He quickly left the room.
After he had mentioned it, you now felt a thumping pain on the top of your head. You lifted your hand and carefully touched the seeming wound only to be met by the fabric of a thick bandage.
“During the bombing, you got hit on your head by a fallen chandelier,” the head nurse explained slowly and took your hand into hers. But it was not the hand that had held yours in the dreams. “You have suffered from a mild skull fracture and a concussion. Luckily, the chandelier was not too heavy, so a surgery was not needed. But we had to treat you with heavy medication that took you out for a few days.”
You faintly remembered the darkness, the pain. And there was… “Jaeh-”
The head nurse smiled knowingly and the assistant approached you with a glass of water in which a straw was placed. Carefully, she placed it between your lips and let you take a few sips while listening to the elder woman.
“Isn’t it odd?” the head nurse asked rhetorically. “The seeming superpowers a human can summon whenever they see someone they hold dear in danger? For Jaehyun, it wasn’t any different.” You blinked in confusion as she continued, “The moment he saw you injured on the floor, something inside him switched.”
“He got out of his wheelchair and went to you,” the assistant added with a giggle after having placed the glass back on your nightstand. “When he saw that you had lost consciousness, he carried you to his wheelchair and brought you to a safe location. All while walking and pushing the wheelchair with you seated in it.”
“Wal… king?” you repeated in near disbelief. Jaehyun had walked?
“Sometimes, there is a blockade inside a patient when they have gotten severely injured,” she carried on and the head nurse nodded in agreement. That was exactly what Jaehyun and Cheol had talked about as well. “After traumatic events in the army, they might have lost all hope to continue living. Serving was their purpose, so what comes after serving for them when they have been stripped of their physical strength and getting discarded by the military? They might feel too broken to pick up another purpose in life.” She paused meaningfully. “In Jaehyun’s case, he found his purpose the moment he saw you hurt. He knew if he didn’t act immediately, worse things could happen, and something inside him clicked into place.”
“For how long,” you muttered, “was I gone, ma'am?”
“Four days almost,” the head nurse responded. “They are currently repairing the left wing that has partially gotten destroyed by the blows. There are cracks in the walls and floors, broken windows, but nothing unrepairable and nobody else got severely hurt. The bombing ended shortly after your accident. We were so lucky to have reacted so quickly. Thanks to you as well, do you know that?”
You had truly been this helpful? “Is… Cheol also okay?” you still wanted to know.
“He is perfectly fine,” the elderly woman reassured you. “He had gotten evacuated long before you reached him.”
“I’m… relieved,” you breathed out and let yourself fall back into the pillow.
The head nurse smiled. “He came to visit you. Every day.”
“Cheol?”
“No, he couldn’t do so as often. He came by foot." A meaningful pause. "I was talking about Jaehyun.”
You were very confused. Every day? Why would he even do that in the first place?
“Do you want my advice?” she asked after sending the assistance to the attached bathroom to prepare everything for the wash up. “A man who is more concerned about your life than his own doesn’t deserve the name of 'The Blood Wolf'.”
You recognized your own words in hers. He had fought at the frontline and had killed many enemies. It was in his blood to protect his comrades and civilians. Even now?
____
Jaehyun had visited you again on the day you first woke up, but only after you had already fallen asleep. He continued doing so over the next three days, during which you were prohibited from leaving the bed - always in secrecy when you couldn’t catch him in the act. Whenever you woke, he was already gone, leaving behind only his familiar scent and the lingering warmth of his hand on yours. Or so it was in your recurring dream that you were still dreaming.
They soon removed the bandage from your head and the stitches would be taken out a week later. The next day, you were able to return to the dorms to rest and the week that followed, you would pick up your duties again. But there was one thing you needed to sort out before all that, before continuing with your life.
You didn’t dream of the beach anymore, and the more you tried to remember it, the more it faded, becoming, once again, only pictures you had seen in books. But every night, you still dreamed of the warm hand holding yours. Until the evening before your first day back at work, you wondered whether, at some point, that recurring dream had one day merged with reality and you had only failed to notice again. But you were not a coward anymore.
It was a warm, but cloudy day when you stepped out of the building for the first time in two weeks. The yard was empty since it was still treatment time for the patients, yet in the middle of the court, right by the fountain, was standing a familiar figure. His back was turned to you and a wheelchair was parked next to him.
Standing, he was much taller than you had imagined, and he only grew in size the further you closed the distance between you until you almost stood right in front of him. His dark hair was swaying in the breeze that tasted like late spring when he turned around to you, his face expressionless. Or so it seemed as he didn’t want to reveal more of his emotions. But you could finally see behind his facade.
“So, you feel better now,” Jaehyun stated nearly as a matter-of-factly. But then added, softer, "I'm glad."
You sucked in a deep breath. “They said there is one person I owe my life to.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“If it hadn’t been for you, there would be a possibility that I might not be here right now.”
“I only did what a soldier is supposed to do. Weren't you the same? Acting accordingly to lead everyone to safety.”
“I see. Yes.” You slung your arms around your chest, unsure where to look, unsure about this entire situation. But it was too late to retreat. “You walked that day. You even stand now all on your own.”
Jaehyun's gaze fell on the wound on your head. “I saw a person in danger and acted accordingly, like a soldier.”
You nodded, lips pressed together in tension. “I see.” You wanted to lock gazes, but he averted his eyes. “They say you still read to Cheol every day.”
“You weren't able to. I only helped out where I was needed, like a soldier.”
Like a soldier, this excuse again. What was he so scared of, even now? If you didn’t bring yourself to cross the line now, you would not be making any progress and going back and forth for eternity. But you didn’t have an eternity left. War was so close and your accident had only proven to you that no time should be wasted. After all, how could anyone be sure you still had a certain amount left? Jaehyun had seen death more times than he could probably count.
“Then what about this?”
You stepped directly in front of him and took his hand into yours. It was trembling, just like yours. But as soon as your palms closed and your fingers intertwined, you felt a familiar warmth spreading through your linked hands. The warmth then flowed up your arm until it reached your heart in ways you had never been touched before. It was, indeed, the familiar warmth you had felt in your dreams that were springing from reality. Because every day, Jaehyun had sat by your side, holding your hand and telling you not to leave him. It hadn't been a dream. It had all been real.
“Is this what a soldier is supposed to do as well?” You brought your entwined fingers close to your heart. Jaehyun didn’t make a move to withdraw his hand, you noted with relief. “You visited me every day. Holding my hand like this. Telling me not to leave. Why?”
He shifted his head away to avoid your inquiring look, but even from this angle, you perceived the color of his cheeks changing and spreading up to his ears. His hand was still in yours, sharing warmth when a cooler breeze soared through the backyard.
“You don’t know me.”
“Neither do you. And it’s fine not knowing yourself,” you encouraged him. “The only thing you need to know during this tumultuous time is what is real and what is not.”
“What is… real?” Eventually, Jaehyun locked eyes with you, concern etched all over his face.
You nodded, touched by his innocent reaction. “Right now, you are real. I am real. This…” You squeezed his hand, holding it tightly against your chest. “... is real. What more do we need to know?”
Jaehyun drew his brows together. “What if one day, you find out who I really am, and then you hate me more than I even hate myself?”
You brought your hands to the side of your face, placed them into the curve of your cheek and smiled when you felt the ever so slight brush of Jaehyun's thumb against your skin.
“A man who risked his life to save me even if it meant defying everything he had deemed impossible… how could I ever hate him?”
With a jolt, you jumped forward, right into Jaehyun’s arms. He got startled, turning petrified even, but you remained with a thumbing heart. You wrapped your arms around his middle and placed your head against his chest, sharing the warmth from your hands now with your entire body. You couldn’t deny the relief washing over you the moment he decided to embrace you back and hold you close to him. You felt his breath on your parting and his fingers gently stroking over your hair, careful not to touch the wound.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jaehyun only whispered in near silence.
“I don’t know either,” you admitted in all honesty. “But it’s fine, we don’t need to know now. We will figure it out.”
It was silent for a few moments, but you didn’t break the embrace.
Eventually, Jaehyun whispered, “Yes, we will.”
____
You fell back into your work routine quite easily, but you didn’t return to being Jaehyun's nurse. You both had wordlessly agreed that with the shift in your relationship, you couldn’t treat him any longer and he made progress without you now too. But every now and then, you were still taking a look into his files. And even though he was walking very well now, only needing his wheelchair for very long distances, he still couldn’t remember a single thing about his past.
“This is a very rare case,” the psychiatrist told you when you found a quiet minute to talk to him. “There is absolutely no progress in that matter at all. He still doesn’t remember his full name, his background, and what exactly happened in the mountains before his rescue. Our sessions are getting repetitive and there is no new information aside from what we’ve already disclosed. Almost as if…”
… he didn’t want to remember who he was, you ended the sentence in your head. Had his past been so traumatic that he was subconsciously fighting against his memories returning? Or was he willingly trying to split from his past character to start anew, becoming a whole different person? Jaehyun had never seemed all too bothered by the loss of his memories though, you had sometimes thought. For someone not remembering who he was, he almost seemed too… indifferent.
“What if it’s temporary, doctor?” you asked the psychiatrist.
“Such cases exist as well." He eased back into his chair, taking off his glasses. His usual move when he was in deep thoughts. “Nevertheless, we have to find his family or an acquaintance to inform them about his condition. He cannot stay here forever and eventually has to get discharged. I just wonder why no one has looked for him yet…”
You wondered about the same thing. “He said he comes from the city,” you suddenly remembered. “Would it help i-”
“Excuse me, what?” the psychiatrist interrupted you.
“He said he comes from a city, so I thought-”
“Wait, wait, wait!” He put up his hand, gesturing to you to pause. “Where did you get this information from?”
You tilted your head in confusion. “He told me this himself.”
“Then you’re the only person he has ever spoken about this to, because not once has he mentioned coming from a city to me or another doctor. Did I miss it in his files? Impossible.”
You were so confused. Why would Jaehyun mention it to you so early on, but no one else had known about this significant fact? Had this information gotten lost in transit? Things like this could happen. Or had Jaehyun purpo-... You shook your head. He wouldn't have a reason to, would he?
“However, it seems like he trusts you very much, more than us,” the psychiatrist concluded. “I got it! Usually, to trigger a person’s memories, it helps them to return to their usual environment. They have to smell the scents they have been surrounded by in the past. They have to eat the food they usually ate, they have to be at the places they frequented… It will help them remember bit by bit.”
“So you suggest he visits his city? But we don’t even know which city he's from.”
“It doesn’t necessarily mean he needs to visit the place he had lived in before. It would help already when he’s surrounded by cars, buildings, the sound of people… I would suggest you go to the city with him. Walk around, eat his preferred food and just let the atmosphere sink in. Even if there won’t be much new information after the visit, it will bring him closer in touch with who he was before.”
You had nearly not listened to the last part as you had stopped at an earlier sentence, repeating it in your head over and over again. You pointed your finger towards yourself. “I will accompany him to the city?”
He smiled encouragingly. “Of course. If he will tell anyone, then it’s you. I will directly request an off day for you.”
You really appreciated the fact that he was putting so much trust and faith into you. You also wanted to help Jaehyun, and even though you felt very honored by having been given this opportunity, something inside you told you that this wasn't… right. Somehow, you had the feeling that you should absolutely not do that. You suddenly felt so torn.
“Any more questions?”
“No, doctor.”
“Very well. The bombing has not affected the city so much, so you might be free to go in a two weeks time. Until then, he needs to focus on the rehabilitation of his walking abilities to be fit enough for the trip.”
“Noted, doctor.”
____
So, this was the city. You didn’t know what you had expected. But certainly not gray building after gray building, a few green splotches here and there, and barely any people on the streets. Admittedly, the houses weren’t as big and pretentious as in your imagination, the significant majority of them aging - and it showed, to say the least.
Before you came here, you had asked Jaehyun about the city. And despite his initial reluctance, he eventually had told you about the impressions that still lingered in his mind, just a few insights here and there. He had talked about bustling streets, flashing lights and buildings that almost reached the clouds. But none of it applied to this one. So you naturally concluded that this city was not the one Jaehyun was originally from. Yet, you wanted to follow the psychiatrist's advice and make the most of the day.
You had gotten a map for orientation and were now looking at the printed streets while Jaehyun was standing next to you, posture supported by a cane. He had insisted on not using a wheelchair for this trip, so the clinic's staff had brought you right to the city center with a car. You had repeated yourself over and over again, urging him to tell you when he needed a break. But so far, he had been able to keep up with the pace. You figured his training in the last few weeks had paid off very well.
“Why this antique navigation method?” Jaehyun asked. “Don’t you have a cell phone?”
“I’ve never owned a cell phone. I know a lot of people use them nowadays, but I never needed one. It’s not so established in the countryside. If I want to call my family, I just use the institution's landline.”
“A life without a cell phone, hm.” He seemed to reminisce about something. “Sometimes, I think it's very relaxing.”
“How about we go eat lunch first?” you then suggested. “It’s almost twelve. You like eating soft tofu soup in the institution, so perhaps you have liked it in the past as well. If we eat in the restaurant the doctor recommended, you might feel a familiar atmosphere and then-”
“And then what?” Jaehyun asked, nearly frustrated.
You could honestly understand him. He had been pestered with that topic by every doctor on a nearly daily basis for the past three weeks. If you had known better, you nearly believed he hadn't wanted to go to the city at all, but was actually only doing you a favor since you had never been to one.
You shrugged it off. “Let’s go eat.”
It was a suitably warm, early summer day, but even the weather couldn’t let the city appear less depressive. The environment reminded you of the institution, just much bigger, nearly endless. There was no appeal to the city at all, and you wondered if it was like this in every part of the country or whether at least the capital had been different before the war. Was this how the whole world actually looked like? Was that… it?
You were walking side by side, steadily, but slowly. Because of his condition, Jaehyun caught the attention of a few people that passed by you, tensing every time they looked at him a little too long. Even though he pretended to not see them, their reactions visibly shook him for some kind of understandable reason.
“We’re here,” you announced when you finally arrived at the recommended restaurant. You had never been to a restaurant before, but you had imagined it to be similar to eating with the fellow employees in the institution.
The restaurant was rather small and not filled with many people. The majority of the guests were office workers on their lunch break, yet it was still the fanciest place you had ever visited. You got seated across from Jaehyun by a window table and ordered soft tofu soup. You were so excited for your first restaurant experience, but Jaehyun only seemed to share this emotion to a certain extent.
It wasn’t because he was annoyed or repellent. Sometimes, he seemed to really enjoy your trip as well. It was just… you didn’t want to use the word frightened. Most of the time, he was just uneasy, uncomfortable. His eyes were moving too fast from one point to another, observing the environment and the people close by a little too long. You blamed his memory loss for it, but didn't know how to help him ease up a bit either.
“I hope you’re hungry!” you said when the waiter returned with the side dishes.
You saw classic kimchi, cucumber salad, marinated eggs, zucchini stir fry, pickled onions, macaroni salad, creamy fruit salad, and spicy bellflower root salad. Some of these side dishes, you had never seen nor eaten ever in your life. Usually, at the institution, you were eating rice, kimchi and stir fried seasonal vegetables. You were getting meat only twice a year for the big holidays.
The soup was served steamily hot, the soft tofu almost entirely falling apart in the pot when you stirred the red liquid. Upon opening the small metal container filled with rice, the freshly cooked scent directly found its way into your nose, and saliva gathered in your mouth. It would probably be the most delicious and extraordinary meal you would ever experience in your entire life.
“I’ve never eaten macaroni salad before,” you confessed and picked up a noodle with your chopsticks. “I heard people all over the world like eating noodles, yet they are so rare here. Do you like noodles, Jaehyun?”
Nowadays, his name fell from your lips so easily. Rarely, you connected the sound of it to the pain of missing your brother anymore. This was not him, this was an entirely different name for an entirely different person. One that warmed your heart and made it race at the same time.
Jaehyun nodded and led a spoonful of macaroni salad to his mouth. He didn’t verbally say it, but you saw how much he enjoyed the food that was so different from the rotating dishes in the institution. From the way he hadn’t been repelled by the noodles and the other side dishes, you assumed he was familiar with rather rare and fancy meals.
Was he not in the same social class as you? Did he come from a reputable, wealthy family, residing in the capital even when it had still stood? Then why wasn’t he missed and looked for? If one wanted to find him, then he would have been found by now. It wasn’t even weeks worth of searching. Unless… you gulped, not wanting to look for an answer much longer. There must be at least one person left for him. At least one.
Jaehyun then took the ladle and scooped the soup into your bowl. “Here, eat.”
You tasted the soft tofu and got ecstatic over its taste. Even if the dish was served every now and then in the institution, it usually didn’t taste as rich as here. Yet, Jaehyun ate it with little to no reaction. He was such an enigma to you. However, when you looked up at him after having emptied your small soup bowl, you caught him smiling at you. Genuinely, as though he indulged in the view of you being happy and didn't need more.
____
“Now, let’s go visit the Grand Theater,” you declared. “The doctor recommended that we go sightseeing.”
“Hey,” Jaehyun said,“how about we just do our own thing?”
“Our own thing?” Your gaze wandered to him, then to the map in your hand, and eventually landed back at Jaehyun. “What do you mean? The psychiatrist has written down an itinerary for us which we have to follow.”
“Have to follow? So… you don’t want to go to the seaside?”
You drew your brows together in skepticism. “You mean we should go to the beach? But it’s not on the list, we’re not allowed to do that.”
“Did he explicitly say we are not allowed to? And if, how would he find out? We will be back at the pick up spot at the right time.”
“But Jaehyun,” you called out when he started walking already, “the purpose of this trip is for you to regain your memories.”
He turned his head back to you. “And who said my memories cannot return when I see the beach?”
“Ah!” You moved now as well and eventually fell into his step. “Back then, you were so surprised over the fact that I have never been to the beach before. Surely, you must have already visited one! Right, then it will really help!”
“See? Come on.”
Again, he smiled that smile from earlier, confirming to you once again that he wasn’t doing it to actually help himself, but to do you a favor. Because you had never been to the city before, because you had never tasted this food before, and because you had never seen the ocean before. But… Why this all just for you?
The moment you asked, the truth would come out, and you didn’t know whether you were prepared for it. And the truth was that you didn’t want him to leave the institution, because you had to stay there until you found your brother and couldn’t go wherever Jaehyun would go after his discharge.
Just the thought of not seeing him every day anymore made your heart so heavy, you could barely breathe. So if you could prolong his discharge just a little longer… if you could spend one more day being his nurse, then you would take it. Even if it made you a bad nurse.
All the way to the bus stop, you were walking one step behind Jaehyun, watching his back and wondering whether he was feeling the same way. You had agreed on figuring it out, and while you had long been aware of these feelings, you were asking yourself if Jaehyun had also reached that point already and why he wasn't making a move.
All these wild thoughts didn’t subside, even when you were sitting next to each other on the bus to the beach. Jaehyun didn't miss that you had suddenly fallen so quiet, and you even caught him opening his mouth and closing several times. But every time, he also reversed himself. Perhaps, this was better, living in this illusion just a little longer.
“I've been to the beach twice,” Jaehyun eventually started. You had never seen his eyes so sad, all while he was trying to smile against the seeming pain this memory caused him. “Once as a child with my parents, and the second time with my friends shortly before we got called to serve in the war.”
"Jaehyun!" You gasped in near disbelief. “It’s working! You remember! What exactly do you remember?”
“I remember sitting in my parents’ car, exhausted from a long day at the beach. My mother had cut some watermelon for us to eat, so I was still full from this snack.”
A… car? And fruits? He must really come from a wealthy family. “Do you remember their faces?”
He was shaking his head. A bit too late, a bit too reluctant. But you were too happy to question this behavior. “Is this all you can remember?”
Jaehyun gulped. “Yes.”
“And the time you went with your friends? What do you remember about that exactly?”
“There have been five of us. We were splashing around in the water. It was summer and extremely hot.”
Even though it was not so detailed, it was something to work with at last and you wrote it all down in your small notebook, as advised by the psychiatrist. Suddenly, you didn’t think about your feelings for Jaehyun anymore, but were occupying yourself with the possible outcome of visiting the beach. It had been right of Jaehyun to suggest that, you couldn’t explain why the doctors hadn’t gotten the idea first. When you would finally reach your destination, the chances were high that he could remember even more of his past.
So you wrote and wrote possible scenarios… All while Jaehyun was watching you closely. And he didn’t say a word for the whole ride anymore.
____
In your dream, the ocean had been wide, endless and beautiful. But since you had never seen such a scene in real life before, your imagination, whenever you tried to recall the images, was restricted. Just how vast, endless and beautiful the sea truly was, lay beyond your wildest dreams. In reality, it was much, much more. More than you could possibly summarize in simple words.
The blue of the water was more vibrant, almost emerald, glittering like a jewel held up to the sun. The sand beneath your bare feet felt soft and fluffy, your steps sinking gently with every move. Waves came and went, cool and refreshing, as they caressed your ankles with their white crests. The horizon stretched far beyond what your eyes could capture, and at that moment, you felt so small in such a big world.
You loved the beach and the sea, not only in your dreams now. This was the exact opposite of the gray concrete city. If you hadn’t traveled so far, you would have missed out on such a great spot in this country. What more had the world to offer, you wondered?
A few people were walking along the beach, just a little more than a handful. There were sunshades lined up in several rows, but they hadn’t been opened since summer was not fully here yet. You tried to shield your face from the sun by bringing your hand to your forehead, though several clouds were moving into your direction from the seaside. Far into the ocean, you could spot small boats now.
“Look, Jaehyun!” you called out to him, holding one part of your long skirt up so that it wouldn’t get dirtied. “There are ships! I’ve never seen ships before!”
Jaehyun was standing behind you, cane placed next to him on the ground along with your shoes that you had taken off before. He had refused to accompany you to the shore, but had promised to watch from nearby. Then… you finally caught him laughing. Not bitterly this time, but out of pure happiness from the bottom of his heart.
Jaehyun was finally laughing, and you laughed with him. You loved the way his voice sounded and the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. You loved him. So you whirled around in the sand, stretched out your arms and laughed from the top of your lungs. Your hair was whipping into your face and your skirt got entangled between your legs. But you didn’t mind, you didn’t care. You laughed and whirled and laughed.
You must have made a silly picture, acting like a little child that had never indulged in the richness of simple activities. But this was your first time at the sea and it could most likely also be your last time. There was no more time to be lost, no feelings to be hidden. So you suddenly came to a stop, your chest visibly heaving up and down. Whether it rooted from the exhaustion caused by the spinning or from your nervousness, you couldn't tell. You ruffled the stained skirt up your legs and held the fabric with both hands on each side, leaving the shore with wet feet. If you didn’t tell him now, how was he supposed to know?
“Exhausted already?” Jaehyun asked, seeing you approach him. “Let’s sit over there and take a rest.”
“You didn’t come here with me for the purpose of regaining your memory,” you told him bluntly when you had finally reached him. “You brought me here so that I could see the sea.”
Jaehyun was stunned, you saw it clearly in his expression. But there was no reason to conceal the truth anymore, and he knew it just as well. “I thought… Since we were already here, we could see the ocean too. Just like in your dream.”
For Jaehyun, this trip had never been an obligation, that was why he had agreed to do it in the first place. It had never been about him, it had always been about you. It was a gift to you, because he didn’t know how he could express his feelings in another way. It was the kindest thing someone had ever done for you.
“Right.” You pretended to not care and feigned haughtiness as you stated, “But this is not like in my dream.”
“Not?” Jaehyun looked absolutely beaten and you regretted your acting right away. “Why not?”
Your expression softened. “Because one thing is missing.”
“What is missing?” He almost sounded panicked and you couldn’t hold in your giggle anymore.
“This is missing.”
You reached your hand out to him, all five fingers spread apart. It was an invitation. A bold one, on top of that, but not one that would cross any borders just yet. You watched Jaehyun with much waryness, watched the nearly unnoticeable shaking of his own hand and the pinkish color that had found its way back to his cheeks when he took your hand into his, entwining your fingers just like back then in the clinic's yard.
As you stood there, watching the ocean with joined hands in complete silence, you felt the warmth again that now nearly bordered a heat you couldn't define yet. You felt hot, yet so alive. This moment here was realer than anything ever before.
“This,” you then said out loud, “this is real.”
Jaehyun didn’t say a word, but the light squeeze on your hand was confirmation enough. For him, this was real as well.
____
“Did they mention such heavy rain in the weather forecast?” you asked Jaehyun as you sought shelter in front of a small store where a few other people were hiding from the rain already as well.
“I remember they said something about rain, but not this heavy,” he responded and looked up to the dark sky with much worry.
It had started raining while you had still been on the bus back to the city center. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle that had soon evolved into a storm. Some streets were starting to get flooded, water running along the concrete and forming a small stream while looking for a way to escape.
The soles of your shoes had gotten wet, rainwater staining the hem of your skirt and slowly spreading upwards. The moist fabric was clinging onto your legs and the wind only added to the chill you were feeling more intensely the longer you stood outside. You slung your arms around your body in hopes of warming yourself up a little, but the rain didn’t seem to subside and the water level on the streets was only rising.
“Maybe we should try getting to the pick up point,” you suggested. It took everything from you to speak over your clattering teeth. “Someone must already be waiting there, so it won’t matter if we get wet on the way.”
Jaehyun looked up and down at you. His own pants were wet to his knees, and even his shirt had gotten significantly marked by the rain. Yet, he didn’t seem to mind and was only looking at you with much concern in his eyes. He stretched out his free hands, the cane hooked over his wrist, and put them on either side of your shoulders. He rubbed your arms up and down, causing the spots to momentarily heat up. You smiled, grateful for this gesture, but it only helped so little against the sudden drop in temperature.
“Yes, let’s try it.” Jaehyun nodded. “How far is it on the map?”
“I fear there is no chance,” an elderly woman, who happened to stand nearby, interfered. “They closed the main road due to the flooding. A few cars got stuck on the flooded streets already. I suppose, as long as the rain doesn’t subside now, there is no possibility anyone can get in and out of the city until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow?” you repeated, clearly shocked. “But we have to be back at the institution by tonight! Besides… they don’t know where we are, what happened to us!”
“I wish I had a cell phone right now,” Jaehyun pondered. “Let’s go inside this store and ask if we can use their phone.”
“Oh, you can use mine!” the woman offered. “I already called my husband, he’s going to pick me up with an umbrella. We both work for the government, for the embassy to be specific, so we directly live here in the city.”
“Thank you.” You bowed deeply and took the cell phone into your hand. You had already used a cell phone in the past, but this…
You were inspecting the rectangular thing that had nothing in common with the cell phones you were familiar with. Where were the buttons with the numbers written on them? Why was it only one single block of plastic and glass? Your thumb accidentally brushed over the surface, and it suddenly lightened up, showing the date and the time. Now you remembered that you had seen these kinds of cell phones before. A few doctors used them, and a fellow nurse had bragged about her new cell phone one time, but you had never bothered to look into it much - a decision which met regret at this very moment, because you had seldom felt so helpless.
“I’ll call,” Jaehyun luckily said when he encountered your perplexed stare and took the cell phone into his own hand.
As though he had never done something else in his entire life, he swiped his thumb over the glass, causing a few rectangular, colorful pictures to pop up. Now you remembered how the fellow nurse called such a phone. Smartphones, apparently.
Jaehyun clicked on a green box and asked you, “What’s the number?”
You watched him handling the device with ease, bringing it to his ear and speaking into it as soon as someone picked up. There was no doubt about it anymore. With every move he made, every word he spoke, every reaction he let you witness… With every memory he now actively chose to share with you, the picture became clearer as you pieced the puzzle together in your head, and your world momentarily froze.
Jaehyun didn’t belong here.
How had you not seen it before? The signs had been there from the very beginning. The way he talked as it showed in the foreign emphasis of some words or the usage of completely different characters. The way he knew so much more than a regular resident of the northern country, completely unfazed by fancy food and smartphones. Even the way he walked, so confident, yet demure. And the way he wore his hair, too long, not according to the standards. And everyone had always let him, because they thought he was already suffering enough.
That was why Jaehyun hadn't wanted to come to the city in the first place, having behaved the way he had behaved all day and only relaxing when you two were alone. He had never wanted to be found, because if someone did, it would mean-…! It all made sense now. Your world was spinning and you were unsure how to digest this revelation, how to behave and how to move on.
“They said we should stay in a hotel for the night and they will pick us up tomorrow.” Jaehyun gave the smartphone back to the woman and thanked her. His words barely reached you though. “Do you know a hotel nearby, ma’am?”
“Young man!” she suddenly called out. “Your accent, it's-…!”
Immediately, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I know one!” you interrupted the woman, not giving her the time to end her sentence and hopefully her thoughts as well. You pulled the map out from your bag and pointed your finger at a location you had eyed with before. “See, there is a hotel just two intersections away. Let’s go! Thank you so much, ma’am! Please get home safe.”
Jaehyun and you walked close to the building walls, seeking as much shelter from the rain as possible until you reached the first intersection. You were about to get exposed to the pouring rain while crossing the street, so you halted.
“Uhm…” You looked at the flooded street, then at your drenched shoes, and finally at Jaehyun. “Just one moment.” You lifted one of your feet to take off your shoe with the intention to walk barefooted across the intersection, otherwise they would surely not dry at all until the next day. But Jaehyun told you to stop mid-motion.
“Keep them on.”
“But they will get-”
“Here, take this.” He handed you the cane. “Get on my back.”
You widened your eyes, cane now in your grip. “What?”
“Get on my back,” Jaehyun repeated and crouched down a little. “Get on.”
You looked to your left and right, but there were no immediate passersby anymore. You then hooked Jaehyun’s cane around your arm and climbed onto his back, careful as to not let too much leg show when you hooked them around his waist. He was grabbing onto your thighs, holding you appropriately and safely. The cane was dangling from your forearm when you wrapped them around his shoulders.
You smelled Jaehyun's fresh scent, a mix of rain and pine, and you started reminiscing about all the weeks, all the months, in which you had been his nurse when he started running across the flooded intersection, the rain mercilessly pouring down on you. And you wondered whether he was lying about his current condition too. But by the way he was running with no seeming struggles, you feared you already knew the answer to that.
He had lied about his memory loss to protect his true identity. He had lied about his physical condition to not attract more attention. He had lied… about his feelings too?
____
You were standing in the hotel room, the drenched clothes clinging to your body like a second skin. You couldn’t believe that they had only one room left for the night, and it wasn't even two separate beds. But you understood that they needed every bed for workers who now came to the city to help the injured and rebuild the destroyed areas after the bombing.
Jaehyun walked over to the closet and opened it. It revealed two bath robes which drew a relieved sigh out of him. “Well, I think it’s something good considering the fact that you had to fight for the toothbrush sets at the reception.”
“Why haven’t you talked to the receptionist?” you asked bluntly and provoked, “You haven’t talked much at all today, only with me. And the embassy woman to some point. Did you even enjoy today?”
You clearly remembered what that woman and Cheol, along with several other people, had often remarked after hearing Jaehyun speak when you had had always brushed it off, just like the doctors. It had sounded so valid that it was connected to his memory loss. You had never heard another accent in your life as you hadn't grown up with TV or the intranet. Those were things you had gotten familiar with only later in life. If you had known before how a foreign person sounded, would you have noticed it earlier? And if so, would you have told anyone?
As a response to your question, Jaehyun just shrugged, causing the droplets of water at the ends of his hair to fall down to his collar. His hair that had always been too long for the standard... “I don’t feel quite secure talking to strangers.” You didn’t wonder why. “Here.” Jaehyun handed you a bathrobe. “Go to the bathroom, take a hot shower and change. If we hang up our wet clothes now, they will hopefully be dry enough to wear again in the morning. Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor, so feel as comfortable as you want.”
Why did he seem so unfazed by the entire situation again? You had heard people from other countries weren’t as conservative and slept on the same bed before marriage, even living together was normal. You couldn’t imagine that. But just because you couldn’t imagine things didn’t mean you couldn’t want them. As you slowly went to the bathroom, you felt that heat again, and this time, it didn't dwindle. It was the worst timing now and you blamed Jaehyun's wet hair and the way his arm muscles curved under his wet button up.
That was all that you could think about when you stood under the shower. You couldn’t remember the last time you had had a hot shower this long and you probably spent more time under the running water than ever before. But when you finally stepped out and wiped the steam from the mirror, you knew that something had completely changed. And you didn't mean Jaehyun.
Suddenly, the world seemed full of possibilities you had never even dared to dream of. Like visiting the city, walking along the beach, watching the ocean's waves, all with the person you loved. Perhaps, you didn’t need to come to terms with what kind of person Jaehyun really was. Perhaps, you didn’t need to move on from it, because you had fallen for the person who had always been there. His past and background had not been important even once.
You stepped out of the bathroom with naked feet, only dressed in the bathrobe, and you discovered Jaehyun sitting on the bed in the same piece of clothing, drying his hair with a towel. He had hung up his wet clothes by the window and had done the same with yours after you had quickly thrown them out of the bathroom before your shower.
Jaehyun seemingly forced himself not to look at you for too long when he reassured you, “Don’t worry, I’ll prepare my bed now and then take a shower. It’s all yours.”
“Have you done this before?” you asked, almost not recognizing your own voice.
He seemed startled and halted mid-motion, a part of the towel still draped over his head. “What do you mean?”
“Sharing a bed with a girl.”
He looked at you, totally confused and taken aback. But when you didn’t bother to elaborate, he eventually confessed, “Yes.”
Where he was from, women had a free will, and it was nice just imagining that tonight, you could have a free will as well. You were not at your home village, sharing a room with your brother. You were not at the institution, sharing a room with five other nurses. For the first time in your life, you had a room all to yourself. For the first time, you had privacy and could do whatever you desired. You and Jaehyun both knew this was not solely about just sleeping next to each other. The tension was palpable.
“No,” Jaehyun then refused, finally grasping your unspoken thoughts. “We won’t do it.”
“Oh.” You dropped your head, concealing your disappointment with a smile that he hopefully couldn’t see. You feared your entire face might reveal your true feelings after all. “Then, forget what I said.”
“No, no, no!” Jaehyun quickly got up and approached you, taking both of your hands into his. “It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s just…” He looked around nervously. “This is just not the right time. Not the right place. And I'm not… prepared.”
He was scared. But you were not. So you withdrew your hands from his and lifted them up, cupping his face. You couldn’t admire Jaehyun’s embarrassed expression for too long as you pulled him down and closed the last distance between you with a kiss. You had kissed someone before, in all secretary on a wide field where no one could spot you. You barely had any memory of that time left anymore. While right here and now, it felt real, it was real. This was how it was supposed to feel like when you loved someone.
The warmth that had originally only ignited when you were holding hands, was now embracing your whole body in ways you’d never experienced before, and you felt his lips, first hesitantly, then more passionately moving against yours. The warmth was now not only stemming from the shared feeling, but also from Jaehyun finally giving in and putting his hand on your lower waist, pressing you hard against him. He was hungry for more and had awoken something inside you that was craving for the same thing, even though you might not know yet what exactly that was.
But you got a taste of it the moment Jaehyun pulled your head back by gently entangling his fingers in your hair, your gaze turning up towards the ceiling, lids fluttering and a deep sigh escaping from your mouth. When he lowered his face and let his lips brush over the tender skin along your neck, you could have sworn the ceiling started moving. His touches, which were still so foreign to you, nearly caused you to lose your mind.
Perhaps, it was also because Jaehyun had lifted you up and carried you over to the bed. He was carefully placing you on the top of the mattress that was a little too hard, but you didn’t mind. You also didn’t mind the fact that the knot on your bathrobe had gotten loose, revealing more skin than you had ever shown to anyone before. You gulped visibly and braced your elbows against the mattress as you watched Jaehyun settling by your feet, so much desire, yet also still hesitation reflected in his eyes.
He was struggling, and truthfully, you could understand him. What would happen to you, eventually? Tomorrow, next week, in a month or even in a year from now on? But you didn’t want to have regrets, because there had been no time. The truth was, there was always enough time if you didn’t think for too long.
“Jaehyun…” You started and stretched out your hand, placing it on his cheek where he then gently nudged against your opened palm. “It’s fine.”
He placed his hand on top of yours, still questioning you to be absolutely sure, “Do you… really want this? Do you want this?”
“Jaehyun…” you only whispered and then nodded.
In case he was still holding back, you now completely untied the knot around your bathrobe all by yourself. You let the sleeves slip over your shoulders and revealed your bare chest to him. You were inexperienced and thus undecided whether this was the right move. Perhaps, Jaehyun found it too straight-forward, unfitting for a lady?
But when he moved to settle between your legs seconds later, lips passionately capturing yours as though he had only been waiting for your consent and was now finally acting on the pent-up desire, you learned in the sweetest way that there was no right or wrong when you loved someone.
____
Your bathrobes had long been thrown on the ground, the sheets messy, and the things Jaehyun had done to you unimaginable. It was like experiencing fireworks, one after another, stars in front of your eyes and every limb of yours shaking. You were still calming down from your last height after Jaehyun had disappeared with his entire face between your legs. When you initially had wanted to stop him, you now forever wanted him to continue with the moves of his tongue.
You hadn’t known this was possible. The first time you had felt it was when you were lying in his arms, completely naked and turned to him. He had spread your thighs with his hand, only using two of his fingers to make your legs shake in a way that left you twitching and crying out loud in his arms.
At first, you were scared as it was too good. It had seemed impossible for a human to be allowed to feel this way just by the touch of fingers. Yet, Jaehyun proved to you over and over again that you could experience it in the same manner as the first time, overcoming it even until he had you sweaty and whimpering in his arms.
He had kissed your forehead with a smug grin and let you calm down, even giving you a glass of water before he continued. This time, with his mouth. You had long forgotten how to be embarrassed over these things, chasing height after height until you were nothing more than a shiny sparkle among many in the fireworks that exploded inside you, coming undone and getting pieced back together, again and again.
When Jaehyun was settling on top of you a little while later, pushing your legs apart with his thighs, you knew what was coming. And even though you had never done this before, which you had admitted to him at the very beginning, you were not scared of it at all. He had said it was not the right place, not the right time. But there was no better time and place than right now.
So you nodded, and he shifted, finding the right angle. After everything, it was so, so easy for Jaehyun to sink into you, and it didn’t hurt at all yet. Until he met resistance and needed to break through it, causing you to let out a gasping sound and your fingernails to dig deep into his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered and brushed over the hair covering your forehead, sincere worry mirrored in his eyes.
“Everything is okay,” you assured, taking a few moments for the pain to pass. Then you encouraged him, “It’s fine now, you can go on.”
“But tell me when you want me to stop.”
Jaehyun pressed his lower abdomen harder against yours and continued sliding into you until he was buried deep inside, completely filling you up. You felt connected to him to the last fiber of your body. It was the closest physical bond two lovers could share and you nearly teared up, feeling overwhelmed with happiness to be able to experience this special moment with Jaehyun.
He was first holding still inside you for having you get adjusted, but then started moving. You could have never imagined that this could feel good and had mentally prepared yourself for discomfort and pain. But there was none of these coming. Instead, it felt pleasurable in ways you were unfamiliar yet familiar with at the same time. It was hard to explain, quite like having found something you had never looked for in the first place.
Every push of Jaehyun inside you made you crave for more and you moved your body to try out different angles, because you felt like there was a certain spot that he sometimes hit where the feeling of pure bliss especially peaked. You came close to having Jaehyun hit the spot with almost every stroke when you stretched out your legs and hooked them around his waist.
“Mhhm, yes,” you breathed. “Just like this. Right there.”
You had your arms now wrapped around his neck, chasing after a feeling you were not quite sure of what it actually was. It was similar to what Jaehyun had caused you to feel before, yet a little different. As though instead of pulling only onto your lower abdomen, it was pulling onto your entire body. You were afraid of what was about to happen if it succeeded, if you would lose your mind completely then.
Where Jaehyun’s thrusts had been controlled and deliberate before, making sure not to hurt you and to hit the spots where you would feel the most pleasure, he now had lost discipline, his strong will eventually succumbing to the pleasure as well. His movements got sloppier, but also more demanding and stronger, which was not bad at all. Now, you felt it even closer, the pleasure that had first seemed unreachable was tangible. You just needed more…
“Jaehyun, I…” There was not enough strength left to tell him more, but he immediately understood, feeling the same as you.
Jaehyun quickened his thrusts and made them more powerful with the little sanity he had left. He was pushing harder and harder until you only heard him panting, droplets of his sweat collecting on his forehead, his back sweaty, but his eyes full with something beyond desire that you didn’t dare to interpret just yet.
And it felt like the earth hit the sky as pleasure pulled on every fiber of your limbs, nearly dragging you out of your own body as little sparks exploded in front of you and you lost control of who you were and where you were. You even lost the confirmation of whether this was real or not, but Jaehyun was still holding you, your anchor to prove that everything with him was always real.
So was this. There was nothing more real than what was between you two.
____
You were already awake when the first rays of sunshine crept through the drawn curtains. Your clothes were still damp as far as you could make out, but you also still had a few hours left before you had to leave. There was enough time for them to dry a little bit more and for you to…
Quietly, you turned around to Jaehyun, a smile on your lips as you placed your head back on the pillow next to him, watching him sleep so safely and soundly as though he was finally at peace. No, the man lying next to you was not someone who deserved the title of "The Blood Wolf".
You reached out your hand and traced the outline of his profile. You started from his forehead, then let the tip of your index finger trail along the straight bridge of his nose, and even further down to his lips, where you came to a stop. That was when Jaehyun snatched your hand in one swift motion, and you let out a surprised squeal.
“For how long do you intend to watch me?” he then asked with a smirk, eyes still closed.
You chuckled. “A while.”
He pulled you close to him and you rested your head on his chest after he had wrapped his arm around you. “On the bus, when you caught me deep in my thoughts… have you willingly told me about your memories?” you asked carefully after a while. “I don't know for how long you remembered, but I really appreciated it.”
“You seemed to have felt so down, so I figured if I could do anything against it, then it was that.”
“Jaehyun… You don’t have to remember if you don’t want to,” you reassured him. “And if you remember, you don’t have to tell me or anyone else if you're not ready. You can take your time. And if your memories, for some reason, will never return, then it's fine too."
He hesitated before he asked, "Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
By now, you had settled with the conclusion that Jaehyun probably remembered everything, that he had never suffered from memory loss in the first place. You didn’t know what was all true and what was all acting, but being real didn’t mean to be truthful. He could need to hide his past from you and still have the same feelings for you. One thing didn’t exclude the other. Here, in the safety of your privacy, he was realer than ever, and that was all that mattered.
“In the beginning, you said that one day, I would eventually find the reason as to why I have lived through these events, why I am still alive. My purpose,” Jaehyun started again after a while, tightening his embrace around you. “And right now, I’m right in the middle of living it. I’ve been living in it for a while. Since the moment I saw you in danger during the bombing, I’ve known my purpose. And when you were dancing there at the beach yesterday, it was the happiest I’ve ever seen you. You were so carefree, so full of light. I wanted to live in that moment forever with you.”
Jaehyun actually remembered that moment from weeks ago? It seemed like another lifetime and so many things had changed ever since. For example, your feelings towards him.
“I want to experience many more moments like this.” And you added, “Together with you.”
It was the first time he spoke so much, from deep within, letting you into his real thoughts and feelings. You wanted him to always feel safe and comfortable enough to be like this, be his real self. If you could forge a world for only the two of you to remain in, just for him to live with no fear, then you would immediately do so.
“Jaehyun…?”
But Jaehyun didn’t respond. Instead, he flipped you onto your back with him lying on top of you.
“No more talking. We only have a few hours left here.”
This. This was so real.
____
You didn’t know what would await you when you returned to the institution, how long you could still stay together. But for as long as Jaehyun decided against revealing his real identity, you decided to keep this a secret as well. You still didn’t know if he knew, but in your little world that you had built, it didn’t matter. And for as long as you could still live in it, you were willing to remain, alongside him.
But you had been telling yourself over and over again throughout the past weeks that you never knew what would happen the next day. It could all be taken away from you, in a year, in a month, tomorrow. Or even in an instant. For you, that day was the morning you returned to the clinic. If you had known before, would you have done anything differently?
“Jeong Yuno, you’re under arrest!”
The moment you stepped into the institution, police officers burst out from both sides of the lobby. You let out a startled shriek, struggling to process the chaos that had suddenly erupted around you. Why were there so many people, police and hospital staff alike? What did they want from Jaehyun when they were looking for Jeong Yuno? Why was the head nurse snatching you away and separating you from Jaehyun? You didn’t understand.
“Jae-!” …hyun…?
“Jeong Yuno, you are under arrest for the crimes of illegal border crossing, espionage, and sabotage.”
You had heard these words before, you knew exactly what they meant, but right now, you failed to grasp the meaning behind them and why they suddenly put Jaehyun into handcuffs and not this Yuno person they were actually addressing.
“Please calm down, dear,” the head nurse told you, but her voice sounded so far away. “You will only make it worse for him.”
You would have answered her if you suddenly didn’t have so much trouble breathing. Why were you not able to breathe anymore, watching Jaehyun willingly getting detained? He didn’t even try to defend himself, verbally and physically! Why was he not fighting? They weren’t even looking for him, he didn’t have to go with them! You still had time with him, they had the wrong person!
“You have the wrong person!” you screamed, but nobody looked at you. Perhaps, it had all been in your head and you had never said a word. Because deep inside, you knew they were right. They had the right person, that was why Jaehyun was willingly getting handcuffed and following them.
Jaehyun was Jeong Yuno.
“I cannot believe it!” a doctor who happened to stand close by you exclaimed. “A citizen - no - a lieutenant from the southern country living among us for months! Thinking back, there sure had been signs, but I thought his condition was to be blamed and that it was nearly impossible to enter our country. Unbelievable!”
“If the woman from the embassy hadn’t noticed his accent and secretly took a picture of him yesterday, then he could have just stayed here with us,” a nurse whispered. “The rumor occurred that he's known who he was all this time, but never said a word. It's frightening to think about this possibility.”
“He was a second lieutenant who has been searched for all this time,” another nurse added. “No wonder they couldn’t find him. There was no way he could have contacted the southern country. But he didn't do anything, right? He's never been a danger to us, actually.”
What had happened overnight while you were at the hotel? So much previously unknown information had been revealed at once, you weren’t even sure if you had fully processed it all yet. But one thing was clear as day… It was because of you. Because he had wanted to show the beautiful things in life you had never seen before. Because he knew that revealing his true identity was inevitable one day, and if he could give you at least one beautiful day in return for it to happen, he was willing to pay the price. The price of his own freedom. And they came to claim it today.
You instantly felt sick, hands cold and shaking. If it weren’t for the head nurse supporting you, you were sure you would have lost consciousness here and now. Perhaps, that would have been the better option instead of watching the man you loved getting arrested in front of your eyes. Tears were now streaming down your face and as they led Jaehyun - no, Yuno - off the building, more roughly than necessary. Your gazes locked when he walked past you, just for the break of a second.
He now knew that you had found out at one point, and even though his eyes were full of sadness, they were full of love as well. Yes, love. And they additionally quickly filled with relief as he realized that you didn’t hate him as he had once expressed. How much he had to hate himself as he had once expressed for not being able to provide more, to give you the entire truth and beyond before this moment, you didn’t want to know.
You understood that he had done all this to protect not only himself, but to protect you as well. If you had revealed the true nature of your relationship to the public, they could arrest you for being his accomplice. But because he had always been so reserved and stoic, there was most likely nothing for you to be worried about. You had always only been a caring nurse. A good nurse.
He may hate himself, but it was the greatest gift he could have given you. No matter whether his name was Jaehyun or Yuno. You would fight for both in the same manner. You would remain by his side.
____
Yuno woke up in a small concrete cell and was instantly thrown back to the day he had awoken in the snowy mountains. He had been alone back then as well, lying on the frozen ground and awaiting his death. It wasn't much different from this moment, because right now, he was also only waiting for his end.
Yuno had guided his troop as a platoon leader right to the battle area and could only watch in horror as these young, inexperienced men, one by one, fell nearly continuously in number as the enemy unit. And after a hard battle that lasted for days, only him and a soldier from the northern country had been left alive. Barely, with many wounds, but they were still alive.
It had taken the enemy soldier three days to start talking. All this time, Yuno had mistakenly assumed that he was the last one still breathing, out of both troops. The bullet wound in his leg had already gotten infected and he had started hallucinating from the fever. As he had lifted up his head with his last strength to follow the voice, he had seen an enemy soldier leaning against one of the very few trees. This time, it had not been one of his hallucinations.
The soldier was nearly as pale as the snow, a huge puddle of blood beneath him, and Yuno had silently stated that he wouldn’t make it for so long anymore. Yet, the enemy soldier, a boy way too young for war, had spoken as though he wanted to leave one last message, no matter whether a human could hear it or whether his pleas would only get carried away by the strong winds. Unfortunately, Yuno was a human and still conscious enough to hear it all.
The boy repeated, over and over again, “I don’t want to fight. I miss my family.” The sentence was always followed by a cry that nearly shattered what had been left of Yuno’s cold warrior heart. It caused him to cry as well, for the first time in many, many years.
Yuno missed being a child, visiting the beach with his parents and eating watermelon. He missed taking short trips to the same destination with his closest friends. He didn’t even know if they were still alive. They had been ordinary men, living an ordinary life. All of them. Until the northern country had attacked. And now they were possibly all dead. Even his enemies. All the soldiers from both countries. They were all ordinary boys deep down who didn’t even want to fight. Yet, they had to. And what for?
Yuno hadn't seen a point in continuing living anymore. Yet, he was forced to do so, day for day, for day, for day. He had wished for death to take him fast and quick, but unfortunately, he had awoken again and again and again. He had continued surviving even with his wounds and he didn’t know why, for which purpose. And he had been too much of a coward to end it all by himself either.
That was until he had heard another troop approach, and not from his side of the country. Sure, he could have stayed there and just got shot on the spot, but his pride had hindered him from dying by his enemy's hands. He wouldn't be taken down by the men who didn't let him live in peace, who had taken all his friends and caused so much suffering in his country.
So he had quickly changed into the enemy’s uniform, got rid of his dog tag - Jeong Yuno - and pretended to have lost all of his memories. It was hard, to say the least. To make up stories and still keep track. To not let his dialect, knowledge and everything slip. To pretend his wound was taking more time to heal, to pretend he needed more treatments than necessary.
He had even used another name, which he had adapted from his good friend, a war refugee from the northern country: Ha Jaehyun. It was the first name that had come to his mind and one surely commonly applied in the northern country. If he had known what exactly he would start by using it, he would have chosen another name.
The fact that the nurse who had cared for him was the real Ha Jaehyun’s younger sister - the very person he had been trying to reach for so long - was not something Yuno had ever tried to purposefully hide. At least not in the beginning when the hints had still been too weak for him to make a connection. When, after some time, he had been a hundred percent convinced that she was indeed the sister Jaehyun was still searching for, Yuno hadn't known how to tell her without endangering her life and without making her feel gross about using her brother's name with him all this time. So he had tried blending it out whenever possible. Yuno had thought he still had time to flesh out a plan and give her the answers she was desperately needing. He would tell her the next day and the next and the next, when he had come up with a plan. Until no next day had been left anymore.
Now, it was too late and Yuno was sitting in his cell, awaiting his trial. And even though he had always hated himself more with each passing day for all the lies he was living, the time spent with you had made him hate himself a little less, too. Until nothing had remained of this self-hatred except for the love for you and the realization that there were things still worth living and fighting for. You had taught him so much more than to walk again.
That was why Yuno had let you into glimpses of his past when he had felt how sad you had gotten on the bus, why he had shown you all these places and why he had eventually not stopped what had happened between you at the hotel. For him, that was the purpose of why he had survived. Keeping you happy. And if the price for letting you continue living in peace was his own freedom, then he was willing to give it up and keep you protected. He had fulfilled his purpose for this lifetime. He was finally done and could go.
Yuno just wished he could have told you about your brother and showed his true feelings on more occasions. But because he had to protect you in order for no one to make a connection to his origin country, he had acted so reserved and cautious, constantly frightened his true identity would get busted. But Yuno had no regrets. It was all for love. He had loved you for longer than he had known himself, because you had brought him back to life and had fought for him in ways nobody else had ever done.
“Your trial will take place next week, Yuno,” his lawyer said when he talked to him later that day. It was only thanks to your brother that he had even gotten one. In that case, you two were so similar. “And it looks good. Despite your behavior when getting detained and what people rumor, there isn't much proof that your memory loss was all an act. And your country is fighting very hard for you, especially your friend Jaehyun. Isn't it ironic?”
After all, Yuno's pretense had spared him his life along with yours and everyone else's. And even your brother was helping you from far away, though neither of you were aware yet. You also hadn’t betrayed him by telling the officials what you knew, however much that might be. He had gambled so high, but everything had played out in your favor.
Still, Yuno was confused. “Do you mean I could be set free?”
“What they may not tell is the fact that the war is already coming to an end with this country having lost. At least seventy percent of the towns in the southern borders are gone,” he explained calmly. “You’re not the only person they hold hostage, so it’s a good time to push forward actively.”
It was supposed to be good news, but Yuno couldn’t be happy about it, because even though he hated this country, it meant leaving you. And what meaning was there to his life if he couldn’t live it alongside you?
“Can you please do me a favor?” he then asked the lawyer.
If you were going to hate him anyway when his entire story came out, then he wanted you to hear the whole truth from himself. If you were to never see him again, then you needed the closure only Yuno was able to give you. This was the last price he was willing to pay.
____
You didn’t know why Jaehyun’s - no - Yuno’s lawyer wanted to talk to you in private. He had told your supervisors that it was about you being his nurse and that he had questions regarding the time you had treated him. But you had told the officials everything you knew already, and that was almost nothing. Everything regarding Yuno's state, the head nurse, who had also made her statement in favor of him, had told you about, and thus you knew that his trial was about to take place the next day.
When you were left alone in the small office and the lawyer suddenly pulled out a photo on his phone picturing Yuno and your brother Jaehyun both though, you felt like your whole world got flipped upside down once again. This part of the story was something you had never heard of before, and you figured that maybe the head nurse was behind the fact this connection to you had been kept from the public.
“What does that mean?” you asked, voice shaking. You took the phone into your hand, the image nearly blurry from the heavy trembling of your entire body.
Yet, you recognized your brother’s dark hair that was now even longer than when you were kids, strands falling cheekily into his forehead. He was grinning brightly into the camera, seemingly not having aged a bit. You could barely remember a time you had seen him so happy and carefree yourself, not even many, many years ago when he had still worked on the farm before the war. And then Yuno… on the surface, he didn't differ much from his current appearance, but he was glowing just as brightly as your brother. It was so different from his current state. Their clothes were modern pieces you had never seen someone ever wear on the streets here before. It directly clicked with you where exactly this picture had been taken.
“I am specialized in cases involving matters and people from the southern country,” the lawyer started explaining. “First of all, I am not your enemy, miss. I work closely with the southern country’s embassy and the military. Everything we say here will stay between us, you won’t be in any danger and you also won’t endanger Yuno as well as your brother Jaehyun, so please stay close to the truth for their sake. Your supervisor is informed.”
You could only reluctantly bop your head, your gaze not moving from the photo.
“Have you had any contact with Ha Jaehyun ever since he’s in the southern country, miss?”
The southern country, the forbidden country. Finally, the missing puzzle piece found its place, completing the entire mystery revolving around your brother's disappearance. That was why no one had ever heard of him again, why he had never contacted you, and why you had never been able to find him as well. Why his entire existence had just gotten swept under the rug as though he had never existed in the first place. Your brother had committed treason. But would someone living in a country that was so poor and neglected smile so brightly? What did all this mean? Had Yuno known the whole time?
“Your brother, Ha Jaehyun, is Jeong Yuno’s good friend. Yuno's troop found him shortly after the war had started and took him in after he surrendered. The southern country is not as cruel and poor as you might get taught here, but please let this stay between us.” Busting streets, flashing lights, buildings that nearly reached the clouds… Where Yuno came from and your brother currently resided, did these things truly exist? “As a matter of fact, many soldiers from the north currently reside there as war refugees after they surrendered. This country has lost the war, and Jaehyun took the chance to push for Yuno’s release as well as his return to the southern country.”
“Did Yuno know?” you asked with a shaky voice. “The fact that his friend Jaehyun is my brother?”
The lawyer shook his head. “Not until much later. And even then, he was struggling. You have to understand that the more you knew, the more dangerous the entire situation would have become for you. After all, what would you have done with the information? What could you have done to contact Jaehyun? But Yuno intended to tell you before it got too late."
You handed the phone back to the lawyer, suddenly having a bitter taste linger on your tongue. At this point, you wished you didn’t know at all. You wished you hadn’t gotten to know the whereabouts of your brother, because now it hurt even more. To know that he was alive and well, but you could never talk to him again. This… this was the worst.
And when Yuno returned to the southern country, you would lose another person you loved. You didn’t know how to cope with the pain at this point. You were aware that Yuno had never had bad intentions by acting how he had acted and making the decisions he had made. But all good intentions aside… You couldn’t shake the feeling of deception that now resonated with the pain of losing them both.
You were happy for your brother, but you were also mad at him at the same time. Why had he not tried harder, faster and longer to get in contact with you? Why had he let you rot here while he had built his happy life in a seemingly better country? But then you thought about your parents and about the war, and suddenly felt so guilty for having these thoughts in the first place even. Jaehyun and Yuno had never wanted to hurt you, you were sure about that. Yet, why were tears of anger burning on the rims of your eyes?
Was it because every time you had said your brother's name even after Yuno had gotten the confirmation of your ties to him, he had willingly accepted it? Was it because you had still called Yuno by your brother’s name the night you had spent at the hotel? Was that why, in the beginning, Yuno had always seemed so uncomfortable being addressed as Jaehyun?
"Why had he used my brother's name?" you wanted to know. He could have used anyone else's. Why this, out of all the names he knew? It was just too much of a coincidence. All of this.
"Yuno treasures Jaehyun very much and constantly thinks fondly of him. The moment Yuno was about to be found alive by the enemy troop in the mountains, it was the first name that came into his mind as Jaehyun is from the north. He didn’t need a name in the first place, but in that situation, he had acted on an impulse and only came up with the memory loss story later."
They were this close? Only in the morning that you had spent together in the hotel room, you had assumed that being true and being real were two different things. But now, you were questioning even that. Yuno could have omitted the truth about everything else, you wouldn’t have cared. But about your own brother? How were you supposed to get over this?
“Yuno also wanted me to tell you that Jaehyun has never stopped looking for you. He was talking about you every single day and told everyone that one day, he would get you to be with him again.”
Then, why wasn’t he here? Why was he smiling so happily into a camera with the only person who had known his whereabouts, but had refused to tell you about it? “Is that so…” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, then curled your hands into fists. The tips of your fingernails buried deep into your palms, but you didn’t mind the pain. It relieved some of your anger even. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“This is not the reason why I came here, miss." He paused. "I want to propose a deal to you and I need you to listen.”
____
“Are you happy you can leave soon, Cheol?”
“I am very happy!” The boy lifted up his hands and pumped his fists in the air. “I am so happy my mother will work in the city again and that I can go with her!”
“And I am so proud of you!” you happily ruffled the little boy's hair, but your lips stayed a straight line, no matter how much you wanted to join his laughter.
Lately, you couldn’t bring yourself to wholeheartedly be happy or even laugh anymore. Every smile felt fake, every slight expression of happiness forced. There was a stinging pain in your heart that remained, and with each day that passed, grew even bigger. You feared that it would crash your whole existence one day.
“But I will miss you, miss. And I will miss Jaehyun. Will I ever see him again?”
There was a huge lump in your throat that you had to swallow with much resistance before you were able to answer, “He will try to come back and say goodbye to you.”
Cheol was still too young to understand what had happened to Yuno, to you. So you had come to an agreement with the other nurses that you would tell him only that his friend Jaehyun had needed treatments at another hospital and silently hoped he would eventually forget about the friend that had read to him every so often. You wished you could forget as well.
“Now, our reading lesson is over," you ended the topic. "So get a bit of rest and we will see each other tomorrow, alright?”
“Yes, miss!”
It had been a month since you talked to the lawyer and ever since, you had been trying to continue with your old life as best as possible. But you would need to lie if you said it wasn’t hard. Yuno's room was occupied again, but it didn’t hurt less passing by it, so you avoided that floor altogether. Too painful were the memories that would flood back whenever you set foot inside the hallway even. Memories of which you doubted had been real after all.
“I need to talk to you.” You had just left Cheol’s room when the head nurse was already positioned by the door, apparently waiting for you. “You haven’t been yourself lately and I’m worried.”
One day, you had told her the entire story after everything she had done to help Yuno, and ever since then, she was constantly asking about your well being, which you had always brushed off. “I’m fine, please don’t worry.”
“Tell me… When Cheol is gone, will you stay here?”
Honestly, you didn’t know. First, you had only come here to gather information on your brother’s whereabouts. Then, Cheol gave you a reason to enjoy your occupation a bit more. Jaehyun was the final reason you never wanted to leave again and if so, only with him. Now that you had none of them left, was there truly a reason to stay?
“How about accepting the lawyer’s offer? After all, they had fought hard at Yuno's trial for you to meet him before his deportation,” the head nurse suddenly proposed. “Isn’t one month enough to think about it? I have always held myself back from asking you, but I’m on your side and I’ve always been, whatever you decision might be.”
You wondered when, during this very long month, you had suddenly turned so cold and indifferent that you had failed to notice the sincere worry and fear in her eyes. It was like your heart had hardened and you hadn't been able to find a way to break through the shell. “I told him I would still make up my mind.”
“Today is the day of Yuno's deportation. It’s your last chance to possibly ever see him again.”
You knew. Ever since this morning, you had closely monitored the clock. They had offered you to meet Jaehyun one last time for a talk, and you had possibly needed it desperately, but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to go. And now, it was already too late.
“Why would I meet up with 'The Blood Wolf'?” you asked with a voice that didn’t seem to belong to you. “He lied to me. I cannot forgive him.”
“Oh dear… a man who loves someone as much as Yuno loves you doesn’t deserve the name 'Blood Wolf'. I thought we had already agreed on that. Don’t pine away. He wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life in misery.”
If misery was everything that was left of your frayed heart, then why were you crying now? With widened eyes, you quickly wiped away the tears. You had shed too many already, and he didn’t deserve a single one more. But why couldn’t you stop crying then? Was it because, after everything, you had long understood and forgiven him, but had been too reluctant to admit that? If someone deserved to live the rest of their lives in misery, then it was truly you for having taken so long, for biting time, because you were too much of a coward.
“I- I don’t- know.”
“You had the chance to tell the authorities the truth, yet you had been quiet all this time.”
You dropped your head, feeling the head nurse’s warm arm pulling you into an embrace as you cried, “Of course I would never do something like that! He deserves to go back and see his family and friends again despite what he has done! I just can’t… I just can’t see him again... It hurts too much.”
“You lied for him to be safe, isn’t it the same?” she questioned as you sobbed into her shoulder. “Was it really so grave what he has done that you are willing to hold it against him for the rest of your life? Or will you be grateful he has offered you the gift of loving and being loved in return, and that you can finally move on and live in peace and freedom as you deserve?”
“You also haven’t told anyone about what you knew.”
“I’m old, dear.” She patted your back a few times, then brought distance between you two so that she could look directly into your glassy eyes with an encouraging smile. “We all just want for this war to be over, right? And I don’t mean the one between countries only.”
You were grateful for her words that soothed your heart, just a little bit. “It’s too late now. He’s almost gone already.”
____
Yuno's trial had gone by quickly and formally. He had requested to still see someone before his deportation, and they had allowed him to. But nobody had come to see him. Not during his time in detention, not before he had gotten into the car, not even here at the border. You hadn't come, hadn't wanted to see him one last time. He could understand.
The day of Yuno's deportation was the hottest summer day since living undercover in a country he had been taught to hate so much. Yes, so many things were exactly like the rest of the world knew: the strict monitoring of its citizens, the sparse population living in so much poverty, and the old technology as well as the lack of access to it.
But Yuno had also come to like being disconnected from so much social media, the consumption of the newest trends and a fast-paced mindset. It had definitely made him reflect on the way he had lived his life so far. He had gotten to know a few great people and the hospitality of a foreign nation that was so different, yet so similar to his own.
Yuno was brought to the border in handcuffs by two officers and his lawyer. They had come with five cars to this military checkpoint, but the officials were still less in number than what the southern country had pulled up with. Behind the barricade, around a hundred meters away, Yuno saw soldiers lined up, mirroring the row of men having gathered on the northern side. All this act just to deliver him, a broken, unarmed soldier? It was ridiculous. War and everything, it was all so ridiculous when there was just so much more to life. Yuno saw it clearly now.
“Yuno, I’ll have to bid farewell to you now too.” His lawyer patted him on his shoulder. “I’m sorry she didn’t come. I tried my best.”
“I know.” He nodded, bottom lip quivering. “Thank you so much. For everything.”
There was so much more Yuno wanted to say, because if it hadn’t been for him, he wouldn’t even have gotten the chance to get away alive, most probably. But he couldn’t bring himself to say much more, because for every reason to be happy, the pain of losing you would remain for the rest of his life.
So Yuno dragged himself to the one and only zone where peace was newly preserved between the two countries. During his imprisonment, he had heard that the two countries would soon enter an official armistice agreement again, that was why it was so quiet nowadays. No further information of when or if the war would entirely ever come to an end. Yuno doubted it would still happen in this lifetime for him.
Yuno was already close to crossing the border. He was only a few steps away when he heard his name being shouted by someone that made him stop in his tracks altogether. No… it wasn’t possible.
“Yuno!... Yuno!”
Yuno spun around, only to see you restrained by two soldiers on either side, their grips tight around your arms. You struggled fiercely to break free, but a lone woman stood little chance against two trained men. But you had come, that was all that mattered. After all, you had come for him.
So Yuno did the only right thing for him at that moment and started running back towards you. If you couldn’t reach him, then he would go to you, as it had always been. Being separated by two fighting countries hadn’t hindered him from finding you. And if it had been fate or a concatenation of coincidences that had brought you together, it was irrelevant. He had never lost his purpose, his reason to live. As long as you lived, so would he.
Yuno heard the sound of weapons getting positioned and then unlocked. The horrified expression on your face confirmed that the soldiers were aiming at him, but he kept running. Yuno didn't believe that it would end like this. The two soldiers restraining you were suddenly distracted by the escalating commotion, torn between keeping hold of you and preparing to shoot him down. In that split second of hesitation, you seized the opportunity. You wrenched yourself free from their grasp and sprinted towards Yuno.
He was perplexed when only a moment later, he stumbled backwards and needed to catch his balance when you threw yourself right into his arms. Yuno still processed what was currently happening when you already started speaking, “I understand, I understand, you don’t need to explain!” you breathed, nearly stumbling over your own syllables. “I understand everything!”
Yuno heard shouting in the background, but he blended it all out, because he didn’t know how much time you had left. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed you tightly against his body, feeling you nudging against his chest with the same yearning. “I needed to protect you.”
“I know. Please don’t feel guilty anymore. Don’t hate yourself anymore, because I don’t. I forgive you, and so should you!”
Why did it sound like a goodbye forever? Yuno ground his teeth together and placed his forehead on your parting. He didn’t want you to witness him crying and remember him that way. He had prepared so many words for this exact moment, but now he couldn’t think of a single one. Except for…
“I’ll love you even from the other side,” he brought himself to say after all. “And when everything is over, I’ll come get you with your brother.”
“Put your weapons down!” Yuno then overheard someone, possibly his lawyer, screaming in the distance. “Don’t you see they’re not a threat?!”
They were still here, Yuno suddenly painfully remembered. You didn’t have much time left anymore. He had never feared for something so much in his life and tried to shield your body with his bigger one in case either country opened fire.
“Will you tell me brother I love him and always think of him?”
“I will.”
“And then, will you come get me?” you asked quietly, now slowly lifting your head and looking up at him with teary eyes. “When it’s possible, will you really come get me? Do you promise? No matter how long it takes?”
Yuno brushed a few strands that had gotten loose behind your ears and cupped your face, staring at it for longer than he was allowed. But he wanted to remember everything, capture every inch of your face in detail as he had not even gotten a picture of you. You would only live on his memories from the moment you parted. “I promise.”
When Yuno was dragged away with much violence, his promise was everything that you were left with. The entire car ride back to the clinic, you were petrified as though your entire life had been ripped out of your body with Yuno’s departure. Back at the institution, you had such a severe breakdown that the head nurse had to sedate you.
Right after these events, you quit your occupation and never set foot into a city or walked along a beach ever again. Right after these events, you vanished.
____
Only three years later, Yuno was able to fulfill his promise to you.
Ever since he had returned to his home country, Yuno, along with Jaehyun, had worked on making it possible for his little sister to relocate to the southern country. After the ceasefire, it had gotten slightly easier since the northern nation had been severely damaged - outwardly and inwardly. Some officials even spoke about an end of the war in the near future. Yet, Yuno quite didn't believe in it.
Even though Yuno and Jaehyun had known the exact locations of your workplace and your parents’ house, they had only received negative feedback from the broker for two years. The first time, you hadn’t been at the institution. The head nurse had said you had moved back to your parents' house right after Yuno's deportation. The second time, you hadn't been at your parents’ house. Yuno had feared for quite some time that they had arrested you after all, but your parents had eventually confirmed that you were still there, just living with your grandparents a few villages away.
The third time, the broker’s employees had found your location. After three long years, Yuno could finally get you. Or so he had thought.
“What do you mean it will cost more?” Yuno had yelled into the phone.
“It will cost double,” the broker had answered.
“We have agreed on the price, so just bring her here already!”
“Them,” the broker corrected him.
“… Them?”
“It costs double, because it’s two people. She refuses to go alone. So either you pay the price for two people or they will leave without them.”
“What do you mean?” Yuno was so confused, but also didn’t have time left to argue with him any longer. “Whatever it costs, just bring her here and everyone she wants to bring with her, I don’t care!”
Yuno wondered whether he should have asked for details, but before he could get back to the broker, he had already confirmed that everything had gone as planned, not even twenty four hours later. So Yuno had naturally assumed it was a parent or another acquaintance you couldn't leave behind alone. Perhaps, it was even Cheol. What truly mattered was that you were finally to reunite with him and Jaehyun.
A week later, Jaehyun had only sent Yuno to pick you up. He had said you might want to see your brother the most, but you needed to see Yuno first. Yuno highly looked up to his friend for stepping back, even though he had every right to handle the situation differently. This was only one of the many things Yuno admired Jaehyun for and thus considered him a good, close friend.
Perhaps, it was a personal gift that Jaehyun had wanted to return to Yuno after he had told him everything about his little sister and had taken care of her for the time he had resided in the northern country. Right now, Jaehyun was waiting back there in the southern country while Yuno was in this foreign nation's airport to reunite with the woman he loved after three long years without contact.
There were many things he had to tell you in person. For example, the fact that you had become an aunt. Jaehyun had specifically given him a picture of the little boy for this occasion that he had to show you. And also the fact that Yuno had already set a date to register your wedding. Time was fleeting and he didn’t want to hesitate about anything he was absolutely sure of anymore.
The beating of Yuno's heart always got intermittent whenever the automatic door opened and the nervousness never dwindled when a person, who was not you, walked out of the door and into the arrival hall. Yuno was asking himself if you still recognized him, even with slightly longer hair and more modern clothes. For him, he could always recognize you in a sea of strangers, no matter how many years had passed.
And when you finally walked through the automatic door, Yuno immediately did so. Among a sea of strangers, he instantly recognized you for he had your entire face explicitly remembered. You hadn’t changed one bit. You looked so beautiful, yet a bit intimidated as you didn’t spot him directly. He could understand though as you had never been outside of the country before and the environment could be so overwhelming.
The moment your gazes found each other though, your face immediately lightened up and Yuno already started moving towards you when his eyes fell on something next to you. Or better say, on someone that now stood by your side. 'It’s two people,' he heard the broker repeat in his head, and suddenly, it all made sense. Why you had disappeared and moved, why the broker had refused to risk more for the same amount of money.
The little girl next you, who was holding your hand tightly with curious eyes, was the spitting image of yours. Of course you hadn't wanted to leave the country without your daughter. Yuno didn’t know what had happened in the past three years and he was too happy over your reunion now to do the math. In the end, it all didn’t matter anyway, because it changed nothing for him. He would have done it all the same.
As Yuno welcomed you and your little daughter with wide arms, he came to the conclusion that this little girl was the reason you had continued living and waiting. And she, along with you, were now the reason he would continue appreciating being alive more than ever as well.
Because when Yuno looked a bit closer, the bridge of your daughter’s nose strikingly resembled his own and the way her nose scrunched up when she was laughing mirrored his own features.
“Is there enough space for us two?” you asked.
“There is enough space for us three,” Yuno confirmed.
He didn’t ask questions yet, he didn’t need to. Time was not fleeting anymore. Now, you had a lifetime with each other. Now, you remained.
₊ ⊹☼ WORD COUNT: 18.0k
₊ ⊹☼ PAIRING: the boyz' lee juyeon x female reader
₊ ⊹☼ TAGS & WARNINGS: summer vacation!au, teeth-rotting fluff, no angst whatsoever nada, juyo having a crush, reader is a bit shy at first, no plot just y/nyeon hanging out and pining for each other, dialogue heavy, a scene making out and some kisses here and there, canadaz instigating together
₊ ⊹☼ SYNOPSIS: during your post-college-graduation crisis, you meet lee juyeon during a 3 week lake house vacation with your mutual friends. serendipity watches over you as you get entangled into a whirlwind summer romance.
₊ ⊹☼ NOTES: hyung line are all the same age in this as each other, 98 line as each other and maknae line as each other! idk how i wrote 18k words of juyeon pathetically crushing on y/n but here it is! also the female ocs in this fic have no relation to any idol irl or at least was not written with anyone in mind :-) this also feels like the wrong time to post a tbz fic but i'm desperate to get this out and i'm hoping and praying that the boyz can resolve their negotiations with ist and find a good home in their new label <3
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Whoever said that university was supposed to be the best 4 years of your life didn't think about the implications of that phrase on deeply lost and terrified new grads. Sure, it was intended as an encouragement to try and enjoy your college years while you were in them, but now you're on the other side and all you can feel is... now what?
In hindsight, there was a reason that seniors spent practically the whole year panicking about what came next and applying to every internship, grad role and job listing that popped up, no matter how relevant. You too had participated to some degree but to no avail as you stand here with no employment or future education plans in mind.
Okay, so maybe going on a 3 week holiday as soon as you come out of graduation wasn't the best idea you've ever had, but technically, it wasn't even your idea. In fact, you had even rejected Kevin's invitation multiple times citing your need to job hunt in the city immediately, but he kept pestering and pestering and pestering that you eventually had to give in. The universe will reward you for at least trying to resist, right?
There were really many reasons to not go on this trip. The main one being that Kevin was the only person out of about 15 people you knew that were coming on this trip. You had met a few of his friends fleetingly before, but never long enough or often enough to form a proper friendship or relationship with them as you did with your junior year project partner turned friend. Another reason was that you were so painfully introverted and shy that meeting all these new people all at once with nowhere to run to or hide seemed like the perfect recipe for disaster. What were you going to do if it all went wrong?
Still, Kevin had managed to address all your worries and reassured you that his friends were very welcoming and aware not to overwhelm you too much.
"Remember Y/N, we're here to relax, have a good time and forget the worries of the real world," Kevin lectured you as the two of you entered the lake house together. He had been the one to organise this trip as he found the cabin slash mansion and then roped all of his friends into joining.
Chanhee and Changmin had slept the entire ride, so Kevin allocated them the job of hauling everything from the car into the house. The people pleaser in you was desperate to help, but Kevin maintained that staying up and entertaining him on the long drive up was enough and that the two boys deserved it for being so called lazy.
"There's 5 bedrooms, all with two double beds," Kevin recalled as he scoured the house, "We take the biggest room with the en-suite."
"We can sleep 20 people? Why didn't you invite more?" you plopped your bags onto the large sectional couch.
Kevin just shrugged and stepped away to investigate the documents on a table, "So we could have a bit more space. Plus, we didn't want to invite anyone else."
"Aw i'm honoured to have made the cut, Kev," you teased by nudging him on the shoulder.
He shot you an unimpressed glare, "Clearly not considering that you literally refused to come until two weeks ago."
"I'm here, aren't I?" you countered, running to the front door to hold it open as you saw the other two boys approaching with the miscellaneous things your group was assigned to pack. It mostly involved some activities like a karaoke machine, some boards and floaties for swimming and other things to keep you entertained.
Another group set to arrive later was assigned the food supplies, while the girls that were coming on the trip were in charge of drinks.
"How far away are the others?" Chanhee smiled at you appreciatively as you make their life a little easier. He set two bags down on the floor. Changmin hobbles behind him with overflowing arms, clearly not wanting to make more trips than necessary.
Kevin pulled out his phone and hummed as he checked on the drivers' locations, "Jacob's car is like only a few minutes behind. Sangyeon's car is like an hour behind and the girls won't be here for a couple of hours since Minseo had to do a morning shift at work so they left a bit late."
"Who's in Jacob's car?" you asked curiously, wondering who you were going to meet first. You'd met Jacob a few times before when you were a junior and he was always very nice to you despite not having spent an extended period of time together. However, you hadn't seen him in almost a year! Obviously you had been acquainted with Chanhee and Changmin now, but you'd only met them once before they climbed into Kevin's car for the long journey that they dozed through.
"I think Hak, Eric and Juyeon are with Jacob and Sunwoo, Younghoon and Hyunjae are with Sangyeon," Changmin listed off quickly, "Prepare yourself to meet Eric, seriously."
"Hopefully he's sleepy from the drive," Chanhee rolled his eyes playfully but fondly at the thought of their youngest friend.
While this was a graduation trip for the boys in your car and a few of the others, Kevin had still invited their friends of different ages. It was a nice way to escape the reality of adult life for those who had graduated the year before you and just a fun trip for the incoming seniors below you.
You've heard from Kevin that his friends had a vast range of personalities, which you expected considering there were 11 of them. The concept of opposites attract definitely applied to friendships too, which was how Kevin's bubbly and social self found you, a raging introvert.
By the time that Jacob's car roared into the pebble driveway, you had already unpacked your clothes in the closet that you were sharing with Jacob and Kevin- the only ones you knew and felt comfortable with. Kevin had decided to just throw his duffle onto the foot of the bed and will probably just dig out some outfits each day from the floor.
You heard commotion begin to rumble downstairs through your ajar door and fought an internal conflict whether to go down and make yourself known or have Kevin come and get you. By the end of it, they had made that decision for you when you hear multiple footsteps stomp up the creaky stairs.
"Y/N, how are you? It's good to see you again!" Jacob flashed you his signature sweet smile as he tapped on the door and opened it wider, "Can we come in?"
"Sure, it's your room too! It's also good to see you, Jacob," you replied, getting up from the edge of the bed where you were rummaging through your backpack.
"You must be the famous Y/N," someone with a boyish smile peeked from behind Jacob, "I'm Eric! Nice to finally meet you."
"Ah, I've heard lots about you!" you gave him a small but enthusiastic wave.
"And knowing Kevin, it was probably not nice things," Eric scoffed as he shot a glare over his shoulder in the direction of the staircase behind him. That was when both he and you noticed a tall boy lingering behind him.
Eric wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought him forward, "And this is Juyeon-hyung."
Through his sleepy, lid-heavy eyes, Juyeon gave you a soft smile, "Hi, it's nice to meet you."
"Juyeon," you let the word ruminate in your mouth as to why his name sounded familiar until it comes to you, "Ah, you're one of the others who graduated, right?"
He nodded, letting his face relax into a small smile, "Yeah."
"Congratulations to you," you tell him.
"You too, Y/N," there's a softness to Juyeon's voice- a kind of kindness and sincerity that comes naturally. Whereas Eric's voice was immediately enthusiastic and upbeat, Juyeon was calmer and more demure.
Eric disappeared behind Juyeon and Jacob was unzipping his bag behind you on the bed he was sharing with Kevin. You point awkwardly to the bag that Juyeon was clutching in his hands, "Which room are you staying in?"
As if he just remembered he was carrying it, Juyeon's eyes snapped to his hold before he let out a soft 'ah!', "I'm rooming with Chanhee and Changmin. Do you know which room that is?"
If you recalled correctly, you did, "I think it's that one," you point to the door immediately behind him, just opposite of your room.
Juyeon gives you an appreciative nod and pushes the handle of his room open with his elbow, "Thanks Y/N. See you later."
"Bye Juyeon."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Over the rest of the first day, you settled yourself on the living room couch with Kevin playing a variety of card games and planning what you wanted to do on the trip while doing so. The others dipped in and out- Jacob joining when he finished unpacking and Changmin once he got tired of Chanhee beating him at table tennis outside.
Eric was stretched out on one of the other couches, soft snores coming out of his mouth after the drive exhausted him (and also the other passengers who he was 'entertaining'). You don't know where Juyeon disappeared to, but it was probably to replace Changmin as Chanhee's opponent.
The game of dobble was getting heated with Jacob's rare frustrated side coming out, as was teased by the other players. So far, Changmin had won the most games, but that was probably because he was the most willing to scream and snatch the card away. You, on the other hand, had miserably lost every single round.
But at least you were able to plan your meals over the game of snakes and ladders you played earlier.
Once Sangyeon's car arrived and you acquainted yourself with him, Younghoon and Sunwoo, you excused yourself from the game under the guise of being a very bad loser, which you were.
You hadn't checked out the back garden and it's various facilities yet, so you were intrigued considering that was one of the main reasons that Kevin booked this place.
"Hi Y/N, do you wanna play?" Chanhee waved to you as soon as he spotted you in between serves. Juyeon followed suit.
"Nah, I'll watch for now- I just wanted to check out the yard!" you gestured to the area.
You immediately noticed the large blue swimming pool that dominated most of the garden. There were lounge chairs and umbrellas strewn around it and a little enclosure with pool floats provided. There was a fire pit with outdoor chairs in the back corner and then a stretch of grass that was perfect for net games like foot volleyball or badminton. Chanhee and Juyeon were occupying the ping pong table, but you were also standing next to a pool table in the covered patio.
The lake you were staying at was located a short walk down some steps from the front of the house, so you could only see some hills and other houses from the back. It was definitely a nice atmosphere combined with the warm weather you were having and not a bad place to spend 3 weeks procrastinating your life.
You took a seat on the cushioned furniture under the patio, covering your eyes from the sun to watch the boys play. It seemed that Juyeon was overall better than Chanhee, but Chanhee could catch him out with fast balls and spinning balls.
It was entertaining to watch them for a while, your eyes moving either side to follow the ball. They were getting competitive with each other, bringing out their vicious sides, which was amusing to watch. Juyeon seemed like a collected person when you first met him, but like everyone else, he had a different side to him in situations so tense.
"I wanna play," you heard a voice ring behind you, "Let's play pairs?"
Sunwoo appeared from the woodwork and approached the table. Chanhee and Juyeon paused their game, claiming Juyeon as the winner before agreeing to the game.
"Y/N, play with us? Who do you wanna pair up with?"
"I'm not any good at ping pong, so whoever is unfortunate enough to have me then," you got up from your comfy position and stretched out.
"Hm, Sunwoo's not bad so Sunwoo can go with me and you can go with Juyeon since he won," Chanhee reasoned, bringing up the extra paddles from the ground.
You migrated to Juyeon's side, giving him a sheepish look, "I'm sorry, but we're going to lose."
Juyeon chuckled and shook his head, "You have to believe in yourself, Y/N. Here, watch me serve and then you can serve the first ball."
He positioned himself with his body open to you so you could see what he was doing. Juyeon carefully explained what he was going to do and demonstrated the serve. Sunwoo threw the ball back and it rolled over to you.
"You can do it," Juyeon encouraged as you readied your stance.
Taking a deep breath and not wanting to disappoint your partner, you mimicked his movements and jumped in elation when it went exactly where it should have gone. Juyeon cheered beside you, which quickly faded as Chanhee returned the ball to your side, only for it to bounce twice and then land at your feet.
Juyeon was giggling as you looked at him apologetically, "The serve was good, but now we have to work on your return."
"How about I serve and then you just return all of the balls while I stand behind you?" you countered teasingly, "This isn't much of a competition for them."
"Y/N, by the end of this trip, you're going to be a ping pong goddess," Juyeon said firmly, holding up the ball to you again.
Over the next while, you started improving with your skills with tips that the other boys showed you. Juyeon did end up having to carry your team, but you had some good moments too. You didn't expect to be so open to play with the guys, but if Kevin's friends were anything like Kevin, you should have known you would have got along great.
Eventually, some more of the boys decided to come out and play while they started preparing lunch inside with the ingredients they had brought, so you retreated back inside to join Kevin.
"Your friends are nice," you told him sincerely at the kitchen island as you watched Younghoon and Changmin open up endless packets of ramen.
"I told you they were," Kevin agreed.
You had known Kevin for a year and a half, first meeting him at the start of the second semester of junior year. While he had tried to get you to meet his friends multiple times, it just never worked out properly with your schedules all the way up to college graduation. You did want to meet them properly instead of fleeting introductions and goodbyes in the hallways or around campus, but it wasn't your fault that your timetable was absolutely rammed and you were too anti-social to attend any evening events.
However, he had told you enough stories about his friends that it really felt like you did actually know them. That's why meeting them for the first time was weird- you knew lots of things about each of them.
"I don't think me and Chanhee would have ever worked out though," you frowned as you remembered Kevin trying to get you to go on a blind date with him when you first met and got comfortable with each other.
"I see that now," Kevin huffed at his failed matchmaking, "You're both divas- hey!"
You held back a laugh as Kevin's stumbled on his stool from you pushing him, "Don't spread false rumours about me around your friends! They could get the wrong idea!"
"Honey, it's a fact," Kevin snorted, "Once they get to know you better, they'll see what I mean."
Your personality slowly but surely crept out the longer you knew someone, but you weren't sure that 3 weeks was enough time. Then again, it was 3 weeks of constantly seeing them and being forced to spend time with each other, all while doing activities that might just end up testing your will.
"How about Changmin, though?" Kevin tried to whisper lowly.
Said boy whipped his head around and gave Kevin a pointed look, "I'm right here, you know?"
"So? Anybody who I set up with Y/N would be lucky to have her," Kevin jeered to his friend.
From behind you, you hear a deep voice, "Who's being set up with Y/N?"
Juyeon takes the stool beside you, an orange manifesting in his hands that he began to peel. A small smirk flashed on Kevin's face that you did not miss, but Kevin leaned forward and placed his chin and his hand, "Why, are you interested?"
You shoved Kevin again, "You are so annoying. I'm sorry about him Juyeon."
"I'm used to it," Juyeon shrugged casually as he offered up a slice yo you, "Orange?"
You quickly refused and thanked him and he carried on eating the fruit beside you. He must have got bored of the game or wanted to supervise the lunch. You vaguely remember Kevin telling you that Juyeon was one of the better cooks in the group.
After a while of silently supervising the ramen station, the doorbell sounded through the house. Kevin raced to open the door and welcome the girls in.
You had never met them before as they were some of Chanhee and Changmin's friends, but Kevin reassured you that they were very nice girls that you probably would get along with. It's not even that you didn't have many friends of your own- Kevin was just the first to ask you to come on a trip and all of your friends were diving straight into their big-girl jobs.
"I'm guessing you're Y/N? I'm Minseo," a girl with short, cropped hair approached you cheerfully, "Stick with us whenever you get tired of these boys. They get old pretty quick."
Younghoon scoffed as he walked past with the big pot of ramen in his gloved hands to bring to the table, "You three are way more chaotic than us."
"Don't believe him," another one of the girls came over with a backpack that was making a clinking sound, "I'm Suyeon! And I have some of the drinks and Jiwon has the rest."
Suyeon has copper-red hair and piercing eyes, while Jiwon has mousy brown hair and tattoos on her exposed arms. They definitely have dancer builds, so you imagine that they first met Changmin through dance.
The boys take their turns saying their greetings to the girls and Juyeon calls in everybody outside as lunch was ready. Other than the ramen, Younghoon and Changmin had managed to whip up some side dishes from what they brought, so it wasn't a totally helpless lunch.
The table was just a large slab of polished wood on some legs with long benches around each side. It was a little bit of a squeeze to get all 15 of you around the table, but it wasn't totally horrible once everyone settled and stopped squirming.
You had Kevin to your right and Jacob to your left with Eric directly in front of you. The table was too broad, however, to be able to make meaningful conversations with those in front of you without shouting.
"Is there any activities you want to do, Y/N?" Jacob asked you.
You tried to recall the array of activities you saw outside when you pulled up to the house, "I want to row a boat out on the lake. I'm kind of scared of stuff like that. What about you?"
Jacob shrugged, "Nothing particular. I just want to relax after a full year working."
"How has that been anyway?"
He sighed defeatedly, "It's nice making money, but I definitely miss college. Don't let me scare you though."
"I'm terrified enough as it is, considering I don't have a job lined up," you tried to make it sound like it wasn't weighing you down, but Jacob seny you a sympathetic half-smile.
"Loads of people are in the same boat, Y/N. Don't worry about it, honestly. There's always something waiting for you," Jacob advised you softly, "Promise you'll try to enjoy this vacation before worrying about real life?"
"You sound like Kevin, Jacob," you stifled a chuckle, "I will try, I promise.
Your conversation with Jacob is cut short by Eric yelling at the elder to pass the water with his mouth full, followed by him being scolded by the others.
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
You don't even know what time it is when you wake up the next morning. It's well into summer so the sky is already bright and gives you no indication by the colour and you find that your phone is dead when you tried to check. Remembering that you brought your charger down after dinner while you all watched a movie in the lounge, you groaned at the thought of having to get up so early.
Soft snores were still escaping from Jacob and Kevin's bed, so you tiptoed out of the room, all while trying to brush through your tangled hair with your fingers. The house was so quiet that you definitely did not expect to see someone's back leaning over the kitchen counter while they sat on a stool.
At your footsteps, the mystery figure turned around with a surprised sound.
"Oh, Y/N. Good morning," Juyeon's voice was deep and still raspy this early, "What are you doing up?"
He was wiping his eyes with his fists bawled up and you resisted the urge to 'awh' at him as you fetched your charger from nearby, "I left this here last night and my phone died. I don't know what time it is, but why are you up so early?"
Juyeon shrugged, "I sometimes wake up early and I couldn't go back to sleep. I was going to make a coffee if you want one too?"
In your head, you weighed up the pros and cons of an early morning beverage. Something in you was screaming to go back into your bed and doze off the rest of the morning- something that will be robbed from you when you reach the real world- but at the same time, Juyeon was looking at you with his sleepy, cat-like eyes and red cheeks.
"Sure," you slid onto the stool beside his as he hopped off and made his way around to the kitchen side. There was only the whistling of the kettle for a while as Juyeon collated all the ingredients he needed and found the mugs in the cupboard. He only broke the silence to ask you if you took milk and sugar in your coffee.
You had zoned out so much that you didn't snap back into reality until he was sliding your coffee over to you and placing a plate full of French pastries between you as he took a seat. Gratefully, you pinched the croissant to curve your morning hunger.
"How did you find yesterday?" Juyeon began as he sipped on his drink.
"It was nice meeting everyone. I think I knew everyone's names anyway from Kevin talking about you all before and from his posts," you told him, "I'm still feeling shy, but it will just take time for me to get comfortable."
"I was the same when I first met everyone," Juyeon nodded, "We all came at different times since we're different ages, but I also get shy meeting new people, so I know how you feel. I'm glad that Kevin managed to convince you to come, though."
Your surprised look doesn't faze him, "Ah, really?"
Juyeon looked slightly more awake after a few sips of coffee as he smiles gently at you, "It's always nice to make a friend."
"Yeah," you agreed. Juyeon had a certain way of speaking that was just so comforting and he was quickly becoming one of Kevin's friends that you could see yourself being close to.
"Are you staying in the city after this?" he moved on casually.
Ah, the famous question. Your grimace told him everything he needed to know as you scrunched up your face, "I would like to, but that's T-B-D. It's gonna be stressful looking for a job after I get back from the trip- that's why I didn't want to come in the first place. But whatever. What about you?"
"I'm gonna be a dance teacher at a local studio," Juyeon told you, pride sparkling through the statement, "I'm excited about it, but my dream is to have my own studio one day, have a crew and work with some famous people."
You suddenly remembered something Kevin had told you once, "Ah, you majored in dance with Changmin, right?"
Juyeon nodded.
"Kevin took me to one of your showcases once this year, but I had to run out before I could meet you guys after," you recalled fondly, "You had a duet with Changmin and I remember being very, very impressed. I can't dance, so..."
He looks at you in surprise as you remembered it, "Oh, thank you for coming! And I really appreciate that. I'm going to miss those showcases, actually. They were always stressful leading up to them, but when I get to perform, it's the best feeling ever."
The lilt in his voice told you just how passionate he was when it came to dance. You wished that you had something you treasured dearly too, but you tried to remember Jacob's words from dinner- something will always be waiting for you.
"I'm gonna have to see you guys dance again at some point," you smiled, "I know Kevin said a lot of you guys do."
"What has Kevin told you about me?" Juyeon placed his chin on his palm, body leaning over towards you.
You paused for a minute, trying to recall all the facts you knew about Kevin's friend and trying to pick out the ones related to him, "He said you're the best cook in the group and that the world moves too fast for you. He said that you like nature too."
"Too? You do as well?" he asked curiously, "They say I'm slow, which they may be right."
"Yeah! I like taking walks and seeing the world," you affirmed, "I've never been to this part of the country, so I'm intrigued by the area. It looks so beautiful from what I saw on the drive up."
"We should definitely take walks together!" Juyeon suggested enthusiastically, "I don't know how many of the others will join, but it'll be fun."
Before you could agree with him despite how shy he was making you feel, Changmin's sleepy voice boomed out behind you, "Morning guys."
"Did we wake you up?" you asked him in concern.
Changmin shook his bed hair firmly, "Nope. Chanhee rolled over and started cuddling me."
"So you left him?" you teased.
"It got too warm," Changmin whined as he noticed your small breakfast spread, "Can I get a coffee too?"
"Hah, make it yourself," Juyeon huffed as he pointed out where the supplies were kept, "Did you know Y/N attended our showcase a few months ago? The one where we had the duet?"
Changmin laid out the items on the other side of the island and thought for a second before a eureka moment came to him, "Was that the one you had to leave early cause you had a date?"
You groaned at the thought, flopping your head in your hands on the table, "Oh, don't remind me! I can't believe Kevin told you."
Juyeon looked between the two of you, confusion splattered on his face, "Why, what happened?"
You shivered in your seat, "He was a dickhead. It was a blind date with one of my friends' boyfriend's frat brothers and it was so bad I had to actually tell him I wanted to leave."
"Oh, that bad?" Juyeon grimaced.
"He shamed me for ordering a proper meal, insinuated many, many times how he wanted to come over to my place after, picked up a call from one of his friends in the middle of it and then made me pay the whole bill when I said I wanted to leave and offered to split," you recounted, slightly more amused looking back on it now.
"That's really horrible, Y/N," Changmin offered as he stirred his drink.
"I'm used to bad dates now," you sighed in defeat, "I've never had any luck."
Juyeon made a noise of recognition from your side, "Have you gone on a lot of dates?"
"Mhm, my friends all found their partners pretty early on in college. I guess they just wanted me to have the same magical experience as them, so they'd always set me up on dates," you recalled your dating life through the past 4 years, "Actually, I went on a date with Jacob accidentally without knowing he was Kevin's friend before he graduated."
Changmin's eyes widened as he laughed in realisation and slapped the countertop, "I forgot that happened! That's so funny."
Juyeon pouted beside you, "Am I the only one that's never heard of any of this?"
"Maybe it's cause you holed yourself up the last two years in the practice room," Changmin replied sassily.
"Says you!" Juyeon turned to you, "How did your date with Cobie-hyung go?"
"I thought he was really sweet, but we decided not to go on a second date because he was graduating soon," you answered honestly, "He only did it as a favour to my friend when they worked on a project together."
"Oh, so you liked him?" Juyeon pressed on.
Your face reddened as you vehemently shook your head, "It's not like that! We just went on one date, that's all."
"Stop teasing poor Y/N," Changmin frowned from the other side, "It's like coming up to 8 now, so we should start making a proper breakfast for everyone."
You hadn't exactly established how you were going to do the cooking rota, but since you three were already down there, it wasn't a bad idea to get started. Juyeon agreed, hopping off the stool and rummaging the fridge for what they brought.
A grocery trip was definitely due with everyone, but for now, Juyeon's car had lugged along some ingredients from their college apartments that could be utilised.
"Can I be of any help?" you asked into the air as you watched Changmin check what was in each cupboard.
"Are you good at cooking, Y/N?" Juyeon quirked an eyebrow at you. You gave him an unsure look, to which he laughed and handed you a carton of eggs, "I guess I have a lot to teach you during this vacation, Y/N-ah."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
You've always preferred the sunset to the sunrise. Maybe it's because you've seen far more sunsets in your lifetime, due to your previous displeasure of waking up early. Over the last few months with finals, though, you've gotten used to being up at the time the sun peaked through the horizon, even if it was because you hadn't slept yet.
The moment that Minseo noticed the first shades of pinks in the sky, she dragged the whole group out to the waterfront and you all were sprawled out on the ground, watching as the sun dipped down. There hasn't been a good sunset in the four days that you've been here, so you were excited for the first one with the group.
You were even almost confident enough to call them friends as you spent the past four days getting to know them through lunches and dinners, boardgames and pingpong and cooking and cleaning. They were all great people with impeccable sense of humour- you were glad to have come to the trip.
You perched Hyunjae's digital camera on your tucked knees as you examined the way the sky was transforming. Beside you, Kevin was sketching in his notebook.
It was getting late, nearing 8, and you had spent the whole day in the pool with everyone playing different games and lounging around. You all decided as a group that you would take the first week easy- no plans, just relaxing. After that was when you would jump into activities outside of the lake house. You were on the winning team of pool volleyball today, but had lost every chicken fight on top of Kevin's shoulders.
After dinner, you were all drying up when Minseo called everyone out. The air was still warm, but less aggressive than the sun beating down on your skin earlier in the day. There was a mild breeze that cut through the heat, making it more bearable to be outside.
Chanhee was sat on your other side, humming a song as he scrolled on his phone, meanwhile in front of you on the small hill, Jiwon and Suyeon were playing uno with Younghoon and Juyeon. You snapped a picture of them with the camera entrusted to you, which they didn't even notice.
"Jiwon has a crush on Younghoon," Chanhee whispered in your ear. You jumped in your spot, clutching the camera tight to your chest.
"Jesus, Chanhee. You scared me!" you scolded the smirking boy.
"Oops," he patted your head in apology, "Isn't it obvious though?"
You turned your head back to the group to examine. Now that you knew that, you could put meaning to the way that Jiwon was leaning her body towards Younghoon's and the way she clung onto every word he said and everything he did.
"Does Younghoon know?" you hummed.
"I think so, or he's pretending to be dense," Chanhee murmured, "I think he was waiting for Jiwon to graduate, so maybe something will happen on the trip. They've been friends since high school, but the girls are on the dance team with us."
"That's cute," you noted, "What about the other girls?"
"Minseo and Sangyeon dated for a few months, but nothing ever came of it and they stayed as friends," Chanhee recalled in a dropped voice, leaning his lips up to your ear due to Sangyeon's proximity, "But they don't like it when we make jokes about it. Suyeon's never showed interest in anyone but Eric used to have a crush on her. Not anymore, though. In my opinion, proximity can make people think they feel things."
"What, like being around someone can trick you into liking them? Isn't that how crushes and relationships work?" you turned your body to face Chanhee.
He cocked his head in thought, "Maybe, but sometimes people develop crushes for the sake of having crushes instead of actually liking someone. Like some people feel compelled to date someone or like someone because everyone else expects them to because they're close."
"That's..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word to say, "Interesting."
Chanhee lets out a small giggle and turns back to his phone, "It's just something I've thought about after seeing so much friendship group incest."
When you swivel your head back to the lake and the sky beyond it, you find Juyeon staring at you with a perplexed look. When he noticed that you were looking back, he raised his arm in a small wave. You return one back to him, a little confused why he was looking. Suyeon nudged his arm, directing his attention back to the game in front of him.
"Have you ever thought about dating Kevin?" Chanhee asked after a moment of silence.
Kevin beside you perked up at the sound of his name, the scratching of his pencil ceasing. You met his eye and chuckled, "I think we always knew that we'd be better off as friends."
"She's not my type," Kevin dropped in as a dig. You nudged him when you made sure his pencil wasn't touching the paper.
"What's your type, Y/N?" Chanhee pressed on, "If you don't mind me asking."
You thought about his question carefully, trying to pick out what was actually important to you instead of what you would list off to your friends when they would find blind date suitors.
"I just want someone I can be comfortable with and not have to put on an act," you told him simply, "It'd be nice if they'd have some of the same interests as me, but I want someone I can find comfort in. Someone not too energetic and just someone who can treat a girl right. It's not a big ask."
"What, that's it?"
You nodded sheepishly, "To be honest, I just want to find someone naturally- to have them come to me. I've appreciated being set up on dates, but I don't want to look too hard anymore."
"What about giving Jacob another shot?" Kevin quizzed suddenly.
You release a small laugh, "I think that ship has sailed, Kev."
Jacob was a few metres away, strumming on his guitar surrounded by the rest of your friends. There was something so lovely about Jacob, but past that, you don't think you could see a relationship with him.
"Hmm, Hyunjae? He's very nice," Chanhee offered up, a teasing tone in his voice.
You rolled your eyes at your companions, "Did you two not hear anything I said? I want it to happen naturally."
You suddenly get distracted by someone ooh'ing and ahh'ing loudly. When you look up, you're instantly met by the most vibrant sky you've seen in a long time. The sky is painted in shades of cotton candy pink and vivid oranges. It was one of those bright, golden sunsets, devoid of any moody colours.
Snapping a few pictures on the camera of your friends and their silhouettes against the sky, you stood up for a better view. Through the lens, you find Jiwon and Younghoon standing together, shoulder to shoulder as they peered up. You were so preoccupied by their figures that you missed Juyeon standing up, brushing himself off and walking over to you.
"Y/N, can I have the camera?" Juyeon appeared beside you, making you jump slightly.
"Oh yeah, sure," you carefully placed the camera in his palm, not wanting to be reckless with something that wasn't yours.
Juyeon smiled appreciatively, taking one step back behind you and holding it up, "Okay, smile!"
Your eyes widened in surprise as you shook your head, "Don't get me in it! It won't turn out nice."
Trying to escape, you ducked to the side of him, but he caught onto your wrist and gently manoeuvred you back to your original place. Juyeon gave you a pointed look, "Trust me, okay? Just smile. Say cheese!"
Sensing that you wouldn't be able to get him to back down, you indulged his request and smiled softly at the camera. The digital device looked so tiny in his large hands compared to how they looked in yours that it was almost comical. He had to fumble a little to find the button, but when he clicked it finally, you broke your pose.
Juyeon looked down at the screen as you came closer to see for yourself. He turned it towards you with a triumphant smile on his handsome features, "See? So pretty."
He's probably talking about the sunset.
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
On a morning you found yourself awake early again, you received a DM from one Lee Juyeon.
juyeon: i was about to go on a walk. care to join?
y/n: how did you know i was awake?
juyeon: i saw that you viewed my story i just uploaded :> will you come?
y/n: give me 10 minutes
When you tiptoed down the stairs at precisely 7:15AM, you found Juyeon squinting at you from the living room couch.
"Has anyone ever told you that you squint a lot?" you yawned out as you placed your shoes on the ground and slipped into them.
"I have terrible vision," Juyeon explained, "And before you ask, I don't have glasses because I cheated on my eye test."
You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the laughs coming out, "How is that even possible?"
Juyeon rolled his eyes playfully, "Yeah, yeah. I know!"
He stood up from his place on the couch and followed you out of the front door. With one of the spare keys, he locked the door behind him and joined your side.
"Do you even know what I look like?" you teased him.
He made you stop on the gravel track, placing his hands on your shoulders. Teasingly, he squinted his eyes at you before relaxing onto the heel of his foot, "Of course I do. I would never forget a pretty face like yours."
Shocked at his flirty remarks, you pushed against his shoulder with your hand, "You're too much, Lee Juyeon."
His laugh is melodic as he tried to catch up with your fast pace, "You should learn how to take compliments, Y/N."
"Yeah, but you're teasing me," you humphed in response.
"Maybe, but it's still a factual compliment!" Juyeon argued. You were embarrassed to know that your whole face and ears were probably lit up like a tomato right now from his words.
Instead of replying, you chose to steer the conversation away, "Do you even know where we're going?"
Juyeon shook his head, "I just thought we could follow this trail around the lake. It's a nice morning."
The air was crispy- not too hot, not too cold. Everything was pretty still, other than the few people you could see having coffee on their front decks at the other houses surrounding the river. All you could hear, though, was the chirping of the birds in nests nestled in the trees and the soft crunching of rocks and grass under your shoes.
You hadn't managed to walk around the lake with the others yet in the week you've been there already. Time was moving so fast and there was still so much left to do. You were intrigued by the flora surrounding the lake, so you were trying to find free time to explore- thankfully, Juyeon beat you to it.
"Look at those flowers," you murmured after a few minutes of walking. There were tufts of pink flowers by the water edge that you crouched down to investigate further.
You heard the shutter of a camera faster than you could see Juyeon taking a picture of you on the ground.
"Hey!" you pouted up at him, swatting at his hand, "Let me see!"
"No can do," Juyeon replied smugly, "For my eyes only."
You brushed off your legs and stretched up next to him to continue walking, "That's not fair! I'm in the photo!"
"Later," Juyeon hummed innocently, walking forward a bit faster.
He continued leading you around the lake for a while, just chatting about trivial things you could see. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his cargo shorts, eyes shaded from the sun with his cap. At one point, you spotted a paddling of ducks near the edge, so you dragged Juyeon down to crouch beside you as you took pictures of them.
"Look how small that one is!" you cooed, pointing to what seemed like a baby duck that was following behind its mother closely.
"And look how cute they are when they tuck their necks in," Juyeon reciprocated as he found a flock further away that seemed to be sleeping or resting on the water.
"I used to have a stream behind my house when I was young, so I've always loved ducks," you waft a blade of long grass in the direction of the ducks, hoping they'd come to you.
"That seems like a nice childhood," you could hear the gentle smile in his gentle voice, "What was your childhood like?"
Your eyes followed the animals splashing about in the water, amused as two of them started chasing each other, "Nothing special. My parents had ordinary jobs and I have an older brother and a younger sister, so I was stuck in the middle. I grew up just outside of the city we went to college in, so I got to visit them often. My life's not very exciting. What about you?"
Juyeon humphed in disagreement, "I'm sure that's not true. There's always something special about the mundane. I grew up not far from the city too. I have a little brother who's 4 years younger and he's kind of in his teen-angsty phase right now, so I'm staying away physically. I call home pretty often, though."
"My sister just got out of hers," you laughed in solidarity. You finally decided to leave the ducks alone as they changed course away from you, "We get along much better now."
The sun was rising higher in the sky as you reached the halfway point around the lake. At this point, you had probably been out together for 45 minutes, but no one was noticing your absence yet.
"I can't believe they're not awake yet," you murmured as you checked your notifications.
"Nah, Changmin and Chanhee were awake and reading webtoons in bed," Juyeon informed you, "I told them we were going on a walk."
"You didn't invite them?"
"There's no getting those two out so early for no reason. That one morning with Changmin was a fluke," Juyeon uttered, "Besides, it's nice just us two, right?"
His words send the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy- he seems to have a way of doing that to you without even realising. You've spent a good amount of time with Juyeon on this trip, thinking that he was just taking you under his wing. Unfortunately for you, the man was drop dead gorgeous so it was hard not to feel giddy around him. Especially since he had such a way with words.
You have to remind yourself often that you were just friends. He treated everyone just like he treated you, right? Lee Juyeon was just a nice person.
"Right," you smile slightly, hiding your pink cheeks from him, but in turn getting blinded by the beams of light, "The sun's so bright."
Juyeon sighed beside you, "I should have told you to bring a hat."
You opened your mouth to reply, but you suddenly feel fabric encapsulating your head and the sun fade out behind the material of a cap- Juyeon's cap that he had taken off his own head and placed on yours.
"Oh, no, Juyeon. Keep the hat; the sun's gonna be in your eyes now," you moved to take it off, but he keeps his hand splayed on top of your head to prevent you from doing so.
"I'm taller than you, so the sun's hitting my face differently," he said to you sweetly.
You think he's lying, but if you've learned anything about Juyeon the past week, it's that he doesn't take no for an answer, "Thanks, Juyeon."
"You're welcome, Y/N-ie."
And if anybody noticed that you were wearing Juyeon's favourite cap when you arrived back to the house with a full spread of breakfast on the table, they certainly didn't say anything.
But when Jacob perched himself on the edge of your bed when you woke up from your post-breakfast nap, you knew you were in trouble from the mischievous yet apprehensive look on his face.
"What?" you groaned into the pillow that you smothered yourself with.
He waited for you to remove the pillow from your face before giving you a knowing look, "Kevin sent me."
"Why?"
"He's busy with Sunwoo and Hak," Jacob dismissed, "We want to know what's going on with you and Juyeon."
You sat up on the bed, looking at him incredulously, "What do you mean what's going on with me and Juyeon? Nothing."
Jacob frowned at what he thought was a blatant lie, "Don't think we haven't noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together recently. You two went out on a secret walk this morning alone."
"No one else was awake!" you protested, "None of you are morning people anyway!"
"You're not either, said Kevin," Jacob retorted.
"I'm trying to be," you huffed, "Besides, I've known the guy for one week. I'm not hiding a relationship from anyone."
"Yeah, but do you like him?" Jacob tacked on, "Kev wanted me to interrogate, so I am doing so."
"You're all so nosy," you murmured exasperatedly, "Juyeon is very nice; we're friends. Kevin would act this way no matter who I got close to."
"That might be true," Jacob nodded, "But I've never seen Juyeon act this way. He's normally pretty reserved when it comes to girls, but he's always approaching you first, looking out for you and considering you in things."
Your heart fluttered learning this new information about Juyeon, but you don't show it as you crossed your arms at Jacob with a disapproving glare, "Then take it up with Juyeon and not me."
"You know what'd be funny? To see if Juyeon will get jealous if anyone else gets close to you," Jacob tapped his chin in thought, "I've never, ever seen Juyeon jealous over a girl."
And as if the world was playing a hilarious, cruel prank on you, you heard Juyeon call your name as his feet padded up the stairs. He let out a sound of surprise when found your door ajar and Jacob sitting on your bed instead of his shared bed with Kevin.
Juyeon's eyes darted quickly between the two of you, with you still half-tucked under the sheets. His face kind-of hardened at the sight, but he quickly masked it with a half smile, "Hey, Y/N. I made you a smoothie to energise after our walk! Hi Cobie-hyung, what are you doing here?"
Jacob shot you a smug look, that you rolled your eyes subtly to, "I was just talking with Y/N. Is there something you need?"
Juyeon eyed him suspiciously, placing the cold glass on your side table. He didn't even reply when you thanked him, instead keeping an eye on Jacob, "Nah. Was it something private, though?"
"Hm, a bit," Jacob smirked. You were half a second away from shoving him off your bed for playing with Juyeon like this.
"Oh, okay. I'll go then. But we're about to go paddling in the lake so make sure you get ready soon," Juyeon backed down hesitantly and he turned his attention to you with a disarming smile, "You still have my hat, right, Y/N? Don't forget to bring that with you out. The sun's intense today."
As Juyeon left the room with the door wider than it was when he found it, Jacob rotated his body to you comically slow like he was in a movie.
"Shut it, Jacob."
He shook his head and released an angelic, teasing laugh, "That was next level, Y/N. I've never seen that man jealous let alone put on a territorial display!"
"Jacob!"
He put his hands up in surrender, "Fine, fine. I'm leaving too, but have a think, yeah? Don't want to let a guy as good as Juyo slip away."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
There were multiple boats scattered around the lake-side. There were 15 of you, so it wasn't an even split into pairs, but some of the boys were more confident to go by themselves.
As expected, Jiwon and Younghoon were pushed together to pair up and they strapped on life jackets first before clambering onto a rocky paddle boat at the end of a dock. Sangyeon and Hyunjae got their own boats, while Chanhee and Changmin shared one together. Minseo and Suyeon climbed on after, meanwhile Sunwoo and Haknyeon paired up. Eric, ever the brave, slid into a boat by himself, but let out a scream when it wobbled immediately. Thankfully, the activities staff was still holding the boat to keep it from tipping.
That left you, Jacob, Kevin and Juyeon to decide how to configure yourselves and you could see the Canadians' meddling from a mile away.
"Dibs on Jacob!" Kevin slung his arm around his friend and ran off towards the dock, leaving you speechless with Juyeon.
He gazed at you with shiny eyes, "Guess it's us again?"
"Ha. Us. Again," you enunciated dumbfounded at how obvious Kevin and Jacob were being.
Juyeon didn't seem to note any of this as he casually tugged on your arm in the direction of the boats, "Come on. Let's go."
You were the last ones to put on your life jackets and when you looked out at the lake, you could see your friends had already ventured far into the water. Juyeon stepped into the shaking boat first, taking a seat at the far edge.
When you looked nervous about climbing on, Juyeon held out his hand towards you, "Be careful," he said, nonchalantly.
You held your breath as you took his large hand. Your hands looked like a kid's in his large hold, but the way he wrapped his fingers around your own and made you feel secure had you less wary of getting onto the boat.
When you finally were able to sit across from him, you released the breath and the staff had unhooked you from the dock. Juyeon clapped for you in pride.
"I've always wanted to do this," you admitted to him, watching the water ripple around you.
He quirked an eyebrow at you and held the oars in your direction. He was the one currently manoeuvring the two of you further into the water, "Oh, do you wanna steer, then?"
You took the two pieces of wood from his grasp and grinned at him lopsidedly, "Can't promise we won't capsize though."
He smirked at you from across the boat, "I can swim. Can you?"
Your terrified look had him laughing in stitches as he teased you, "I guess I'll be the one saving you from your own disaster, then."
You kissed your teeth playfully at him as you tried to get into a rhythm with the oars. It was actually harder than you thought to move the boat in a smooth motion due to the drag of the water, but Juyeon just watched you in amusement as he leant back on the boat. You appreciated that he wasn't trying to take over the second he realised you weren't any good at this.
"Y/N-ie!" you heard a voice shout to your left. You looked over to find Eric's lone boat coming towards you at full steam. You watched as his face contorted into panic, realising that he didn't know how to slow down his boat.
Before it could crash into you, Juyeon reached over and held you down on the boat by your shoulders. When Eric made impact, you rocked in your seat, but less than Juyeon who swayed in his mid-standing crouching position. You stabilised him by holding onto his arms with yours.
Juyeon jumped back once he realised the crash was over, cheeks pink as he felt your touch on his bare skin. He settled back into his seat, looking unimpressed at his younger friend.
"Eric," he scowled at the sheepish boy, "Be careful. You could have tipped us over."
"Sorry," Eric pulled his lips into an apologetic pout, "I just wanted to say hi."
"It's okay, Eric. We're safe," you laughed off the incident as you brushed your hair back into place. You had passed over the oars to Juyeon at this point as you conversed with the guilty tanned boy, "Are you enjoying it?"
Eric nodded happily, "It's so much fun! I could do this all day."
Your heart melted at his enthusiasm. Eric was definitely giving you younger brother vibes through this trip with his puppy-like energy.
Juyeon swatted the oar in his direction, "Go bother someone else, Youngjae."
You glared at your boat-mate, "Juyo, that's not very nice."
"He almost killed us, Y/N," Juyeon exaggerated dramatically as he pushed the nose of Eric's boat away from yours.
Eric clicked his tongue and shook his head, laughing under his breath, "Alright, alright, I get it, hyung. Sorry for almost killing you."
You watched in disbelief as Eric paddled away at the speed of lightning, now looking like he was about to crash again into Minseo and Suyeon's boat. Turning back to your partner, you shook your head at him.
"What? That was dangerous," Juyeon whined at your glare, "Anyway, you called me Juyo."
Your hands flew up to your mouth as you burned red at the slip up, "Oh sorry! I never asked if I could call you that. I just heard Jacob call you it earlier."
Juyeon flashed you a boyish grin as he paddled your boat away from where everyone had seemed to congregate, pushing at each other's boats, "I don't mind. You can call me Juyo; I like it," then his face morphed with something unrecognisable for a second, "What were you and Jacob talking about?"
Your eyes narrowed into slits as you examined the boy in front of you. Where he was confident meeting your eyes earlier, he was now looking at everywhere other than you. It had you thinking whether there was some truth in Jacob's words, but you definitely didn't want to get your hopes up.
"Didn't he say it was a bit private?" you tried to say nonchalantly. Juyeon began to nod like he didn't care much at all, but you just laughed at him, "I'm kidding. We weren't talking about anything specific. I don't know why he said it was private."
"Oh, so you're not dating?"
You gasped at the accusation, "Me and Jacob? Why would you think that?"
Juyeon shrugged as he continued to row steadily, "You guys spend a lot of time together. He was teaching you to play the guitar last night."
Ah, Juyeon must have noticed Jacob instructing you on the patio after you expressed interest in learning to play. You had thought that he was inside making dinner with the girls, but he must have stepped out or seen you in the reflection of the glass door.
You smiled coyly, "We spend a lot of time together, but we're not dating are we?"
You don't know where this bravery came from- you weren't usually so teasing to anyone you spoke to. However, being with Juyeon showed you a new, more playful side to yourself that knew how to be a bit less uptight and closed off.
Juyeon pressed his lips into a thin line, "Right. We're not."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Halfway through the trip, Minseo had the idea to have a fancy dinner out one day in the nearest town. She wanted to get dressed up and get properly ready, since most of the activities you'd been doing thus far either involved the water or getting sweaty in the sun. Because this wasn't in your itinerary, you and the three girls took their car out to shop for new dresses, while the boys searched their luggage for something appropriate.
You deduced that they didn't have anything to wear either when you bumped into Sangyeon, Younghoon, Haknyeon and Eric midway through the shopping trip with bags and bags occupying their hands. They must have been sent out by the others to buy shirts and slacks. While buying new outfits could be considered excessive, the pieces were always recyclable and appropriate for the real world that the graduates were about to go into and the working adults were already partaking in. The dresses on the other hand, were not so transferrable, but you just hoped that you'd find an occasion to use it again in. You didn't feel too guilty considering the four of you only delved into thrift and second hand shops to find your outfits for the mid-scale restaurant that Minseo found.
You got ready in the girls' room, spending more time with them since being around the boys 24/7 got tiring sometimes. They had been very welcoming to you through the past week and a half despite being a tight-knit trio already. They were also all graduated and figuring out their lives, but welcomed you into their group regardless. You could definitely see yourself keeping in touch with them after the trip ended, even if you ended up in a random city far away.
There was always something nice about getting ready with a group of friends. Jiwon had curled the back of your head while she rambled on about how Younghoon was taking his sweet time making a move on her, meanwhile Suyeon was painting pink varnish on Minseo's right hand. The four of you took pictures after cleaning up the inevitably messy room and sat cross-legged on the bed as you sent them to each other.
"Juyeon's gonna die when he sees you," Suyeon smirked as she airdropped a set of photos she had taken from you.
"Why does everyone keep thinking me and Juyeon have something going on? We're just friends," you muttered, swiping through the images.
The room fell into silence and you looked up to three disbelieving faces. Minseo rolled her eyes at you, "Be serious, Y/N. Juyeon is smitten with you."
You pressed your lips together to contain a cheesing smile. Suyeon nodded in agreement, "Don't forget we're on the dance team so we know him quite well. We've never seen him with a girl like this."
"Maybe he just kept it separate from dance."
"Then he was not seeing anyone because he was dedicated to that shit 24/7," Jiwon told you, "Trust us. He likes you."
You looked on apprehensively, "Guys, we just met. It's been a week and a half."
Minseo flopped back on the bed in exasperation, "Have you never heard of love at first sight? I feel like it's pretty common that crushes develop quite quickly, especially if you're spending all day and night with someone."
"Think of Love Island," Jiwon offered, glaring at you when you stifled a laugh, "They're locked in a villa together 24/7 and by day 3 they're married with kids making out by the pool. You're basically doing better than them!"
You giggle at her analogy, appreciating the girls trying to justify the growing affection you've developed for the sleepy-eyes boy the past few days, "Maybe, but even still, I'm not the type to make the first move at all. I still want to give it time."
Suyeon nodded in understanding, "That's fair. Don't worry though, you'll know your answer by how he reacts to you tonight. You're a literal smoke show, babe."
You side-hug her in thanks and return the compliment. Minseo pushed herself off the bed as she checked the phone, "The guys have already left. We should get going too."
Downstairs, the four of you strapped on your sandals and did a sweep of the house to make sure everyone had left and you didn't accidentally leave anyone behind. Jiwoo recalled a time to you about how after one dance show that everyone either attended or participated in, they were sorting out transport after the show and each car thought that another car was taking Sunwoo home. It resulted in Sangyeon having to turn the car around once they realised at the restaurant that Sunwoo wasn't there and a grudge that Sunwoo held for months afterwards.
When you reached the restaurant in town after a small drive, the boys had already been sat down for a few minutes. The server led you to an area where they had joined 3 tables together to accompany your large group. You could see the spaces they left in the middle for the four of you.
"Y/N," a soft voice called out for you as you reached the table. Juyeon stood up from his spot and pulled a chair out, "Hope you don't mind sitting next to me."
The girls let out some sounds of amusement behind you as they took their seats. Jiwon slid in to the sit between yours and Younghoon. With your body aflame, you returned a gracious smile, "Not at all, Juyo."
After you had sat down and greeted the other boys, you opened up the menu to confirm what you wanted despite checking it earlier. Everyone's attention had turned away from you, so Juyeon took it as an opportunity to lean closer and bring his lips up to your ear, hidden from view by the menus.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he murmured shyly.
Fighting the urge to just scream in glee and giddiness, you chewed on your bottom lip. Juyeon's hair was styled differently today with some of his hair being pushed back and away from his forehead when day-to-day, his hair fell into his eyes. He was wearing a plain button up with the top buttons undone and he had sprayed on a perfume that was completely intoxicating.
"You don't look too bad yourself," you whispered to him, masking the way your heart was racing just at the sight of him.
Juyeon returned a triumphant smile and moved back to look at his own menu. From beside you, Jiwon was practically vibrating in her seat from excitement.
"He's just being nice," you mouthed to her. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her best friend slash longstanding crush.
You were never much of a drinker in college. Sure, you partook in your fair share of college parties and bar hopping nights, but you wouldn't say that you were an expert in the matter. Your tolerance was okay, but as the dinner progressed, it seemed like a better and better idea to keep ordering more wine.
By the end of it, all non-drivers on the table were verging on tipsy, all while Kevin, Sangyeon, Minseo and Jacob watched in amusement. There hadn't been any more heart-swooning moments from Juyeon through the dinner, but just being sat in close proximity to him made you feel safe and warm.
When it was time to head back to the lake house, Sangyeon had proposed the idea of ending the night with lighting the fire outside. You had utilized it a few times already, so there was a reserve of wood and flammable materials in the corner waiting to be used. It was a clear and still night with a slight breeze, so it was perfect to light it up.
Thankfully, Sangyeon and Jacob being sober worked out as they could start the fire together without harm. You definitely didn't trust the stumbling Eric or mumbling Haknyeon to do it themselves. Even Hyunjae looked a bit out of it.
The fire was roaring strong as you perched yourself on one of the benches surrounding it. Every so often, Sangyeon was throwing a log into the flames and fanning it to keep it going. It wasn't too cold in the night, but the fire provided a blanketing warmth. You were all still in your 'fancy' outfits and everyone was taking photos at different spots in the back yard. Jacob had fetched his guitar and was strumming random melodies while Sunwoo and Chanhee sang along beside him.
To your left, you heard a click of a camera.
"Lee Juyeon, will you stop taking photos of me?" you mused as you found him with the camera up to his eyes.
He smiled softly, "What's wrong with wanting to remember this moment? You look beautiful."
Your eyes fluttered shut as his words tugged at your lips, "Juyeon..."
Juyeon let out a hearty laugh as he put the camera down and scooted closer to you on the bench, thighs pressing against each other, "I'm being too obvious, aren't I?"
Everyone else was far away enough from you to be able to hear, so you were less fearful of being subject to teasings if they heard this conversation.
You thought that the wine was giving you a bit too much liquid courage, "Keep it up and I might believe what our friends are telling me."
Juyeon's breath hitched, "And what are they telling you?"
Eyes closed, you felt Juyeon press his side more purposely against yours, "I don't wanna say," you mumbled.
"Oh come on, don't I have the right to know if it concerns me?" Juyeon retorted back, "Please?"
A burst of courage pumped through your veins, "They're saying you might have a crush."
Juyeon was silent for so long that you were afraid that if you opened your eyes, he'd have disappeared. Still, you felt the warmth of his body radiating to you. Your head was heavy, lolling in front of you while Juyeon formulated his words.
You opened your eyes to a blazing fire as Juyeon chuckled lowly beside you, "I might."
Your voice indicated the surprise you felt at his indirect confession, "You might?"
"I might," he repeated. You could hear the smile in his voice, "Hard not to."
You avoid looking at him as you find a stick on the ground and start poking the fire, "You develop crushes that quick?"
"What can I say? I've always been a hopeless romantic," Juyeon mused, stretching out his arm behind you to be able to lean on them as he shuffled in his seat.
"That's not what I've heard," you recalled the conversations you've had with his friends.
Juyeon gasped, "How much have they been talking to you about me?"
You chuckled, "You're all they can ever talk about with me, if I'm being honest."
Juyeon grumbled under his breath, "I'm gonna kill all of them!"
You paused for a moment, suddenly frowning at the orange flames, "Is this just the wine talking, Juyeon?"
He snapped his head towards you so suddenly that you do the same and finally meet his eyes. The flames reflecting back in his eyes and on his face cast a golden glow on his skin, "What? No! They might have given me the courage to say these things but I'd never deceive you."
You dropped your voice to a whisper, "Do you mean it? That you might have a crush?"
Juyeon giggled at your words as he reached up to your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Oh, he was surely a hopeless romantic.
"Definitely."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
When you woke up the next morning, your heart was already racing. It was the residual effects of the way Lee Juyeon made you feel the night before. While you couldn't talk much more after Kevin plopped down on the bench beside you causing you two to jump apart, you shared many knowing smiles throughout the night.
But it left more questions unanswered than answered. Despite that, you tried to push down the feelings of uncertainty to focus on the present.
Kevin and Jacob were already awake by the time that you emerged from under your sheets. They were both applying their skincare on the bed, a Youtube video playing on low volume near them.
"Morning sunshine," Kevin's voice was too teasing that you knew you were in for it, "How was your night with mister loverboy?"
"Kevin," you warned lowly, sending piercing glares in his direction. Jacob had stopped what he was doing to listen in.
"All I'm saying is that you two looked very comfy by the fire last night," he shrugged innocently, "Look, Juyeon's a great guy. Not sure why I didn't think to set him up with you, but you two go together well."
"Can't believe you thought Chanhee was a better option," Jacob snorted beside him. Kevin picked up his pillow and smacked his companion with it.
"Juyeon's great," you affirmed, "I just don't want to go too fast or anything since I don't even know where I'm gonna end up."
"Have you heard back from any of the jobs you've been applying for?" Kevin asked softly.
Every single day, at the end of the evening, you would open your laptop in bed and send applications for every new job listing you could find, even if they weren't related to your degree. Someone would have to take you, right?
You nodded slowly, "I have a few interviews in the city after we get back. I'm trying not to get my hopes up with any of them since I've done so many interviews this past year to no avail."
Kevin got up to your bed and gave you a squeeze, "You'll find something, okay? You're too good to let go of and all those companies were dumb to not have you."
"Thank you Kevin," you said sincerely.
"Now, get up! It's beach day!" Kevin yelped excitedly.
Although you were facing a very large lake, there was still something different about going to the beach, digging your toes in the sand and dipping into the ocean. The nearest nice beach was nearly an hour away, so you all agreed to try and get up and get ready early.
You took a lightning fast shower and packed your things into your bag. The boys had brought tents with them that you could use to get changed in once you got to the beach, so you just slipped on a sundress with sandals. You met the girls in their room and then planned to go down to Minseo's car. Although you rode over with Kevin, you were definitely enjoying the girls' presence and so moved yourself to their car by their insistence.
When you were at the top of the staircase, you felt an arm brush against yours and the weight of your tote bag disappearing as it was snatched out of your hand.
"Morning," Juyeon breathed, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear.
You jumped in your spot, clutching your chest in surprise, "Oh my God, Juyeon! You scared me! And I can take my bag."
Juyeon raced ahead a few steps to keep it out of your grasp, "It's no problem. Are you going in Minseo's car?"
"Mhm," you nodded as he opened the front door to find some of the other boys loading their things in. You waved good morning to each of them as you unlocked Minseo's car with the keys she entrusted to you. They were still packing their last bits.
Sangyeon bounded over from his car, eyeing you and Juyeon, "Hey, we only want to take 3 cars instead of 4 to the beach. We need another person in the girls' car."
Before Juyeon could open his mouth to volunteer, Younghoon had rushed over and stretched his arms over the both of you, wedging you apart, "And that's gonna be me. Sorry Juyo. Get Eric or Hak to switch with your girlfriend."
Both you and Juyeon let out a trapped, muffled sound of surprise at his comment and you kept your eyes down on the gravel to avoid showing everyone your flushed faces.
Younghoon's belly laugh echoed through the lake, "I'm just playing, guys. You should see your faces- ow! Juyeon!"
Juyeon smirked innocently, batting his eyelashes like he didn't just kick Younghoon in the shin. Sangyeon tutted like them like a disgruntled dad as he returned to his own car. Through his window, you could see Chanhee, Changmin and Sunwoo all already asleep in the back of the car while Hyunjae loaded heavy-looking coolers into the back.
Younghoon dashed inside, probably to help the girls with their items, leaving you and Juyeon looking at each other wide-eyes and shy.
"Sorry about him," Juyeon sheepishly said.
You waved him off with a dismissive hand, "Don't worry- I've got used to the teasing. How was your sleep?"
"I barely slept last night," he admitted, "I was overthinking. I wasn't too much last night, was I?"
You shook your head immediately, "No, no. Of course not. We didn't get to talk much last night, but honestly, you're good. We're on the same page, I think."
Juyeon fought the smile on his face, "We are?"
"Definitely," you echoed his words from the previous night with a teasing tone. You could practically see him folding into himself in shyness, but you just tugged at the hem of his shirt with a soft expression, "It's so early in the morning to be teased together by Jacob and Kevin if we go in the same car, so I'll just see you at the beach. Is that okay?"
Juyeon nodded affirmatively, "I agree. I'm just gonna pass out in the car anyway. Have a safe trip, pretty."
Your cheeks were permanently red around him, "You too, Juyeon."
When your car was finally on the road going at a constant speed, Minseo looked at you through the rearview mirror and sighed, "I've always wanted a summer romance."
You frowned slightly, "Do you think me and Juyeon will just be a summer thing?"
Minseo's mouth dropped agape as she rushed to collect herself, "No, no. I didn't mean that. I just meant I've always wanted to meet someone on vacation and make a relationship out of it. I think it's cute."
"Juyeon's not one for flings," Jiwon uttered beside you. She was squished in the middle seat between you and Younghoon, who was sleeping soundly with his head nested in her shoulder, "He's never had a girlfriend or a situationship through college. I don't know about high school, but I don't think Juyeon's the type to play around with girls."
"And he wears his heart on his sleeve. We've always been able to tell what he's feeling- if he's nervous, if he's mad or frustrated. He's such a sweet guy so we hope you can take care of him too," Suyeon added on from the passenger seat.
You nodded slowly at their heartfelt words, "I've realised that about him. He's very real."
"Did you guys confess to each other last night?" Minseo asked hesitantly, "You guys looked really close by the fire."
"Kevin said the same thing this morning," you chortled, "And kind-of, I guess? It was more of a half-confession."
"That's better than nothing," Suyeon hummed, "You guys should talk properly before we leave."
You agreed noiselessly as you thought about it. There was definitely something going on between you- that much was clear. You were a little nervous about it all after remembering what Chanee said to you about people developing feelings in close proximity, but you thought to yourself that that wasn't something to project onto yourself or onto Juyeon without proper deliberation.
You were also in close proximity with the other boys, but that didn't mean that you developed feelings for them either. You felt that you owed it to Juyeon who was brave enough to be so forward with his feelings to explore the relationship without prejudice.
Sure, it might get hard when you start working and living your lives again, but that was for future you who had experienced it to decide. You've let your fears stop you from many things in your life before, but whenever you're beside Juyeon, he makes you feel like you should throw out all those doubts and just enjoy the present moment with him.
You got so in your head during the car ride that you didn't even notice the car halting to a stop and the locks clicking open.
"We're here," Suyeon murmured softly, reaching from the front to gently shake Jiwon and Younghoon awake. She turned to you with an understanding look, "You okay, babe?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, "I'm just trying not to worry about it."
"Mhm," she smiled softly as Jiwon stretched awake beside you with a sleepy grunt.
The beach car park wasn't too far from the sand, so you all loaded your arms with the items from the trunk in order to set up camp for the day. It was blazing hot with the sun high up in the sky, so you were all sweating by the time you decided on a large enough spot on the beach. Thankfully, it wasn't too busy as it was a weekday, but there were still some people dotted around.
Jacob's car hadn't arrived yet since Kevin texted in the groupchat that they had to make a stop to let Eric go to the bathroom halfway through. Sangyeon's car was taking the coolers and the tents down to the beach and thankfully, the tents didn't require setting up other than anchoring them down in place with sandbags and everyone's belongings.
The group decided a few nights ago that you were going to do a barbecue on the beach after you swam for a bit, so Hyunjae and Younghoon were separating all the ingredients they had brought for that into a corner of the space. Sunwoo, Chanhee and Changmin had immediately ran away with a beach volleyball to play with away from the food.
You laid out a bunch of beach mats and picnic blankets, keeping them from blowing away by placing someone's bag on each of the corners. Suyeon and Jiwon were applying sunscreen on each other, having changed into their bikinis already, meanwhile you were waiting for Minseo to change in the second tent after you changed in the first one.
"I'm so hungry," Minseo grumbled as she dropped her bag of clothes on the mat and rummaged for the sunscreen.
"Me too, but we can't swim for a while if we eat," you reminded her. You had munched on a breakfast bar that Minseo kept stashed in her car at the start of the journey, but you had to wait to eat lunch or else going into the ocean wasn't a good idea. You don't actually know if that's a myth or not, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
She squeezed a dollop of cream into your hands that you lathered all over the areas you could reach and then turned your attention to each other to help get the spots missed. You let it seep into your skin first so it wouldn't get washed off as soon as you entered the ocean.
By the time you felt ready to go, Jacob's car had pulled up and you could hear them coming from a mile away thanks to the speaker in Eric's hand already booming music. They didn't have much in their cars, but you could see a donut inflatable around Juyeon's arms.
"Hi gorgeous," Juyeon smirked at you as he placed down the ring on the mat, "You look ready to jump into the sea."
"We've been waiting for a bit," you burrowed your toes into the golden, warm sand.
"Blame Eric. He didn't go to the bathroom before we left and then chugged a bottle of water," Juyeon rolled his eyes, "It's okay, I put on sun protection in the car."
You laughed at the visual that appeared suddenly in your head, "You guys were definitely rubbing sunscreen on each other's backs, right?"
He hid a guilty smile, "Maybe, maybe."
Mid-laugh, you were struck silent as Juyeon suddenly pulled his shirt off in one quick motion. The past week and a half that you'd been swimming in the pool, he'd been wearing a top. Sure when he was drenched, the fabric would cling to his skin and you could see the outline of his abs through them if you were looking (you definitely were not), but seeing him suddenly shirtless in front of you had your mouth gasping apart. The sun made his abs reflect golden honey and his muscly arms flexed as he pulled the shirt off.
Juyeon smirked at your reaction, "You're gonna catch flies, babe."
You snapped your mouth shut, scrunching your face in embarrassment as he chuckled at you. Trying to walk away from him, Juyeon just huffed and caught your bare waist with his large hands, pulling you back towards him, "Don't be shy, c'mere."
A passing Changmin gagged as he glared at you two, "Oh I'm gonna be sick. Get a room."
Chanhee, who was walking by his side and practically attached to his hip, huffed along, "They make me feel so single. It's so gross."
"Fuck off," Juyeon smiled innocently at his friends, who flipped him off without even sparing a glance at the two of you. He turned his attention back to you, "Sorry, is this too much?"
The sliver of skin he was touching was burning under his fingers, but you pushed down your usual reservedness, "I feel like exploding, but no, it's okay."
He bit at his plump lips, "You're so cute. Let's go swim?"
"I don't know if swim is the right word. I told you I can't swim. Maybe waddle is better," you reminded him at your inability.
Juyeon ahh'ed and picked up the inflatable, "Use this, then. Or hold onto me, yeah? I won't let you drown, promise."
He held up his pinky finger at you, which you wrapped your own around. But instead of breaking apart, Juyeon used it to tug at you towards the ocean. He started breaking out into a jog, catching you off guard, and you picked up your pace to run beside him.
When you reached the ocean, you were struggling to catch your breath from both laughing so hard and the sudden exercise he made you do. Thankfully, the sea was warm under the sun, so it wasn't an added shock to the system.
Juyeon helped slide the ring over your body so that you were in the middle of the donut hole and you paddled deeper into the ocean where your feet couldn't touch anymore. A few metres away from you, Haknyeon and Sunwoo were splashing at each other.
"This is nice, I like this," you told Juyeon happily, "I was kinda scared to go into the ocean."
Juyeon placed his hand on the ring, "Don't worry, I got you. Let's go a bit deeper, yeah?"
You let him push you along a bit further since his feet were still touching the sand at the bottom and when the water came up to his shoulders, he stopped and let you paddle around him in the donut. He watched in amusement as you giggled to yourself happily.
"So adorable," he murmured. After a few minutes, when he realised that there was no one near the two of you for a considerable distance, he reached his arm out to half your floatie.
"Mhm?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as he pulled you in closer.
"Do you trust me?" Juyeon began, eyes shining with mischief.
Your eyes widened as you gripped the float tight to your body, "Oh no. What is it?"
Juyeon chuckled and reached for your waist under the water. He tugged at you, but the float kept your bodies at a distance.
"Wrap your legs around me. I'm gonna take the float off you," he proposed slowly, watching your reaction.
"Juyeon," you drawled in fear, holding on even tighter.
"I won't let you drown, come on," he encouraged, "I'm still touching the ground."
Reluctantly, you moved your body as close as you could to him. The minute he felt your legs close around his torso, he flicked the float off over your head and pulled you in flush with his toned arms. Disregarded, the donut moved steadily with the waves.
"I told you," he murmured. You had got a bit surprised from the way he pulled you tight to his body, instinctively tucking your head into his neck and squealing. Juyeon rubbed at your back with his palm to reassure you.
This was definitely the closest that you'd been to Juyeon at all- actually, it was a major step up altogether. You think that you half-confessions you'd shared with each other had given him all the confidence and courage all at once.
"Is this okay?" Juyeon asked quietly as both of your hearts thumped against your chests strongly.
He had asked you that so much, just showing how much of a gentleman he truly was, never wanting to go further than you were comfortable with.
"Yeah," you hummed softly, pulling your head back to look at him. A gentle smile rested on his features as he gazed at you. Your back was turned away from the shore, "Are they looking?"
Juyeon craned his head around you and stifled a laugh, "They're trying to act like they're not. Do you care?"
You thought about it for a moment. To be honest, they all already knew; they were the ones pushing you together at every moment. You shook your head, "No."
Juyeon grinned, moving the hair that had floated to your face behind your ear. Your hands were preoccupied hanging on for dear life around his neck, so he took it as his obligation to help, "You're so beautiful, Y/N."
A lot of guys had told you that, especially on the blind dates you've been on. Whenever they said it, it never felt real and always just felt like they were saying it to get in your pants or as a gateway for you to owe them something. When Juyeon says it to you, his words drip with sincerity.
"Thank you," you mumbled shyly, moving your head back into his neck.
Your torsos were pressed against each other, so you could feel the rumble and vibration of his body as he laughed at your reaction. You tried to unbury yourself away from him, but his hand crept up to the back of your neck and kept you there, sending shivers down your spine. Your body shook in anticipation as the silence hung thick in the air.
"I'm just gonna say it," he breathed out shakily, "I really do like you, Y/N. I know we've only known each other 2 weeks, but I've really enjoyed spending time with you. You honestly have made me feel things I haven't before and I get excited to see you every morning. That's so cheesy, I know. If you do like me back, I don't want to ask you to be my girlfriend yet, but would you be down to keep getting to know each other and going on dates after this and seeing where it takes us?"
You're not sure if he kept your face buried into his skin for your benefit or his, since his voice was shaking as he spoke. You smiled into his neck, whispering confidently, "I like you too, Juyeon. Isn't it obvious?"
"Maybe, but I like that. I don't like playing games," Juyeon released his hold on the back of your neck and moved his arm back to your waist to keep you pressed against him.
"You've only been out of college a few weeks, how are you so mature already?" you playfully teased as you peered up at him.
Rolling he eyes, he squeezed at your waist, "I've always been mature. It's a shame we didn't meet earlier; now I feel like they were gate keeping you away from me."
"You were one of the last ones I had yet to meet," you revealed, "I had met everyone briefly other than you, the girls, Eric and Hak."
He bumped your forehead with his, "Best for last, right?"
"Definitely," you grinned.
"Okay, I dragged you out just to tell you all this, to be honest. Let's go back to everyone before I lose control and kiss you or something," Juyeon suddenly blurted, taking a few steps back to the shore with you still wrapped around him.
A surge of confidence had you squeezing your legs around him to stop him, "Who's stopping you?"
Juyeon's eyes widened in surprise as he chewed at his lip. Reluctantly, he dropped his voice and leaned in closer to you, "Are you sure?" His hot breath fanned over your lips.
He'd practically made all the first moves up until this point and you could see the honesty in his eyes. You figured you'd save him the trouble as you reached forward and pressed your lips against his.
He tasted a bit salty from when he had splashed the ocean water over his face and a bit like the orange Fanta he was drinking earlier when he got out of the car. Juyeon yelped in shock against your lips, but smiled into them as he applied more pressure and properly slotted his lips between yours.
You hadn't planned on actually making out with him in the middle of the ocean as your friends watched on in astonishment, but he captured your lips every time you pulled away slightly and licked at your bottom lip with his tongue. Your hold around his neck grew stronger as his grip on your waist grew tighter.
"Juyeon," you whispered against him when you came up for air.
"Don't blame me, this is your doing," he uttered each word between deep kisses. He wasn't kidding, he felt like he had lost control when it came to you and he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you. The gentle tide was bobbing the two of you up and down, but he kept his hold tight as he kept your lips attached and slotted his tongue into your mouth.
You indulged in him, deepening the kiss even more, "I'm really glad I met you, Juyeon," you panted.
This was enough to pull him away from you, keeping your foreheads pressed together, "Me too, Y/N. Me too."
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
So you didn't hear the end of it from your friends during the rest of the beach day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. It wasn't like you'd planned the impromptu make out session to be witnessed by 13 pairs of eyes, but honestly it's their fault for not looking away.
Juyeon also didn't hear the end of it from Sunwoo for letting his inflatable donut float away too far out of reach to retrieve. The younger boy forced him to send more money than it actually cost as compensation, but Juyeon believed it was totally worth it.
It was your final full day at the lake house and you haven't been able to peel Juyeon away from you for more than a couple minutes. In full honesty, you'd always wanted a boyfriend that clung to your side and kept you warm, safe and protected and he was definitely checking off all those boxes.
"Disgusting," Hak scoffed as he passed behind you on the couch. You were sitting sideways in Juyeon's lap, scrolling on your phone as he played against Hyunjae on a game you had never heard of. The competitor was sat far away from the two of you on a different couch across the living room.
"It's not my fault you're single," Juyeon clapped back without missing a beat.
Haknyeon groaned and ran away faster to the back yard. You'd already spent the morning outside- Juyeon had been making good on his promise to improve your table tennis skills this whole trip, but you definitely wouldn't consider yourself a ping pong goddess yet. Thankfully, there wasn't a time limit anymore for him to keep helping you improve.
In between rounds, Juyeon would pat your head and stroke your hair softly. You would turn to him and give a soft smile that he would return before Hyunjae loaded up the next game. You were just going through your emails, blocking out in your calendar all the interviews you had amassed from your applications over the three weeks. You were feeling more optimistic about returning to the world, even more so with new relationships and friendships making your life more exciting. You were also excited to see your college friends again; they were sulky about missing out seeing you become smitten with a man, but their teasing was never-ending anyway.
"Baby you can go join the others if you're bored," Juyeon murmured lowly as he kept his eyes on the flat screen TV. He was aggressively mashing the buttons on the controller and you actually had no idea if he knew what he was doing.
"I'm fine here," you assured him.
One thing that had changed since Juyeon confessed to you was the development of pet names. Juyeon adored calling you every pet name under the sun, no matter how shy or blushing they made you. Another thing was his clinginess; Juyeon barely touched you at all before you two bared your feelings and you had no idea how he kept that side of him under wraps. He was lucky that you indulged in each and every one of his quirks.
When Juyeon was by your side, he was either holding your hand, playing with your fingers or wrapping his entire, huge body around you. He was so much taller than you that he practically swamped you, but it made you feel so giddy. Now you knew the exact meaning of the honeymoon phase.
He showed you his affection previously through acts of service and he hasn't slowed down in that department since. In only a few days, he had committed himself to making you a morning beverage as soon as you woke up and making sure that you were warm when the nights became cooler or shaded when the sun was too hot. Sure, he may have a patch of sunburn on his back, but as long as you didn't, he was a-okay.
"You're quieter today. Are you sure everything's okay?" Juyeon hummed. Hyunjae was too busy screaming at the TV to hear anything you two were saying.
"I dunno. I'm excited to go back and explore us, but at the same time, I really, really don't want to leave," you squeezed your eyes shut with a deep breath, "I don't want anything to ruin what we have."
Juyeon's eyebrows pulled together in concern, but he dropped a comforting kiss on your shoulder to comfort you, "It might be different, which I know is scary, but that's the exciting part. It might be even better than this! We'll always have this summer together, but just give us a chance out there, yeah?"
"Of course, Juyo," you flopped your head into his chest and nuzzled yourself into his shirt, "I don't have any doubts about us, I promise. It's just that everything is so new."
"It's gonna be great, baby. I'm already planning all the dates I wanna take you on and all the things I wanna show you and everywhere I wanna eat with you and-"
Hyunjae let out a yelp of frustration as he lost the battle. You don't know how Juyeon was winning despite him rambling adorably to you.
Your lips curled into a smile at his blabbing and you cut him off by pressing your lips into his jawline. Juyeon mirrored your expression and craned his head to connect your lips together. Juyeon was definitely insatiable when it came to kissing.
"I thought the pining was bad, but this is much, much, much, much worse," Hyunjae cried out, throwing his controller on the seat beside him, "Do you two have no shame? Y/N, you were so shy in the beginning."
Your head was buried into Juyeon's neck as he wrapped his arms around you, game abandoned. Feet padded loudly on the hardwood floors as Kevin's voice sounded out, "Oh, she's only shy at first. Y/N is actually a menace."
"This is all kind of your doing, Kevin," you gestured to you and Juyeon.
Kevin bounded over and leaned down to squeeze the two of you in his arms, "And that's why I expect your first baby to be named after me! Kevin or Hyungseo, I'm not picky."
Juyeon scoffed at him and shoved him away, "Shut up, you didn't do anything. Don't give him credit, Y/N."
"You know I had to beg Y/N for three months straight to come, right?" Kevin deadpanned, "I definitely deserve thanks."
"Well it's definitely no thanks to you that I only met her now when you've known her for a year and a half!" Juyeon retorted passionately.
Kevin plopped down on the couch beside Juyeon, shoving away your feet that were perched up on them, "We had to physically drag you out of the dance studio if we wanted to hang out with you. You genuinely had a visceral reaction to the thought of leaving that basement."
Juyeon had been showing you videos of his choreographies the past few days and while he was incredibly innately talented, you also could see how much work he put into his craft. You were definitely very, very attracted to that side of him, not only for his talent but also for his dedication and persevering nature. He promised to teach you a few things about dance, but you told him not to get his hopes up in that department.
Juyeon couldn't argue with that one, so he just nuzzled his head into your body. You squealed at how adorable he was being, while the other boys around you audibly cringed in unison.
"Is it too late to back out of our tenancy agreement?" Changmin sighed, also taking a seat on the adjacent couch. Juyeon just threw a pillow at him that he caught and popped on his lap.
Both Juyeon and Changmin were employed by the dance studio to start after graduation. Since they'd been house mates for a couple of years already, it just made sense to continue living together at a place closer to the studio. Another reason why you'd never met Juyeon was that out of the batch of guys in your graduating class, only Kevin lived apart from them off-campus. Chanhee was left behind from the roommate situation after Juyeon and Changmin found a new place, but he quickly weaselled his way into convincing the incoming seniors Sunwoo, Haknyeon and Eric to live with him in a 4 bedroom house since he got a job at the university.
"Where are you gonna live by the way, Y/N?" Kevin asked curiously.
"My childhood home isn't that far, so I'll probably stay at home for a bit until I figure out everything. I'll probably get a place in town as soon as I can," you manifested to yourself, "I'm trying not to worry about it."
Juyeon gently ran his fingers through your hair, "Yeah, don't worry about it."
"You can sleep on mine and Jacob's couch if you ever need. We're gonna get a pull-out," Kevin grinned. He was giving up his solo, roommate-less life to move in with his fellow Canadian.
Juyeon gasped dramatically and trapped you in his arms, "No way is she sleeping on your couch! What if Cobie-hyung tries to steal her from me?"
Kevin reached over the couch and slapped Juyeon around the head playfully, "Stop being jealous that Y/N and Jacob went on a date before she even knew you existed."
You giggled at his pout and leaned into his hold, "Jacob has no chance against you."
A pained sound came from the direction of the back door, "Y/N! You wound me!"
"Why are you all just suddenly appearing when you're mentioned in the conversation?" you cried out exasperatedly as Jacob passed by the living room. He sent you a teasing wink, which Juyeon belatedly blocked by placing his hand in front of your face. You swatted at his hand, but he in turn just gripped your fingers in his hold.
Eventually, everyone congregated in the living room one by one. It was your last night together, so you all decided to just collate a bunch of food in the middle of the living room, put on some music and drink if you wanted to. Juyeon had volunteered to drive Kevin's car home since Kevin had a whole bottle of whiskey he was dying to finish, so you decided to stay sober with him so you could stay up on the drive without the effects of a hangover.
In the kitchen, you, Juyeon and Chanhee had prepared a bunch of snacks, ramen, meat and other food, meanwhile everyone dragged their pillows and duvets downstairs. You don't know if one big sleepover on the couches and hardwood floors was good for your bodies the night before a long drive home, but it seemed like the best idea at the moment.
It was amusing to watch everyone get drunk and recount their favourite memories from the trip, such as finally succeeding in ambushing Sunwoo to throw him in the pool. One of your own personal favourites was finally being consistently on the winning team of chicken fight in the pool once you convinced Juyeon to partner up with you. You deduced that Kevin was the problem in the pair.
When the night was dwindling down and everyone began to transition into a sleepy state, you changed the music to a calm Disney film that you could leave running in the background. Eric and Sunwoo were the first to knock out, snoring on one of the mattress they had hauled from their rooms. Two mattresses and a knocked out Hyunjae, Sangyeon, Minseo and Suyeon away, you were tucked under Juyeon's comforter and cuddling against his body. He had one arm under your head and the other draped over the top of you, his fingertips ghosting on your back. You were facing him, chin tilted up as you peppered silent kisses along the bottom half of his face and his neck.
"Are you sure you don't mind falling asleep next to me? I can move if you want," Juyeon mumbled sleepily, his eyelids heavy and closing involuntarily no matter how much he fought. Even in this state, he still put you and your comfort first.
"Thanks, Juyo. This is perfect, I promise," you cooed into his skin, "Let's go to sleep, yeah?"
"Mhm, goodnight my love," Juyeon's breathing eventually slowed down and became more steady as his heartbeat did the same. You matched his breathing and it wasn't long before you fell into dreamland with him, "See you in the morning."
"Goodnight, my Juyeon."
You never could have expected or anticipated just how much this trip that Kevin had pestered you to go on would change your life. Maybe your story with Juyeon was a whirlwind romance, but it was still just the start. You never could have foreseen the way the sweet boy with the cat-like sleepy eyes could unpick your heart and nestle himself in there. You never would have guessed you would find comfort and solace in someone like Lee Juyeon at such an uncertain time of your life.
And when he dropped you off at the doorstep of your parents' house at the end of the trip (it was definitely way too early for him to come inside), the searing kiss he left on your lips and the promise to see you the next day made you feel like meeting Lee Juyeon was your serendipitous fate - an accidental discovery, a happenstance you stumbled upon, but one that was inevitable in every way.
a/n: thank you thank you thank you for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3
description: if the landline rings, remember to answer the questions 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. you don’t want to be locked in a house with a masked killer. a tbz au based on & inspired by (scream 1996).
warnings: mentions of violence, murder, blood. this is a work of fiction !!! however, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 … 🔪💀
member: tbz x you
channel: @deoboyznet
word count: 5k+
NEWS ANCHOR: “The murder of two high school students in the small town of Saltclover has led to the closure of their local high school due to an outbreak of pranks. Students wearing a costume sold as the grim reaper or as their calling it ‘ghost face’ have been heartlessly terrorizing this suburban school after the incident. This is Madeline Fox, Channel One News.”
♫ PSYCHO KILLER - TALKING HEADS plays faintly in the distance. ♫
🔪 10PM IN SALTCLOVER, 30th October 1996
“AGHHH!” A group of kids scream as a man adorning a ghostface mask whips his around from the corner of a tree. Then they scream again as they see another one behind them.
“Got ‘em.” Juyeon rips the mask of his face, high fiving Changmin as they both chuckle with enlightenment.
“Guys it’s not funny to be wearing those, nevermind scaring the little ones.” You sigh, stood on the front porch with a bowl of candy tucked between your elbow.
“They’re literally middle schoolers, too old to be trick or treating anyway. Besides what? You scared?” Changmin laughed, rubbing the mask in your face before walking inside, Juyeon chuckling shortly behind him.
The crackling of the log fire in the living room created a warm ambience, lighting up the room in an orange light. Duvets and pillows all messily lined across the floor as halloween played on the television on the opposite side of the room.
“And then she screams, the ghost is right behind her. She runs away he catches her and guts her like a fish. It was all a dream though.” Changmin burst into maniacal laughter before tucking himself into the sheets beneath him.
“What if, he caught her, bit off her fingers and became known as the finger ghost.” Juyeon adds with spooky jazz hands, crouched in front us, the both of them kept chuckling and watching your reactions, but nothing.
“You guys, two people we know literally died can you not take this a little bit more seriously?” You asked cocking an eyebrow towards the two boys who stared back blankly.
“The more fear you feel, the more you manifest the danger y/n.” Changmin sighed, grabbing the television remote began flicking the channels for another movie.
Eventually all the horror films that you’d all seen around 3 times over sent all 3 of you to sleep. As you slept soundly with locked doors, closed blinds, a black cat perched upon your windowsill looking out into the moon.
🔪7PM SALTCLOVER, 31st October 1996
♫ BACKSTREET BOYS - EVERYBODY, playing through the stereo system. ♫
Halloween was usually a time of harmless fun, where most normally functioning teenagers dressed in silly costumes and pretended they were in a movie as they trashed somebody else’s shitty house party. Unfortunately with a serial murderer running around it was hard for most of society to have fun, knowing someone in a grim reaper mask could show up any second and take your life from your hands. The boys didn’t seem to let such nuisance bother them as they all showed up to your home, wearing costumes from the classics to movie characters to musicians.
“Guys let’s play ring of fire!” Kevin suggested, suitably clothed in a ruby red leather outfit that resembled Michael Jackson’s from the iconic Thriller music video - seemingly he’d put a lot of effort into crafting the costume, that was much like Kevin. The boys each sprant to the kitchen to table, placing a huge cup in the middle of a circle of cards before each looking at Sangyeon hopefully, who wore a blue jumpsuit, in hand a Michael Myers Mask from the famous horror movie ‘Halloween’
“Oldest first.” Sunwoo, the green power ranger pointed towards the cards waiting for him to pick, a silly smirk painted on his face. “Youngest last.”
“That’s unfair but whatever.” Sangyeon grabbed a card picking up the 9 of hearts and flashing it to the table. “Nine is rhyme, so death.”
“Breath.” Haknyeon, wearing all black with a batman mask, quickly added as they began to go around the table reciting words that rhymed.
“Why’d you pick that? Because you’re breath stinks?” Hyunjae laughed pulling a silly face to the boy who hid behind a chuckle at the remark.
“I was actually thinking about yours.” Haknyeon replied cleverly, sticking his tongue out like a child and then looking at Sunwoo expectantly.
“Meth.” Sunwoo added bluntly.
“What I’ll be doing when I leave this place.” Chanhee, rolled his eyes taking a polite chug of his drink since he couldn’t think of a word that rhymed. He wore all red with glitter on his eyes, his skin glowed off the colour and his neatly arranged side part brought everything together.
The sound of the landline ringing and rattling on the kitchen wall interrupted the circle, Sangyeon sighed and got up as the rest of the boys chatted and carried on with the game.
“Hello Sangyeon. You know …”A mysterious low voice taunted him on the other end of the line, you could almost here the cheshire cat grin across the long eerie pause he left. “I think there’s a snake in the room, I see you’re wearing Michael’s costume quite appropriate for someone who is willing to stab their friends in the back.”
“Who’s this?” Sangyeon furrowed his brows and adjusted his posture as he awaited a reply from the caller.
“Answer the question right to survive, who said this ‘Changmin is so insufferable, I have no idea why we are still friends with him’? Little cut throat to say about a friend right?”
“Oh shutup, prank call another house.” Sangyeon almost let out a cackle at how pathetic the call was in his head, probably just one of their high school friends trying to scare him.
“If you hang up you die. I can see you smiling, how about I cut one into that face of yours smart ass.” The mysterious caller grew angry, spitting down the wire hating the ridicule and how unserious Sangyeon thought he was.
“Okay, listen I said it and what?” Sangyeon smiled, since he knew the answer even if this guy was going to kill him, he was going to be correct anyways.
“Incorrect.” The caller replied with a dubious snicker, the sound of him licking his lips grotesquely sounded crystal clear through the speaker.
“What?” Sangyeon laughed in disbelief, he definitely had said that to a few people before so there was no way on earth it wasn’t him - at least in his mind.
“Sunwoo said it, you agreed remember? Don’t you?” Suddenly, Sangyeon’s memory jogged, despite having repeated Sunwoo’s words he wasn’t the first person to say such a thing.
“Who are you?” Sangyeon demanded to know the caller’s identity, his anger made evident as he gritted his teeth and gripped the halloween mask between his fist damp with fear.
“You didn’t even get to the next round. It was horror movie trivia! Snakes don’t survive in this world and as they always say oldest first!” The caller laughed before the phone was slammed into the receiver by Sangyeon, who then stormed up to the bathroom to cool off.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sunwoo asked, as he looked around at the silence on the table, the boys each staring blankly at each other as if there was something he’d missed whilst he’d went to retrieve a beer.
“Well, I walked past and whoever was on the phone said he’d been talking about Changmin behind his back with Sunwoo.” Jacob replied talking a sip of his drink obliviously, wearing a red polo and green apron with a shitty cardboard prop that read “PIZZA DELIVERY” in his own hand writing.
“Listen Changmin, we didn’t mean it like that-.” Sunwoo tried to excuse himself before Changmin who had dressed as Chucky slammed his palms on the table and walked out, tears in his eyes, into the garden for some air, Hyunjae following closely behind him in his Boy George costume.
“Guys we shouldn’t figh-” Younghoon tried to mediate but ultimately failed, the white garments and halo clearly not doing him any favors in trying to play peacemaker in this little argument.
“Let’s not try solve this right now, quite frankly I can’t be bothered.” Juyeon slammed his beer down on the table next to you, picking up the lasso for his Indiana Jones get up and also walking out on to the patio to observe the night.
“Roger that.” Eric further got up, his blonde hair slicked back and an orange scarf tied around his neck. He made probably the most accurate ‘Fred’ from scooby doo you’d ever seen.
🔪 HEY Y/N, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?
🔪.
It made you happy to see everyone dressed up and get together at times like this, however you couldn’t bare to see everyone argue over such childish stuff like he said this? he that? bullshit.
Still the party is lively nethertheless, Juyeon appears from the patio seemingly having brought more beers from the garage in his hands.
Before he even began to speak a bloodcurdling scream bellows through the hallways, the sound of footsteps dashing downstairs and muffled tears getting closer to the kitchen.
“It’s Sangyeon, he’s dead! The front door is wide open, someone came in and killed him.” Chanhee screams, the palms of his hands covered in blood, trembling in fear with tears falling down his face. Juyeon gets up and dashes up the stairs followed by Sunwoo and soon Hyunjae as he hears the commotion.
Kevin calls the police, on the kitchen landline and you run to hug Chanhee and sit up down on one of the chairs as you shush and cradle him.
Soon sirens were arriving and red and blue lights flashed through the windows, who could of done this? It can’t be one of us? Surely.
🔪. 2.AM IN SALTCLOVER, 1st November 1996
News Anchor: “A killer is indeed on the loose, at a local house party where locals teens were celebrating the halloween season, they found their friend in the bathroom murdered. The police have advised no one to leave their homes until further notice.”
♫ SOMEBODYS WATCHING ME - ROCKWELL ♫ playing over the following scene.
“I mean how did he even get into my house? You don’t understand I’m terrified!” You fiddle with the wire of the telephone as the police search through your home. Eric on the other end of the line agrees, tries to calm you down a little bit, but at the same time he’s seemingly also chill about the situation.
You’d all been questioned on the scene, and whilst they tried to catch the killer who could be nearby, any extra evidence collection was postponed until further notice.
“We’re all done here.” A police officer pops his head through the crack of your door, you quickly ended the call, briefly saying bye to Eric. “Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” He further asked taking off his hat and giving you a comforting smile.
“Yeah I’ll manage.” You reply with a nod, knowing you were smart enough to keep everything under control on your own.
As the officer and forensic clean up team left, you closed your bedroom door feeling to ill to use the upstairs bathroom with the events of tonight. Before the landline began to rattle and ring on your bedside table again.
“What Eric?” You laugh picking up the phone expecting him to be there on the other end of the line again like he always was, yapping for hours and unable to control his talkative tendencies.
“Hi y/n.. how’s your evening.” A low unrecognizable male voice speaks through the line, you tangle your fingers in the wire and stand to look out of your bedroom window.
“Who’s this?” You ask with an eyebrow raised, a shiver tickling your spine at the sheer depth of his voice.
“How about I get to know you first, what’s your favorite horror movie?” He asked tauntingly, his breath heavy and menacing.
“Hmm.. Probably Friday the 13th why?” You answered the question before rolling your eyes, thinking a man had probably been looking for people to prank call in yellow pages and stumbled across you.
“Well answer me this question, I can see you looking outside but no one is there honey.” He spoke with a sly chuckle after pretty much every word he said and that’s when slight fear started to cross your mind.
“Exactly no one’s there, you’re just trying to scare me liar.” You laugh at him trying to scare you, after all there’s plenty of creeps out there and so many ghostface wannabes. He couldn’t possibly strike twice in one night.
“Oh but don’t you see I am.” With that a firework was set off on your front porch causing your breath to fall short, watching the red lights hit your window causing you to fall back on to your bed clumsily.
“What do you want from me?” You tremble slightly but assert confidence in your voice as he tries to taunt you from the outside.
“Oh I just want you to answer my questions.” You could hear the nature from outside, the trees rustling behind him as he spoke.
“What if I just hang up?” You asked before you heard him begin shouting down the line in a vicious tone about how idiotic you were being.
“Then I’ll gut you like a fish you clever bitch.” He spat clearly violently annoyed you were not taking him seriously, which irked him to the core. Covering your mouth, you realized he was being serious, this is what happened to Sangyeon on the phone? tears beginning to well as he begins to ask his question.
“In the movie Friday the 13th, what happened to the camp in 1958 that made it close?” He asked you a question about the movie you’d seen so many times, you can’t possibly get it wrong.
“Oh,I know this! Jason drowned and everyone thought he was dead..” You bit your lip anxiously, hand shaking, but you knew it ! That’s how Jason got away with it, they all thought he was dead!
“Incorrect. That was in 1957, there was a serial murder at the camp in 1958-” After he spoke those words you slammed the phone down, you should have thought more about your answer but you couldn’t help but think he would have killed you if you’d gotten it right anyway.
You almost wanted to crawl into a hole as the phone line ended, before you heard an immense crash echoing through halls and coming the front door. Footsteps creaking on the staircase, the end was near as the black fabric of his suit trailed the wooden floors.
You grabbed your star light, the metal cage that housed a bulb was the sharpest object in the room before creeping towards your bedroom door, locking it, ready to strike. You weren’t the dumb character in their horror movie, you were the smart one who put up a fight, you will be the one that escapes.
A knock at your door made your heart beat faster before a series of banging, splitting the wood of the door as the killer burst through in the grim reaper mask, gripping a sharp silver dagger.
You threw the lamp with every bit of strength and the killer fell to the ground with the metal wires of the light lodged in his stomach. You ran past him before he got up and chased you down the staircase, grabbing anything on your way and throwing it right at him. You tried to get out the front door but it was bolted shut and ghostface mask grabbed the back of your shirt holding you against him with the knife to your neck. Complying with him by putting your hands up before suddenly breaking free of his grip and pushing his hand away, it was clear he wanted to hear you scream and at least hear you suffer before being able to kill you.
After managing to escape you dash into the kitchen, throwing a chair to break the patio doors which were likely also locked and ran around towards the back gate, also bolted shut and nowhere near budging.
The killer stood at the end of the alleyway next to your house, slowly stepping closer as your back pressed against the back gate. Next to your foot there was a brick that prevented the gate from swinging open in the night, grabbing it you lobbed it straight towards the killer, hitting him square where he was already injured.
“How dare you kill my friends asshole.” You yelled at the top of your lungs before placing both feet on the metal bars of the fence and jumping over with a struggle, barely landing on your feet. You ran onto the street in front of your house and yelled for help, before you saw headlights driving towards you.
The worn down brick red car only belonged to one person you knew, Juyeon who stuck his head out of the window and called your name as you looked at him with fear in your eyes. Panicked with no other option, you ran towards the passenger door swung it open with the last of your strength and got in.
“Darling what happened?” Juyeon looked at you with concern, his eyes then scanning the wind mirrors and rear view as you told him to drive over and over again in pure terror that you wouldn’t make it out in time.
“He got in again, he was asking me about all these horror movies and tried to kill me-“ You rambled on out of breath, your body covered in tiny cuts and bruises from all the falling and colliding with things.
“Well you escaped, that’s the main thing.” The only words Juyeon could find were those, as he exhaled his smoke with the burning cigarette he held outside the car window.
“I guess so, why are you driving up here anyway?” You manage to gather your thoughts and slightly move away from the original problem at hand, since if you thought about it anymore you would force yourself into a heart attack.
“I was actually coming to check on you, I mean your parents being away is not exactly ideal in the current climate. Your phone line has been engaged for the past hour.” Despite this being a believable statement, you still couldn’t understand his suspiciously peaceful composure.
You looked at him observing his tranquil features as he looked back you with a pair of innocent doe eyes, almost a face you believed read “how could little ol’ me do anything wrong?” Perhaps you were overthinking everything.
“What?” He looked at you confused, making sure to do a double take at the face you were pulling. “You don’t think I’m the killer do you?” He added a slight chuckle of disbelief before pointing to himself with his other hand on the wheel.
“No. Obviously not. He was in the house, you’re here.” You shake away your thoughts and turn your attention to the view from out the window, the houses, the cars and anything else you could analyze but him.
“I think you’re suspicious, I can’t lie.” He took another puff of the cigarette and shook his head, the black streak of hair he kept gelled moving towards one side.
“I’m not! The more you say I am the more I’m going to assume.” You started to get a bit frustrated with his assuming accusations and and waved your hands to confirm your point just to end his train of words.
“Yeah well you know I wouldn’t to do that to you.” He sighed, flicking the but out of the window and returning both hands to the wheel with a sad face.
🔪5AM SALTCLOVER, 1st November 1996
🚔 COUNTY SHERRIF’S POLICE DEPARTMENT
“Deputy Lee I swear I’m telling the truth. He was there the phone rang, my patio door is smashed through because I was trying to escape.” You try to plea with the officer questioning you, seemingly not believing your story since the door had been smashed through the wrong way at the back.
“I mean look at her she’s all cut up, I don’t understand why you can’t believe her. It will be her next if you don’t do anything, just record it for your brothers sake” Juyeon chimed in, being a witness and also arriving just in time to save you from the mess.
“Look I’ll record it y/n, because it’s you and I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But if you are lying to me and giving false leads you’ll hear about it. Don’t bring my brother into this again.” Deputy Lee was unfortunately Sangyeon’s brother and having to work on a case that involved the murder of his little brother was clearly taking a toll on him, like the rest of us he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
🔪 LEE JUYEON’S HOUSE, FARMLAND OUTSKIRTS OF SALTCLOVER
“Did he wear the costume?” Hyunjae burst in with the rest of the boys, his first question being rather on brand for his lack of care about the situation since all he knew about murder was the movies. Maybe that was his coping mechanism.
“Did he threaten to slice your guts?” Changmin further asked in the parade of questions, not asking if you were okay first because in his eyes, ‘oh well you look fine.’
“Are you okay?” Younghoon asked, Kevin and Chanhee crouching beside the bed you were sat on and making an effort to hold your hand and smile at you bitter sweetly.
“She’s staying here whilst her house is investigated top to bottom for trace of the killer, plus she’s much safer here.” Juyeon stood beside you, his arms folded across the clean white tank top he was wearing.
Interrupting the chaos of the entourage that had come to visit you, the landline began to call again faintly heard from the down the stairs.
“y/n it’s for you sweetie.” Juyeon’s Mom stepped through the door with a smile, letting you know she was going out for the night with Juyeon’s stepfather to a salsa party.
“Hi sweetheart, it’s not over yet. Which door am I at? Guess right.” The same mysterious voice almost whispered down the line as your hands begin to tremble.
“No… No.. Stop doing this and leave my friends alone.” You yell as the boys watch you from across the corridor, shaking in fear of their own.
“Which door? you stupid bitch.” The killer on the line grows angry, he could be at any door at any time who knows? You had to get this right, you can’t lose anymore friends.
“The patio.” You blurted out thinking of the patterns in horror movies and how he would usually break in the past few weeks.
“Incorrect.” He laughed at your petrified screaming, making a fake buzzer noise across the line to taunt you. With that the bathroom swung open revealing ghostface, you began running into the bedroom and locking the door. Juyeon grabs a pistol from beneath his bed and aims at the door that was thrashing. Hyunjae grabs a chair whilst the others hide behind the bed.
The killer wearing the costume store ghostface bursts in, snatches the chair from Hyunjae and battles with him, eventually crushing him beneath the chair as the others scream. Juyeon guides you out of the room behind him and hides you in the closest closet whilst he stands outside telling the others where to hide.
You could hear Sunwoo above all the screaming seemingly battling with Juyeon to get him to move to his own hiding spot, whereas Juyeon insisted he had the weapon he had to be the one to get rid of the killer.
“Don’t kill me. Please this isn’t a god damn movie and I want to be in the sequel.” You heard a shrill voice from outside the closet, muffling your whimpers you clamp your hand over your mouth, until all falls silent on the upper floor and chaos sounds out downstairs. You burst out of the wardrobe to see that Juyeon is gone and on the floor lies Chanhee still breathing but barely, stab wounds oozing with blood across his body.
“Chanhee get in the wardrobe I’ll be back, I’m so sorry.” Tears of fear falling from your eyes like mini waterfalls, as you helped him into the safe place and closed it gently to not alert anyone of his whereabouts, he can survive this, you just have to be quick.
You ran into the kitchen where you saw Eric, knife in hand trying to fend of the murderer but clearly to scared to even use the weapon, you grabbed one of the tall breakfast bar stools and pinned the killer to the counter with its legs with all the adrenaline you had you were able to move quick enough.
“WHO ARE YOU?! TAKE THE MASK OFF.” You screamed at him as he was stuck, he surrendered and brought his hand to his head, gently tugging off the mask.
There stood Changmin drenched in red smudges of blood, smiling like a maniac and laughing at the scene as if you were nothing to him. These years of friendship were nothing to him, what happened? Why? Too many thoughts crossed your mind upon seeing him of all people behind the mask that you almost dropped the strength of the chair you were holding.
“What happened to you? Have you become a psycho, you’ve watched too many damn movies.” You spat with unreal fits of rage at how a friend could’ve done this to all of you, how could he kill his lifelong best friends? After just a few horror movies…
“Psychos are psychos y/n don’t you dare blame it on the movies.” He used the phone voice changer to taunt you. before pushing the chair and you to the ground and grabbing your arm twisting it behind your back and holding a black handheld gun to your head.
“Where’s Juyeon? Where’d you get that gun?” You panicked as you saw the item in his hand, struggling to release yourself from his grip as Eric stayed cornered in the kitchen not knowing whether to strike or not.
“It’s all part of the game y/n, you should have answered the questions right.” Changmin laughed cackling at how pathetic your fear had become to him, that sweet boy you knew years ago had lost himself to a few movies.
“Don’t touch her.” Another ghostface mask appears, there can’t be two, all along there was two? Who else would have done this to you? The mask is pulled off revealing Hyunjae?… “The deal was you wouldn’t touch her.”
“And the deal is off.” Changmin smiled with a cheerful voice, clearly being the mastermind of the situation between the two of them. Shock overtook your fear and you broke out of Changmin’s grip with a sharp snap.
They began to argue like children before Hyunjae snatched the gun out of Changmin’s grip with a struggle, shooting him to the ground.
“Princess don’t be angry. He made me do it, he told me we would be together and we could be happy just us two.” Hyunjae stepped closer to you wielding the gun in his hands, pointing it closer towards you without a finger on the trigger.
“No Hyunjae, you’re a fucking psychopath. You were apart of this all along.” You couldn’t hold back the tears of betrayal that fell from your eyes, as he took the gun and traced it down your jawline looking at you with bright proud eyes.
In the corner of your eyes, you saw Juyeon quietly sneaking into the room, his torso littered with stab wounds blood seeping through his white tank top, visibly and seriously injured. However in his hand, he held the dagger of the original killer, you stayed quiet, not looking at him and stalling Hyunjae who had you pinned against the counter.
“It’s almost over now darling, just Eric left! be my prize! Just me and you, everyone else is gone! They’re dead! Although you would look gorgeous with your guts loose too.” He looked at you with the same bright eyes he always did, as if nothing he was doing was wrong he was about to turn to kill Eric, however, that’s when he screamed.
Juyeon pushed him to the ground, the dagger slicing straight through his chest, blood seeping through the costume as Hyunjae groaned in the pain he’d been able to deal but not tolerate.
“It’s over for you, asshole. Who’s scary movie is it now?” Juyeon laughed before wincing, the hole in his own stomach bleeding profusely.
“Juyeon lie down.” You grabbed the back of his head as he began to fall to the ground, you had no tears left to cry and now you had to be the strong one. You lied him down and began putting pressure on his wound.
“POLICE!” Deputy Lee walks into to the kitchen, mortified at the scenes of the house, it was over, it was all over. The surviving boys were rushed into hospital to recover, for you and Eric it was time to heal emotionally together, because it was all you had.
🔪6AM SALTCLOVER, 5TH NOVEMBER 1996
And in the end, it was most of the boys that survived their injuries, having lost most of your childhood friends it was rough but after living a life of loss, you had to deal with what you had.
Haknyeon wasn’t doing well, he’d managed to escape the house that night but entered intensive therapy and you’d visit him sometimes but he didn’t seem to trust you guys since the entire thing. Fair enough.
On the bench seated outside the hospital, you held 4 bouquets of flowers, one for Juyeon who saved you that night, One for Sunwoo for being so brave and trying to save his friend, one for Chanhee who needed them more than anyone right now even if he wasn’t awake.
“Eric?” You asked kicking your legs waiting for the visiting hours to open on the hospital ward they were situated.
“Hm?” He hummed, listening to music through his walkman and looking up at you thoughtfully.
“Do you think we could have changed things?” You asked with a sigh, the question that had plagued your mind for weeks.
“Probably. But it’s over now, we’re safe.” He replied and brought you into his touch to pat your head comfortingly as the birds sang melodies of the early morning around you.
It was all over, but unfortunately you’d lost too much.
“I just can’t believe they’re gone.” You burst into tears as Eric brought you in for a hug immediately, trying to hush you back into composure.
That’s if you believe they’re dead, or is it all just a game.
🔪.
a/n: so guys ! happy late spooky season 🎃 here at cloverdaisies! this has been in the works for a while and i would love to thank @winterchimez for proofreading my plot and @kimsohn encouraging me to finish it ! 🤍 if you’re reading this remember to go support deoboyznet!! you’ll find plenty other fics and writers there if you don’t know about it already :) ! this fic may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it certainly is mine ! this is massive dedication to original scream franchise, one of my biggest interests outside of kpop… it’s a bit longer than usual for me as well but yk <3
[fruit punch] taesan x f!reader | 11.4k words
enemies to lovers, also idiots to lovers, college au, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, smut (making out, fingering f. receiving, handjobs, vaginal sex, protected sex, oral sex), dom!taesan if you squint, y/n is lowkey evil sometimes, they're both just confused and dumb
note. ty to the anon for sending this request! i had sm fun writing this~~ sorry it took so long i started uni again and lost all of my free time. hope everyone enjoys broody and grumpy taesan hehe. @onedoornet :P
taesan swears he can feel his blood pumping in his ears every time he sees you. he's come to loathe the feeling, the way his stomach flips and twitches when he hears your voice. his senses heighten and his vision tunnels on you, as if a curtain has been draped over everyone and everything else. his whole body is attuned to you, like he's your fucking puppet.
it's sick, he hates how much he unconsciously worships you. he's reminded of it every time he hears your voice around the corner or your name in conversations.
the reason he despises his affinity for you is because he knows you don't feel the same -- he's almost certain he doesn't even occupy a sliver of your mind.
he knows you're lively and expressive in conversation, at least that's what he's heard. every time he come around and joins conversation with your mutual friends, you suddenly have no words left on your tongue and no thoughts left in your mind. taesan can probably count the amount of times you've spoken to him directly on one hand.
taesan doesn't know what he's done, or what he's doing to put you off of him, but he's been done with your little hate boner against him for a while now. no matter how stuffy his lungs get or how tight his pants get when you seep into his vision or his mind, taesan couldn't care less, not anymore. he rolls his eyes and spins on a heel when he sees you or hears your pretty voice; or he sighs and falls face first onto his pillow when you creep in his solitary thoughts.
he feels like your fucking dog, drooling and falling over you while you can't even look him in the eye.
taesan would say he has a strong resolve and sense of self, and it disgusts him to no end how you weaken and crumble his walls with a simple half-smile, all while ignoring him entirely like he's gum on your shoes.
on top of everything, he had the unfortunate experience of witnessing you verbally confirm your distaste for the boy.
taesan was sifting through the library's aisles, looking for a book to use for his music theory paper. around the corner, you happened to be sitting at one of the study tables, chatting with your friends carelessly, not realizing the topic of your conversation was standing less than 10 feet away.
it wasn't the boy's intent to eavesdrop, but he was in earshot and couldn't escape your conversation if he wanted to. and he wished he did, after hearing the next words that came out of you and your friends mouths.
"formal's coming up soon, who are you taking, y/n?"
"ugh, i don't know who to ask." to his dismay, his ears perked at the sound of your voice.
"what about taesan?" the boy tensed at the sound of his name rolling off your friend, giselle's, tongue. the giggle that left her mouth after made his stomach twist and jolt.
"are you crazy? jesus, giselle. no way!" taesan felt his already bruised heart drop to his ass. you sounded appalled, and your tone only rubbed salt on the boy's already open wound.
there wasn't much left to hear, taesan wasn't keen on sticking around to listen to you guys keep talking shit about him. he spun on his heel and left the library as fast as he could without running. his paper would just have to wait a few hours.
it was a sour memory that made him wince, and it was a scene that he replayed in his head every time he felt his heart race around you.
today was no exception, as taesan walked into the lobby of his apartment complex -- which is unfortunately the same complex that you lived in -- he caught a glance of you in his peripheral, you were studying with friends in one of the lobby's booths, smiling like your usual joyous self. not that taesan would even know; your bubbly side isn't something he's familiar with in the slightest.
once again, to his dismay, the boy felt his heart jolt in his ribcage, the solid thumping a bit more noticeable than before. and like a routine that was ingrained in him, he quelled his outburst of excitement before it could fully bubble to the surface.
forget it, she hates you.
turning his attention to his phone, taesan lazily walked over to the mailroom to pick up a package he ordered a while ago. he then made his way over to the elevator, still paying no mind to his surroundings, scrolling through his friends' recent text messages and posts on instagram. it wasn’t until the elevator doors opened, he walked in, and punched his floor's button that he looked away from his phone; he opted to stare at his shoe instead, back slumping against the wall behind him.
the elevator doors started closing before they suddenly halted and reopened. taesan heard heavy breathing, like someone was running to catch the doors. when his gaze shifted upward curiously, he felt his entire being tense, fingers suddenly digging into the sides of the cardboard box he was holding.
it was you; your hair was fluttering around your face and your backpack was hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, still half unzipped. your cheeks were red and flushed from your hasty entrance and your lips were parted slightly, drawing in soft breaths as your eyes locked with his.
taesan was horrified, and he gave you a quick nod of acknowledgement to avoid having to speak to you. he hoped to god his disdain didn't show across his face -- he was barely confident that he even managed to nod without his neck twitching. in the time it took him to blink, you slipped into the elevator and were now standing 3 feet to his left.
suddenly, it was as if the ceiling of the elevator was the most interesting thing the boy had ever seen, and taesan stared at the patterns in the ceiling tile like his life depended on it, trying to pretend he didn't want to bash his own head in against the wall.
he heard a small beep, likely from you pressing the button for your floor. taesan wouldn't know that for sure though, he was staring so hard in any direction that wasn't yours. he would genuinely rather the floor open up and swallow him whole than glance to his left and be reminded that the girl of his dreams and nightmares was in such close proximity to him.
taesan couldn't tell you how long he's wanted you even if he tried. sometimes he thinks that if the circumstances weren’t so dire between the two of you, that you might be his soulmate.
deep down, it saddened taesan to no end to be in this predicament. here you were, right in front of him with no one else around, and he was frozen like a deer in headlights. taesan wished so dearly that things could be different between the two of you, so that in a moment like this, he could reach out and actually talk to you, get to know you, hold you, rather than cowering in the corner.
and as if some all knowing force heard his thoughts, the elevator suddenly jolted to a stop. taesan didn't even notice until he heard you speak.
"what the fuck?" snapping out of his mental tirade, taesan looked up at the dial above the buttons.
great, it's in between floors. we're fucked.
taesan decided it was time to grow a fucking pair and speak to you for the first time in probably two years.
"we should call emergency services." he wished there was any way for those words to come out his mouth less stupidly. he still hadn't turned to look at you, setting his package and his backpack on the floor and stepping forward to hit the emergency call button.
unceremoniously, the button lit up, followed by absolutely nothing else. sighing, taesan finally turned to look at you. your cheeks were flushed and you looked fearful, taesan wasn't sure if it was because of the elevator or just being stuck with him. if it was the latter he think he might actually just kill himself.
"the line might be busy, i think we're gonna be here for a minute." he sighed out, and your eyes softened.
"it's okay, there's nothing else we can do i guess." you finally spoke, and taesan felt like the sun was beaming directly on him. your attention on him like a spotlight, he felt like he could finally die happy.
"yeah." taesan's lip curled up into a half smile that made your cheeks grow redder, and you watched, still frozen, as he went to sit on the floor next to his stuff. as taesan settled himself into the small corner, crossing his legs, you took it as your cue to place your stuff next to you, sinking down to the floor in defeat.
taesan couldn't say he wasn't confused by you in this moment. for someone stuck in an elevator with someone they avoid like the plague and hate more than anything, you sure did blush a lot. so much, that taesan was starting to think it was his brain messing with him, and that your cheeks weren't truly as flushed and reddened as they looked.
do people blush around people they hate? better yet, am i just fucking delusional? the thoughts ran laps around his brain, making him want to bang his head against the silver elevator doors.
the boy decided that he probably had better and more concerning things to pay his attention to right now, like quelling his increasingly fast heartbeat and his rapid breaths. his heart was beating so loud he thought he can hear the sound reverberating and bouncing on the walls of the small elevator, a space that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.
his hands were clammy and shiny and he hoped you didn't notice as he tried to discreetly wipe them against his pants when he reached for his phone from his back pocket.
"i'm gonna call my friend and see if he can get ahold of the front desk." you nodded in agreement, and listened quietly as the line rings.
before either of you could even begin to get your hopes up, the line cut, and a message displayed across the top of taesan's phone screen.
call failed. taesan cursed under his breath.
"fuck, i don't think i have any service in here. sorry." taesan didn't know why he apologized, it's not like he has any control over the building's spotty reception. he didn't look at you as he speaks.
gaze focused on the ground, the boy didn't expect to hear your soft voice chime in the air.
"it's okay, we can just wait it out, we don't have any other choice anyway." you finished your sentence off with a soft giggle. pink blush was still creeping up your neck and tinting your face softly.
accepting his fate of being stuck in the elevator, taesan decided he should at least make use of his time. reaching into his backpack, he grabbed his laptop and a pair of wired earbuds, opening up his current project for his composition class.
he kept one earbud in his left ear, while the other dangled in midair. as the beats played in his ear and reverberated through his skull, taesan finally felt a bit at peace, attention tunnelling in on his laptop screen.
what he didn't notice is the way you curiously watch him work. he typed away at his laptop and mouse pad softly and his focused expression and the unfamiliar contents on his screen piqued your interest.
but what piqued your interest more was taesan. his fluffy hair that moves with him as he nods along to the music that you can't hear, the way his face scrunches up cutely when he squints at the screen to read the tiny font, the way his pink lips fall into a small pout amidst his concentration.
what started out as short side glances that you snuck in from time to time turns into full on staring. being this close to him, your gaze was pulled to him like paper clips to a magnet.
contrary to taesan's belief, you do not hate taesan. while your friends do tease you about him, it's not because you have some weird secret hate boner for him.
in reality, it's because you literally cannot think straight around the raven haired boy. it's embarrassing how quickly your cheeks heat up at a single sight of taesan, heart pumping so fast you think you're going to give yourself an arrhythmia.
you’ve never been the shy type. not that you were constantly bouncing off the walls or anything, but you’ve always thought of yourself as being sociable and having a big personality. you’ve never shied away from strangers and new experiences, feeding off of the energy from the conversation and laughter you elicit through witty jokes and quips.
that alone makes your yearning all the more pathetic. y/n, the girl who could make exciting conversation in a room full of introverted bookworms, getting sweaty palms over some random music major?
it's a feeling you couldn't bear, which is why you avoided it at all costs, especially around your friends. you've also learned the hard way that your friends will not let you hear the end of it when they witness the way you melt around the boy, and you quite enjoy not having to talk about your affinity for taesan 24/7. that's the reason you haven't spoken to him either, you don't even want to begin to imagine your friends' reaction to that.
after a particular incident where belle and shinyu were teasing you about taesan and kim leehan walked by, you were so spooked that you decided the only solution was simply avoid or ignore him at all costs. you could not risk your blabber mouthed friends revealing the fact that you like taesan, especially since you had no idea if he liked you back, or even remembered your name, for that matter.
plus, it helped you avoid the embarrassing experience of going completely nonverbal.
you'd been telling yourself that you'd make a move at some point, but the mere thought of trying to progress things any further makes your stomach twist on itself and makes your chest start to constrict.
but now, with the boy sitting an arms length away and no one else around, you felt like it was fate. yes, there were definitely assignments waiting for you to get around to, but right now you couldn't be more thankful that the elevator is broken.
after staring at taesan and hyping yourself up for a solid 20 minutes, you decided that you can't pass up this chance.
"what are you working on?" your voice was so soft and shaky at first that taesan almost didn't hear you, but you knew he did based on the fact that his fingers halted their swift typing. you watched him move to pause the stream of audio in his ear.
"me?" taesan replied. the second the words leave his lips he regretted it. who the fuck asks that in a room with only two people?
apparently my dumbass.
"who else?" you didn't seem to mind though, giggling at his aloofness. his eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights, and you wanted to reach over and tug at his hair to feel it underneath your fingertips.
"oh um, just a project for my comp class." he responded, suddenly feeling shy. he felt the familiar speeding of his heartbeat again. why were you suddenly feeling conversive? was he hallucinating again?
"can i see?" you scooted over slightly and lean towards him, pretending to look at his laptop screen. truly, you just wanted to be closer to him, and to keep hearing his voice. you had no idea what he even meant by "comp," but you'd gladly let him ramble about his work if it meant you could hear his low voice again.
"oh, uh sure!" taesan moved slightly closer to you, turning his laptop in your direction so you could see his screen. you knew nothing about the program he's using, but the way taesan's eyes lit up as he began to explain the different sections of the screen made your heart swell.
contrary to you, taesan is more on the quieter side, opting to listen in conversations rather than lead them. however, when it comes to his music, taesan thinks he could ramble on about it for hours. the excitement of talking about his work calmed his nerves, and he found himself eagerly explaining all the different components of his project without stuttering or fumbling with his words.
you nodded along, in a trance at the sound of his voice filling your ears so pleasantly. it got even worse when you looked away from his screen to look at his face. his hands moved animatedly as he pointed at various sections of his composition, but you didn't catch a word, staring at the slope of his nose and the way his lips stayed in a cute little pout even when he was talking so much.
at one point, taesan asked you a question, noticing your slightly dazed look. your head shook slightly as you regained focus on his voice, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.
"sorry, what did you say?" you tried to keep your composure but the way taesan was looking at you was driving you insane.
"nevermind, do you wanna just listen to it?" he said with an easy smile, chuckling at your flushed appearance. you were so adorable, he didn't think he could take it. grabbing the free earbud, he offered it to you gently. you slowly grabbed it, scooching even closer to taesan so the two of you could listen to it together. placing the earbud in your ear, you tried not to think about the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you.
your thigh was pressed against taesan's and the faint smell of his cologne was dizzying. you wanted nothing more than to grab his hand that was resting on the laptop's keyboard and intertwine your fingers together.
as taesan hit play, the sound of various instrumentals and beats filled your ears. even though there were no lyrics, you felt the emotion that taesan had drawn out of him to put into this. he was more than talented, and you were in awe of how well everything came together. as the track came to an end, taesan looked at your face, curious. your lips were parted slightly as you looked at him.
"taesan, that was amazing." you breathed out, turning your face slightly toward him excitedly.
"really? it's still a little rough around the edges, but i think i wanna keep working on it after i turn it in." he explained.
"the project only requires an instrumental, but i really like how this track is going, i've been thinking of adding lyrics and making it a proper song."
"you should, it's really really good." you spoke with a low voice, facing taesan, you were once again reminded of his close proximity and your brain was starting to short circuit again. looking into his eyes, you found yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, not wanting the moment to end. helplessly, your eyes darted down at his lips quickly, so quick that taesan almost missed it.
after watching your gaze jump down to his mouth a third time, taesan decided enough was enough.
“y/n.” he said your name in chillingly low voice. the sound of it rolling off his tongue sent shivers down your spine, and you only leaned into him further. reaching out, he brought his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, waiting for your reaction. you looked up at him with a hooded gaze as you delicately leaned into his touch.
as his hand fully cupped your cheek, your eyes slipped shut, head tilting further into his palm as you waited for him to close the gap.
taesan wanted to burn the sight of you into his memory forever. your long lashes laid gently on the apples of your reddened cheeks, your pink tinted lips slightly parted and calling for him. your cheek squished slightly against his hand and the softness of your skin against his made him feel like he was dreaming.
as he shut his eyes and leaned in, hovering his lips gently over yours, a loud creaking noise abruptly cut through the air.
the elevator suddenly thrummed to life, causing your eyes to shoot open. you let out a yelp as elevator dinged and the doors suddenly opened, your body practically flying across the small room.
the two of you looked up to see two firemen looking down at the two of you confusedly.
"everyone ok in here?" one of the men asked gruffly, and you nodded your head hurriedly before grabbing your stuff and jumping to your feet.
yep, that was about enough bravery and ambition from you today. reality was setting in quicker than the reddening of your cheeks.
you and han taesan were about to kiss. and got interrupted by the fucking fire rescue squad. you had to get the fuck out of here.
taesan could barely blink before you rushed out of the confined space, cheeks bright red as you muttered a quick thank you to the firemen.
hitting his head against the back of the wall in frustration, taesan tossed his laptop into his bag and grabbed his package, standing up and frowning at the firemen before walking past them.
"what the fuck was his deal?" the other firemen asked once taesan was out of earshot.
...
it had been a few days since the elevator incident, and while all taesan wanted to do was scream into his pillow while blasting his radiohead playlist on repeat, he was unfortunately a university student with work to do. life goes on, to his dismay.
the only person taesan told what happened was his roommate, kim leehan, who taesan begrudgingly complained to after being asked why his face was so red and why he was grumbling so much. he couldn’t help his grumpiness, could you blame him? he almost kissed the girl of his dreams and was interrupted by a fucking firefighter.
leehan tried (as he claims, taesan doesn’t believe it for one second) and failed to hold in his laughter at taesan’s conundrum, holding a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook with amusement. meanwhile, taesan was crashing the absolute fuck out, head in his hands while he crouched on the floor.
“who did i murder in my last life seriously …” he whined into his hands pathetically as leehan shook his head in disbelief, still biting back his laughter.
“i dunno, but someone’s having a fantastic time fucking with you.” leehan’s amused reply only egged taesan’s grumpiness and despair on further, and he laid in bed for the rest of the afternoon replaying the scene in his mind.
the more times he re-remembered the catastrophic chain of events, the more anguished he became. he’s definitely sighed at least 30 times in the past hour.
you were fucking with him. there was no other explanation. ignoring him constantly and then jumping him the second the two of you were alone?
maybe you were a sadist, and you and that one friend from the library were currently laughing and joking about the raven haired boy’s demise.
unfortunately, the thought turns him on more than anything, and he can feel himself getting a hard on thinking about the completely hypothetical situation he’s making up in his scattered mind.
he sighed angrily and slapped his hand against his cold cheek. he was so done with this. with you.
the devil on his shoulder laughed as he vowed to get over you. granted, he had a better chance of winning the lottery then forgetting about you at his will, but he felt like he had no other choice.
as humorous as the situation was, taesan felt his heart ache and his face crumple when he remembered the way you rushed out of the space as the door opened. like he was poison.
taesan hated the ugly green feeling that was swirling in his gut, eating away at his sanity. he hated that it had to be you making him feel this way. you’ve always been the one who makes him get like this.
but at the same time, he can’t forget how entranced he was, like a magnetic force pulled his hand to your cheek.
the vision of you, eyes closed, cheeks red, waiting for you to place his lips on yours, is permanently seared in his mind.
how does someone just fake that? you’re either satan’s reincarnation or taesan is seriously missing something.
taesan clutches his chest in agony, the internal tug of war making him want to throw himself out his bedroom window.
after letting himself toss and turn in despair for about 2 hours, taesan drearily got out of bed to finish his music theory paper. sliding into his desk chair, he opened up his laptop to see his comp project still open, the very one he’d played for you hours earlier.
he sighed again. the university and its students were going to be the death of him.
...
while taesan was moping in bed, you were taking up space in yours as well, laying across it face down while giselle sat at your desk, scrolling through her phone.
she could tell something is up, considering the fact that you’re not talking her fucking ears off and just laying face down in silence like a corpse.
“so, are you gonna fess up? what happened?” giselle asked, unamused. after bursting into your apartment following the Great Elevator Escape, your frantically doom-texted giselle, leading to her showing up at your front door.
you’ve been laying on your bed trying to not scream out of excitement as you told her. hearing her clear her throat, you finally rolled over so your voice wouldn’t be muffled.
“we almost kissed, aeri.” you sighed out, slapping your hands over your face.
“we? who is we?” giselle, who was evidently not a mind reader, tilted her head in confusion, moving to sit on the bed next to you, laying her legs over yours.
“me and taesan” you mumbled, watching through a crack of space between your fingers as she immediately shot up from her slumped position against yours headboard. you could’ve sworn you got whiplash just from watching her.
“WHAT?” her voice squealed in excitement, nearly blowing out your eardrum. you laughed, glad that someone else understood how bubbly and happy you felt.
“I KNOW” you screamed back, grabbing her hand and squeezing it as you smiled so big you thought your face was going to break.
“wait, explain everything now, you sly bitch!” with that, you walked her through the whole scene.
reciting it to your friend made your stomach flip, all the emotions from the moment coming back to you. absentmindedly, your brought a hand up to feel the stop on your cheek where taesan’s palm pressed into you, smiling dazedly.
“you’re so down, y/n, this is crazy!” aeri laughed at your lovesick state, giving you a playful shove. she wasn't wrong, and the acknowledgment only made your cheeks burn even more.
“shut up! can a girl not yearn for her man anymore?” you smiled giddily.
“usually i’d call you delusional but he actually wants you so bad.” you moved to sit up, turning to her excitedly.
smiling wickedly, you looked at your friend with a plan. there was no going back now, taesan wanted you without question.
“what’s that look? are we plotting?” giselle asked curiously after a beat of silence.
“you know me so well, aeri.” you pulled out your phone to text the your friends' groupchat, filling them in as you and giselle discussed further.
the feeling of his lips ghosting over yours was fresh in your mind. bringing a finger to your bottom lip, you felt warmth bloom in your chest at the memory.
han taesan had no idea what was coming for him.
...
“hello? earth to y/n.” shinyu shook your shoulder as myungjae called to you across the table, bringing you out of your thoughts.
“huh?” jaehyun rolled his eyes at you.
“i’m throwing friday night, you coming?” you smiled in excitement, making eye contact with giselle, who had the same mischievous glint in her eye.
yeah, the two of your were thinking the exact same thing.
“what’s that look ... what am i missing?” belle looked between the two of you, very used to your antics.
“oh nothing…” aeri mused. “just getting y/n a date to formal.”
...
“i think i’m gonna stay in tonight, dude.” taesan sighed as he sunk onto the couch. it was friday afternoon and taesan was sufficiently worn out from the past week.
he had an exam this morning that he was almost late to because he got lost and then he didn’t have time to eat lunch because he had to go to a project meeting.
on top of everything, he got a glimpse of you laughing with giselle, ningning, and sohee on his way back from his meeting. now, he was just left with a sinking feeling in his stomach and a desire to suffocate himself under his covers for the rest of the night.
“you can’t miss jaehyun’s dude, he’s gonna kill you” as leehan replied, the ominious text their friend had sent him this morning flashed in his mind.
myungjae [9:43 a.m.]: make sure taesan comes tonight.
leehan [9:46 a.m.]: what
“today has been the worst, i need to sulk.” taesan whined into the couch cushions, eliciting a punch in the shoulder from leehan.
“c’mon, that’s why you need to come out. get wasted and forget about your shitty week.” taesan frowned but didn’t respond.
maybe his roommate was right. plus, he had a sneaking suspicion leehan would drag him out of the apartment by his hair if he tried to stay in bed. groaning loudly, taesan got up.
“fine, i’m taking a nap first, though.”
...
liquid courage was surging through you, not that you really needed it. you were still riding the high of your almost-kiss from earlier this week. the light fluffy feeling the alcohol was giving you was just a bonus.
standing in front of the mirror in jaehyun's bathroom, you gave yourself a once over as ningning fixed her eyeliner next to you. you were absentmindedly fixing the ends of your hair and adjusting the straps of your cami as she looked over at you with a smile.
"you look amazing, y/n. his jaw is going to be on the floor." she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly. smiling softly, you thanked her. looking back at yourself in the mirror, you felt the anticipation coursing through your veins.
the dull echo of jaehyun's house playlist pulsed through the walls and only heightened the excitement you felt under your skin. hearing your phone buzz, you looked over at the phone screen, a certain text message catching your attention.
myungjae [10:58 p.m.]: he just walked in.
you made eye contact with ningning as you clicked your phone shut and slipped it in the back pocket of your shorts.
"it's go time." she laughed, wishing your luck as she pushed you towards the bathroom door. turning open the doorknob, you stepped out into the living room, colored lights dancing across the walls.
...
taesan was pulled towards the kitchen by his roommate, barely getting a glimpse of the rest of the party before a shot was being pushed into his hand.
"you need a drink, dude." leehan demanded, turning around and looking for myungjae in the sea of people and waving him over. their friend smiled and pushed through a couple people to get into the kitchen, giving taesan and leehan a fist bump.
"hey, you guys made it!" he smiled, accepting the shot leehan handed him.
the three of them clinked their glasses and downed the clear liquid together. taesan's face scrunched at the burning in his throat, coughing roughly.
"do you have punch or something?" jaehyun nodded and walked away to get some jungle juice.
looking around, taesan took in his surroundings. jaehyun had a nice apartment, and he'd been a few times. it looked completely different than it did during the day, furniture pushed to the walls to make room for people to dance. the apartment was completely dark except for the colored led lights, giving the room a blueish glow.
looking into the living room, taesan scanned the crowd for anyone else he knew. he caught a glimpse of sungho and riwoo, his old roommates, talking to the dj, some guy he didn't recognize.
his eyes widened when he saw giselle near the dj's booth as well, chatting with some tall guy he didn't recognize.
were you here too? even though he knew you were friends with jaehyun, he somehow failed to consider the fact you might be at this party as well.
turning back to leehan, he spoke hurriedly.
"i need another shot."
...
a couple shots and a cup of jungle juice (that was probably 80% booze) later, he finally stepped out of the kitchen.
"i'm gonna go say hi to someone really quick, i'll be back in a bit." taesan nodded and waved as leehan stepped away. he felt a little looser, shoulders finally relaxing a bit as he walked over to sungho and riwoo.
they chatted for a bit, and he sipped on another glass of spiked fruit punch as he laughed along with them. riwoo was complaining about his choreography class animatedly and sungho was gushing about some junior, kim woonhak, he'd just befriended.
"it's official, guys. i'm a single dad now." taesan rolled his eyes at his friends, a small smile painting his face.
after a beat, the boy noticed his friends glancing behind him. tilting his head in confusion, he turned around to see what they were looking at so curiously. forgetting how drunk he was and the fact that he had a drink in his hand, he swung around a bit faster and more clumsily than he wanted to.
"is there something beh-" he began, before he felt himself promptly bump into someone, their head hitting his chest. suddenly the front of his shirt was damp, his cup of punch getting caught between him and the mystery stranger and spilling on him.
"shit my bad are you oka-" taesan's concerned voice abruptly cut off as the person in front of him came into focus. lo and behold, you were standing in front of him, the front of your top now boasting a growing wet spot from taesan's drink.
there's actually no fucking way. taesan didn't think he's ever wished for the ground to swallow him whole more than that very moment.
"taesan, hey! it's you again." you smiled easily, as if you didn't notice the sticky beverage now spilled across your shirt and chest. taesan could've sworn he saw you bat your eyelashes.
"i'm so sorry about your shirt, i didn't mean to be so clumsy." taesan almost stumbled over his words as the apologies spilled from his lips. his stomach was simultaneously flipping and twisting at the sight of you looking up at him.
you looked down as if you were seeing the stain on your shirt for the first time as well, smiling and shrugging.
"don't worry about it, i'm sorry! you got wet too." you gestured slightly to his shirt as well, giggling. you had definitely had a few drinks as well, taesan wasn't sure if you were as drunk as him.
"don't worry about it either, it was my bad." you waved away his admission of guilt, your gaze suddenly darkening slightly.
"guess we're even then! would you mind if i asked for a favor though?" taesan hummed in acknowledgement and nodded, beckoning you to continue.
"help me clean up?"
as taesan's face turned into a look of shock and surprise, you giggled again, blinking up at him slowly. snapping out of his drunken daze, he nodded quickly and waved goodbye to his friends. grabbing your wrist, he wove through the crowd, his fingers wrapped tight around your arm. his hand was warm, and you had to put in an effort to peel your eyes away from his grip on you, heartbeat speeding up.
looking away from his back, you made eye contact with giselle and belle across the small apartment. you smiled as they gave you thumbs up from the other side of the room as taesan whisked you away.
jackpot.
...
it's you who shuts the bathroom door behind the two of you. taesan finally turns back around to look at you, trying to ignoring his racing heartbeat.
in the lighting of the bathroom he can finally see you. you look better than that fateful day in the elevator, even in your basic cami and denim shorts. the stain on your shirt is small, which taesan is thankful for. unfortunately, some of his drink spilled on the exposed skin of your chest, it's sticky residue making your chest all shiny.
you look so perfect, taesan thinks he might actually faint. he almost feels the air leave his lungs as you smile up at him.
when you step towards him he freezes, only letting his shoulders relax when he realizes you're reaching past him to turn on the sink's faucet. your hair brushes his arm and your shoulder bumps his, and taesan can smell your fruity perfume.
you smell like berries and some sort of flower, and taesan almost gets lost in it, in you. the sound of the faucet running helps to clear his mind a little, but he loses his cool all over again when you grab his shoulder to turn him to face you.
"sorry, is it okay if i touch you?" taesan's sure he's red as a cherry as he nods, his movements stuttering slightly. truly, he has no fucking clue what you're about to do, but god he could not care less.
you grab a small towel hanging nearby and dip it under the running water before bringing it to taesan's chest, where the offending stain has dried up into his shirt.
gently, you rub the wet fabric across his shirt. your other hand is splayed on his shoulder, taesan isn't sure if it's for stability or because you want him to pass out and die on the spot. from his view, he can see your long lashes flutter as you squint at his chest in concentration.
he's trying to focus on anything but your heavy gaze on him. the boy opts to look at the ceiling, tilting his head up and not giving his eyes any chance of stealing a glance at you.
every once in a while, your fingers brush against his chest lightly and he feels his skin burn underneath your touch. despite how drunk he is, he's suddenly so aware of everything.
he wonders if you can hear his heartbeat, if you can feel how his breaths and his lungs stutter when you rub the towel on him. your proximity alone is making his head spin more than the alcohol he drank.
the way you're doting on him is making his stomach burn with some type of desire, taesan doesn't think he's ever felt a need like this before. his racing thoughts are distracted by the sound of a huff below him.
he looks down at you as you scrub a bit more on his shirt before pulling away slowly.
"that should be good en-" you don't get to finish your sentence, interrupted by taesan's hand grabbing your wrist.
before you can even think, taesan's lips are on yours. you drop the towel in shock, and it makes a soft noise as it hits the floor.
neither of you seem to care all too much, though. your eyes flutter shut as taesan's other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head slightly.
the kiss is soft and timid as first, but after a moment taesan decides he's done playing games. he knows you want this as much as he does, he can tell by the way your hands are crumpling his damp shirt and pulling him closer to you.
taesan's lips are soft and plump as they slide menacingly slow against yours. his warm tongue presses against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. he notices how pliant you are in his hold, lips falling open so his tongue can explore the wet walls of your mouth and throat. his hand hovers near your throat, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. you whimper as he gives it an experimental squeeze, your hands pulling him closer by his firm shoulders.
the feeling of his tongue filling your mouth makes your moan, the sound muffled and quiet. taesan doesn't miss it though, the noise only egging him on further. he bites your bottom lip before dragging his tongue over it soothingly.
it's hot and wet and messy, and spit trails down both of your chins with every smack of your lips against each other.
at some point, your arms wrapped around taesan's neck, his settling in the curve of your waist. your bodies fit perfectly together, your chest molding to his in a way that makes your head spin.
you can barely form a thought when taesan sucks on your tongue. you've never felt this way before, heat pooling in your stomach as his hands push into the small of your back.
at some point, he turns the two of you so you're pressed against the counter. his hands press your hips into the ceramic surface as his mouth dips down to press open mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.
his teeth drag and brush against your delicate skin and his velvety tongue licks stripes across the bruises that you're sure he's leaving.
his lips are warm and wet as they suck your skin, traveling down your neck and shoulder. he bites your collarbone and you whimper again, a single hand threading into his hair hurriedly.
he finally gets you sitting on the countertop, and your legs wrap around him greedily, pulling him even closer. he licks the stickyness of his spilled drink from your chest, the sugary taste of the punch spreading on his tongue.
it's obscene, the things he wants to do to you. what's worse is that you look like you'd let him do anything to do you, melting under the attention of his hands and mouth.
the boy feels you tug at his hair, pulling him face back up so your lips can meet his in a bruising kiss. his brain almost goes into overdrive when you suck on his bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth.
hot and bothered, your hands slide across his firm shoulders, trailing down his chest and abdomen wickedly slow. your fingers tease the hem of his tshirt, twisting and tugging it as you lips move against his roughly.
the first touch of your fingers against his bare skin almost makes taesan dissolve into air. your skin is electrifying against his, leaving a burning path as it travels up his torso. you appreciate his toned form with your hands and the small noises coming from your mouth.
it feels like you've been making out for hours. taesan is honestly surprised that neither of you have run out of breath. you don't seem like anywhere near ready to let go of the boy, palms grasping for any of his skin that you can reach. slowly but steadily, your hands drift lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of taesan's jeans.
he pulls away hesistantly, watching a string of saliva stretch between the two of you. his eyes almost roll into the back of his head when he sees you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes starry and glazed over.
"let's get out of here." you say it before he can, one hand still grasping his jeans.
"my place." taesan says pointedly.
taesan helps you off the counter and helps you smooth down your hair. you intertwine your fingers with his as he twists open the doorknob. the two of you are out of the apartment before either of you can bid your friends goodbye. you'll just have to text them in the morning.
right now, the only thing on both of your minds is getting back to taesan's apartment. everything else is going to have to wait.
...
for the second time, the two of you found yourselves in the same damn elevator together. the irony wasn't lost on either of you, and taesan smirked as he pulled you into his chest the moment the doors closed.
"seems like we have some unfinished business in here huh?" he mumbled before laying his lips back on yours. they were cold from being outside, but his tongue was warm as it pushed back into your mouth. he was leaning lazily against the wall, arms wrapped around your waist as he held you against him.
you whimpered as his hands ghosted over your ass, not quite applying the pressure you were aching for. the ding of the elevator sounded far away; he pulled away slowly, gesturing behind you at the open doors. you didn't hesitate to step towards the hall, closer to your destination.
taesan kept one of your hands tight in his hold as he fumbled with his keys. he sighed in relief as he finally pushed the door open, pulling you in with him. in a moment's time your mouth was back on his, the two of you kicking off your shoes as taesan led the two of backwards to his room. your skin was hot everywhere he touched you, and you moaned in anticipation as he pushed you backwards onto his bed.
the sight of you sitting on his bed and looking up at him with doe eyes, was something straight out of taesan's dreams. your chest rose and fell erratically and your eyes were round and glassed over. his eyes fixated on your red, swollen lips, glossy from yours and taesan's saliva.
"you're so beautiful." taesan breathed out as he tilted your chin up, cupping your jaw and leaning down to catch your plump lips with his. you didn't miss a beat, hands catching the front of his shirt. taesan laid you down, not breaking your kiss for a second.
your back pressed into the soft mattress, and you groaned at the feeling of taesan's firm chest pressed against yours. his hands landed at your hips, rubbing slow circles as they slid under your shirt gingerly. his fingers were cold, making your abdomen tense as they grazed over your soft skin.
it was hot and filthy, the way he licked into your mouth with fervor. your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as his tongue slid against yours roughly. you felt like hot lava, overheating faster and faster by the second.
your teeth nipped at his bottom lip, fingers greedily tugging at the ends of his shirt. taesan got the message immediately, breaking away from you slowly. standing on his knees, he pulled his shirt over his head. propping yourself up on your elbows, you admired the sight of his in front of you. his hair was slightly ruffled by the shirt and his lips were puffy and shiny.
you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted south. taesan's arousal was undeniable, bulge heavy in his pants. you licked your lips at the sight, eliciting a groan from the boy in front of you. heat pooled low in your belly at the noise, and you felt the impatience within you grow.
you reached out and curled a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a bruising kiss. taesan held himself up with his arms, tilting his face down to dip his tongue into your mouth. you let your hand roam downwards, fingers grazing over the tent in the boy's pants menacingly.
"please, tae, need you." you mumbled against his lips, pressure from your palm increasing with each pleading syllable that rolled off your tongue. taesan hummed in response, and before you knew it he was pushing your hand away and lowering his bottom half so his hips were flush against yours, bulge pushing against your clothed heat.
you moaned loudly at the pressure, and taesan only rolled his hips more, satisfied with the way you were writhing underneath him. his hands dug into your hips, holding you down whenever you tried to buck your hips up to match his pace. the way he so easily overpowered you only furthered your arousal, and you felt it in your tensed abdomen as his dick pressed against you again.
taesan's hot mouth moved down your jaw and neck, licking a stripe near your collarbone. he bit and nipped at your skin, and you could already feel the bruises blooming on your sensitive skin.
his hands cupped your boobs over your shirt, the pressure making your arch your back into him. he was addicted to the way your body moved and responded to him. it seemed almost unconscious, the way you were attuned to every graze of his skin against yours.
pulling back slightly, you watched with a hooded gaze as taesan's eyes dragged over your body. you looked like an angel, hair fanned out on the comforter, neck already blooming purple, lips red and shiny, and the straps of your cami falling off your shoulders. taesan finally had you all to himself and he wanted to savor every moment you were pressed against him.
your breathing was erratic as his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips leaving a blazing trail on the skin of your stomach. he rubbed the hem of your cami in between his fingertips, looking you in the eyes as he did.
"can i take this off?" he asked in a low voice that almost made your legs shake. you nodded hurriedly, sitting up so he could pull it over your head.
you unbuttoned your shorts as well, placing his hands on your waistband so he'd slide them off for you. he did, without hesitation, deliberately dragging his fingertips down the skin of your thighs as he pulled the clothing off. he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sight of you in just your bra and panties, and you could've sworn that you watched his dick twitch.
taesan wanted to know all of you, inside and out. he watched as you curled into a ball, shy under his heavy gaze. he unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off his legs before placing his hands on your knees, pushing them down so he could crawl over you.
you laid back, head against his pillow as taesan hovered over you, hands on their side of your head. he dropped his hips so his clothed dick brushed against you, reveling in the way your eyes shut as you drowned in the pleasure and anticipation. a finger was dragged down the center of your chest, tracing the line where your bra pressed your breasts against each other.
taesan tilted himself down to press hot, open-mouthed, kisses along the edge of your bra, lips teasing your skin torturously. your back arched as you grabbed his hand, placing it on the clasp of your bra.
"don't they usually unclip in the back?" taesan mumbled curiously, voice low as his eyes met yours. you smiled wickedly, and he instantly knew that you planned this.
"not all of them." you said lightly, shrugging slightly and feigning a fake innocence that made taesan's eyes darken. within moments the garment was snapped open and tugged off your body, and taesan's rough fingertips were kneading into the plush skin of your chest.
his gaze laid heavily on you, its weight pushing down and making you forget how to breathe. you decided you couldn't keep looking at him, your eyes screwing shut and head pressing back into his pillow as hot lips sucked and licked at your skin, trailing down your chest and abdomen. your head was spinning and a slight sound of disapproval cut through the noise, cold fingers tapping the side of your head.
"look at me, y/n" you huffed, opening your eyes and propping yourself on your elbows to make pointed eye contact with him. taesan's face was hovering over your stomach, fingers rubbing circles into the side of your hips. the smile on his face sent chills down your neck and a warm gush between your legs.
"there you go. keep watching me, ok?" your stubborn gaze softened in seconds and you weakly nodded, watching him lower his mouth to tongue at the soft skin of your thighs. your ears were ringing, the rush of blood drowning out the good girl he was mumbling into your skin.
your senses felt heightened, all of your nerves lighting up at the sensation of taesan's hot, rough tongue licking and teasing your inner thighs. he was in no rush it seemed, decorating the skin with purple bruises and wet saliva. he ran his hands up and down your sides, letting the tips of his fingers catch the fabric of your underwear.
he was teasing you mercilessly, the anticipation nearly eating you alive.
"taesan, please." you whined as you felt him run a finger over your clothed slit. your underwear stuck to you painfully, the fabric soaked with your arousal. he made eye contact with you as he wet his middle finger with his mouth before pulling your panties to the side.
the wet finger pushed into your gushing entrance, slowly making room for itself within you. you sucked in a shaky breath when he fully sheathed his finger within you.
"you're so wet, y/n." he groaned. before you could even think of responding, he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, pulling a loud moan from you.
his lips wrapped around your clit gingerly as he added another finger. it was like his hands and mouth were made for you, fingers crooking just right and hitting the spongy spot that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.
your surroundings slowly disappeared as you drowned in the feeling of taesan on you, in you. you felt electric, sparks flying through your body with every swipe of his tongue and every flick of his wrist. you planted your feet against the bed and your hips weakly jerked upwards to meet the thrusts of his fingers into you.
you couldn't even understand the sounds you were making, broken moans and cries spilling out of you. taesan chuckled against you, mouth still hot against your sensitive bundle of nerves.
"stop squirming." his voice only made you wetter, and another moan tore from your throat as you fisted taesan's sheets.
"you wanted this, didn't you?" taesan's thumb rubbed circles into your clit, replacing his lips, and he continued pumping his fingers into you mercilessly. you felt him all around you, drowning in his touch, his voice. the words falling off his tongue dripped with venom, and it only fanned the flames in your lower half.
"always teasing and playing with me. i didn't know what you wanted from me then, but i get it now." taesan mumbled against your hips, where he dragging his lips and teeth on your soft skin, leaving even more marks. you couldn't even answer him, jolts of pleasure making your thoughts go haywire. he smiled against your skin, enjoying the fucked out look on your face.
"you're usually so mouthy, what happened, y/n?" taesan watched you writhe underneath him, tears welling in your shut eyes. the sight of you falling apart had him painfully hard, dick straining in his boxers helplessly.
"f-fuck, tae." you cried out as he hit that spot inside you again, heat pooling in your stomach and threatening to spill out of you. "gonna cu- fuck!"
"go ahead, i got you." taesan didn't let up, fingers pounding into you. the room was filled with your whimpers and the wet noises of your arousal. with one more snap of his wrist, the coil in your stomach snapped, and your entire body shook as you came. you could feel your walls fluttering uncontrollably around taesan's fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm.
your back slumped as you came down from your high, barely registering the feeling of taesan's fingers lazily stroking in and out of you until the twinges of overstimulation started to settle in. you pushed his hands away from you with a whine, opening your eyes slowly. as your surroundings came back to you, you were greeted with the sight of taesan leaning over you, licking your juices off his fingers.
your voice was soft and delicate as you cursed at the sight, legs wrapping around his waist so you could pull him into a bruising kiss. his wet hand gripped your sides hard enough to leave bruises as you sucked on his tongue gingerly.
his hardened length grinded against you as he licked into your mouth, and the fabric of his boxers rubbing against your clit made you hiss in pleasure. you let your splayed hand on his chest drag downwards, fingers teasing the waistband of his underwear. taesan sighed into your mouth as it slipped underneath, your hand wrapping around his dick.
it was heavy in your hand, and you could feel the way the tip bulged in comparison to the rest of his length. you squeezed him experimentally, smiling in satisfaction at the pretty noises he was making and the way he was biting your lip helplessly.
your grip was hot and tight around him and you smeared the precum leaking from the tip along his length, making your fist glide smoother along the veiny skin.
"you feel so ... mmmh fuck so good" taesan's face was pressed into your neck, soft pants filling your ears deliciously. you jerked him slow, forcing him to savor the drag of your soft fingers on his dick. your hands were so much softer than his, and they felt like heaven wrapped around him. his hips rutted against your hand as he fucked your fist, and the room filled with sounds of skin sliding against each other and soft moans.
taesan could feel the knot in his stomach ready to burst and, with the most willpower he's even had, he grabbed your wrist and tugged your hand out of his boxers.
"i don't wanna cum from your hand." he said breathlessly, slipping his boxers off. you giggled as he reached over you to pull open the top drawer of his nightstand, fishing out a condom. you kicked off your ruined underwear, tossing them somewhere on taesan's bedroom floor.
"it'd be a nice ego boost for me." you teased, running a finger up his length as he ripped open the foil package. he rolled his eyes, smacking your wrist away as he slid the rubber on himself.
"i think that's the last thing you need, actually." his voice was low and breathy as he spoke, hands running up your torso and gripping your face. he pushed his lips against yours, tongue dipping between your lips. you pulled him closer by his shoulders, skin burning in anticipation as you felt his length rest against your stomach.
you were aching to feel him inside you, walls pulsing around nothing. you wanted him so bad it hurt, nails digging into his soft skin.
"please, just put it in." you barely got the words out in between kisses. you could feel taesan smile against you. he debated ignoring your pleas, swallowing your whimpers in between his lips and making you beg a bit longer. but taesan was feeling a bit impatient, not to mention painfully hard, today as well; he'd save the begging for another night.
he broke your kiss, letting his lips hover over yours. your breaths mingled together as his heavy gaze met yours. looking down between you, he wrapped a hand around his length, sliding the tip between your folds. the sounds were obscene, your wetness coating his tip generously.
you whined again, trying to tilt your hips upward to slip part of him inside you. your efforts were fruitless, taesan's wrist moved from his length to hold your hips down as he tutted in disapproval. when you finally stopped squirming, he moved his hips forward, pushing the tip into you slowly.
"ngh -- fuck." you moaned as he sank into you slowly. even after taking his fingers, you still felt a stretch as your body made room for him inside you. the burn was delicious, and your hands reached for him, any part of him. one of taesan's hands moved from your hip to hold your empty hand, fingers intertwining as he finally bottomed out.
"are you okay?" it was only after he asked the question that you realized you were panting, breaths short and fast.
"mmm uhm -- yea i'm just, shit, so full." taesan's eyes darkened as he took in your words, pride swelling at the way his dick took the words out of your brain. he pressed his lips to yours, coaxing your body to adjust to the newfound fullness.
you felt like you were falling, and his touch was the only thing keeping you from disintegrating into thin air. you unconsciously clenched around him, and he gasped into your mouth.
"you're so -- shit so tight." he mumbled into your neck before licking a stripe up to your jaw. "can i move?"
you nodded, grinding your hips upwards slightly. taesan's first thrusts were slow, letting the two of your savor the drag of his veiny skin against your warm walls. with each thrust, the slight discomfort of his intrusion faded, and warm pleasure pooled in your abdomen, making you whine and grasp his shoulder.
"ngh faster, please." your words were broken, and taesan reveled in the effect he had on you. he angled his hips upward and began moving in and out of you faster, tip brushing your g-spot with every thrust.
the room filled with wet squelching noises as he fucked into you, his skin slapping against yours obscenely. the sight of his face above you was everything, bangs sweaty as they clung to his forehead and eyes scrunched in concentration as he tried to keep a steady rhythm. the bed creaked loudly, and you were sure any of his neighbors could definitely hear.
nothing mattered to you though, nothing but the sweet sensation of him filling you up, dick sliding inside you and making your eyes roll back.
a rough hand landed on your clit, fingers rubbing tight circles against the soft bud with vigor. the sensation was almost too much, and you nearly screamed when he somehow angled his hips even higher. every stroke inside sent jolts of pleasure down your limbs; your skin felt electric.
"so-o good, tae." your words were punched out, brain foggy as taesan fucked all coherent thoughts out of you. he groaned and bit down on your shoulder as you lifted your hips to meet his movements.
"you're too good to me, baby." he cooed at you, voice all too pleasant compared to the way he was pounding into you. "so warm inside. all for me."
his sweet words only made you hurtle even faster towards your climax. you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began. you looked between your bodies to see where the two of you connected, letting out a broken whine at the sight of his length sliding in and out of you.
his hand left your clit and slid low on your abdomen, pressing in slightly. the pressure sent waves of warm pleasure through you.
"i can see myself. right here." you looked down to see where his hand was. it rested on a small bulge in your stomach, one that moved with his thrusts into you. taesan ran his thumb over it and you let out a weak sob at the sight, burying your face into his neck.
"fuck ..." you sighed as his dick carved into you. taesan grabbed your hair, pulling your face out of the crook in his shoulder.
"fuck, y/n, say you're mine." he groaned, eyes piercing into you. his hand hovered over your clit again, fingers ghosting over the sensitive nub as he spoke again. "say it."
"i'm shit-- i'm yours, taesan. only yours." you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you held onto him. he fucked deep into you, long fingers rubbing into your clit vigorously.
you didn't even tell him when your orgasm hit you, capturing his lips with yours instead. it washed over you like a tidal wave, soaking your whole body in hot bliss. taesan groaned as your walls squeezed him, mumbling an i'm cumming against your lips softly.
even through the condom, you could feel his release, the feeling of the hot liquid making you moan loudly. taesan fucked you through both of your highs, stroking in and out of you as you came back down to earth.
he pressed his forehead to yours when he broke your kiss, warm breath fanning on your cheeks. his movements slowed to a stop as his body slumped on top of you, dick softening inside of you as he pressed his face into your neck.
"you're gonna crush me, tae." you wheezed out, chest squeezing underneath him. your hands balled into fists as they flailed against his back, and you were laughing. taesan chuckled, pushing himself up by his arms to pull himself out of you. he rolled off the bed, tossing the condom. he disappeared into his closet, walking out in a pair of fresh boxers. you smiled shyly as he handed you a big tshirt and a pair of his boxers for you to sleep in, slipping them on before sliding back onto the bed.
you turned onto your side to face him when he crawled back to join you and pulled a blanket over the two of you, your hand coming up to run though his hair. his eyes closed as he leaned into your touch, rubbing against your hand like a cat.
"what are you thinking about?" his voice was low and smooth as he opened his eyes to look at you, making your cheeks burn.
"you." you whispered. a hand wrapped around your arm and he pulled you into his chest, his other hand cupping the back of your head. you tilted your head up so you could kiss him, slow and soft. your legs tangled with his as you tilted your face to brush your tongue against his lightly.
"hmm ... good answer." he smiled against your mouth, planting another kiss on your cheek. you closed your eyes as he squeezed you against him, peppering kisses across your face. you hid your face in the crook of his neck and let his warm body encase you, falling asleep to the feeling on his face nuzzling into your hair.
...
two weeks had passed since the fateful party, and taesan was now your boyfriend. both of you were sitting with your friend group at lunch, laughing over some dumb argument between myungjae and sohee.
"y/n, you agree with me, right?" jaehyun looked at you pleadingly at you as you shook your head, laughing. you were eating some fries with taesan's arm draped around your shoulder, periodically feeding him some.
"you're crazy, jae." his offended look only egged your laughter on further, your shoulders shaking slightly.
"and to think i helped you plot on my friend. i never would've expected you of all people to betray me." he gasped dramatically, falling into his seat with a pout. your jaw dropped as he sat down, cheeks reddening as you reached over to smack him on the back of the head. you heard a chuckle from your boyfriend, making your cheeks blush furiously.
"wow, i can't believe i was all stressed worrying that you hated me while you were preying on me." taesan laughed as he pulled you away before you properly jumped on jaehyun.
"it wasn't like tha-" he cut you off with a swift kiss, lips swallowing your rebuttal.
a chorus of gross! and ew's and not again's could be heard across the table, and suddenly everyone was chastising myungjae for provoking the two of you.
"now i have to bleach my eyes, jesus." giselle mumbled.
genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)
warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip
word count: 6.9k
a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo
part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time
a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.
If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes.
What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree.
On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.
You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way.
Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.
He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.
Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”
“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”
“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”
The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot).
You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.
“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.
And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.
“It looks so much better on you, though.”
With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because
even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.
The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes.
And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren’t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.
You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.
Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.
“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.
You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”
“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”
“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.
“No?”
“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”
Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”
Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.
“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”
Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.
“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”
There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”
“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief.
“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.
“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.
“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”
“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”
The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.
“Do you have a special recipe?”
“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”
“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.
“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.
“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.
“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”
“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”
“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.
“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”
A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.
Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”
He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”
The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy.
His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin.
“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.
Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)
“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”
Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”
The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.
Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.
Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored?
“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.
“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.
“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”
“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.”
Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”
He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”
“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”
You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”
“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.
He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)
“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.
You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.
“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”
“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.
“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”
“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.
“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.
“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”
“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.
Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.
“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.
Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?”
The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”
“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.
“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again.
“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”
The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze.
He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening.
“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.
“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”
“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)
You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.
“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures?”
“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.
“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.
“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.
The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.
“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball.
The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.
“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.
“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.
The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.
Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.
“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.
“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.
His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”
Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.
When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more.
Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”
“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.
Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.
You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.
“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts.
“Why?”
“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.
He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?”
“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.
Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”
Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”
“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.
“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind.
A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake.
“Yo! What the fuck–”
“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).
The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back).
Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.
You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference.
You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.
The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.
“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.
“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?
The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?
It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.
“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.
“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”
“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.
You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.
Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.
He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)
Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step.
When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.
messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)
▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻♂️, one allusion to death
▷ part word count. 16.3k out of 34.8k / read part two here
▷ inspired by. incantations (composed by richard meyer) it's not like,,, the fic's "soundtrack" or anything. i just think it sounds cool lol
this is my submission for deoboyznet's boyz who bite event! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
a/n: i'm telling u that i resisted the idea of another demon changmin au for ONE WHOLE MONTH. i went through THREE OTHER IDEAS BEFORE FALLING BACK ON THIS DRAFT. I SWEAR. so pls reblog + comment + enjoy! :') and thank u to @justalildumpling as usual for reading this for me 😭💖
PART I: THE CATALYST
THERE WERE WORSE WAYS TO GO OUT, you supposed. However, the paranormal wasn't often a subject you frequented, so sitting atop an ashy-white pentagram wasn't exactly how you expected to be spending a Friday night.
“Changmin, you're always hooting about this shit,” Juyeon said as he peered over his shoulder at the boy lurking in the far corner of the living room. “Are you seriously all bark and no bite?”
No one really paid attention to Changmin's response besides you and Juyeon (kind of—he was busy lighting the candles). Technically, it was a new behavior; Changmin was usually the one obsessed with horror movies and the paranormal, constantly getting you all to participate in Halloween horror nights and haunted houses, and bringing his beloved (cursed) Chucky doll to any and every group movie night. But now that you were finally acting on his demonic big talk, all of that stuff and nonsense dissipated like the snuffing out of a candle.
A shadow fell across his face. “I already warned you guys. This isn't something you should be toying around with.”
“It's a Ouija board—what could go wrong?” Shuhua wrinkled her nose as she began tapping out a circle of salt around your body and the pentagram on the floor. “I saw them on sale at Toys R Us for half off.”
Because you were the last one to arrive tonight, you were chosen as the sacrifice. It wasn't really fair because this was literally Juyeon and Changmin's apartment, but it didn't matter much in the end. You didn't believe in this stuff and it wasn't your salt being wasted. (You were also exempt from venmoing Hyunjae a portion of the paycheck he spent buying candles and chalk. Save fifteen bucks and sit on a pentagram in a salt circle? Why the fuck not.)
“Don't we need to draw blood or something?” you asked, half joking.
“No.” Changmin's expression somehow grew even darker. Your eyes widened slightly; you'd never seen him so serious. “Absolutely not. Do you want this to turn out worse?”
“Changmin, dude, you gotta chill, man.” Hyunjae dumped the Ouija board he'd dug out of his parents’ attic onto the floor next to you, just outside the salt circle.
Shuahua squawked. “Oy! You're ruining my perfect circle!”
“Just redo it, dumbass!”
“You redo it, asshat,” she growled back, tapping out some salt to finish it.
Juyeon, as if to placate your friend, said to Changmin, “The salt will protect her.”
You blinked. “Oh, that's what it's for?” You could've sworn that was what the candles were for, but again, you didn't believe in this, so why would you know a thing about it?
Changmin's face hit the palms of his hands with a resounding slap. “Absolutely not. You can't have Yn in the circle if she doesn't even know what the Hell is going on.”
“So do you wanna be in the circle?”
His left eye seemed to twitch as he cocked his head to the side. Something about that movement made a shiver crawl down your spine. The sensation was akin to watching a predator consider its prey from the brush… but that wasn't right. Changmin was all dimpled smiles and goofy shenanigans and twinning with his horror doll child. There wasn't anything remotely scary about him, unless you made him mad (you hadn't yet). So why were your inner alarms screaming for you to run? “That's actually not a bad idea—”
“Okay!” Hyunjae called his hands together. “Let's get started, shall we?”
The thoughts were brushed beneath the dusty rug in your head. You shrugged at Changmin. “Too late, I guess.”
You thought you heard him mutter out something under his breath in frustration, but you didn't understand the language.
All of your other friends began to gather on the side of the circle where the Ouija board was. You weren't even sure what all the pomp and circumstance was for, but Changmin didn't seem up to correct anything. He continued to sulk in the corner with his arms folded over his chest, eyes shaded by the brim of his cap as he stared onward.
Hyunjae's eyes fluttered closed as he, Juyeon, and Shuhua placed their fingers upon the planchette. “To the spirits who may be here in this room with us—”
“And demons,” Shuhua murmured.
A choked sound came from Changmin's side of the room.
Your eyes flickered open and saw him rub a hand down his face as if he was stressed.
“We are opening the veil between your world and ours,” Hyunjae continued. “My name is Hyunjae, and with me are Shuhua, Yn, Juyeon, and Changmin.”
Shuhua inhaled shallowly. “Is there someone here with us?”
The apartment was consumed in a dead silence as the five of you waited. You sat cross-legged in your ring of salt, cheek resting against your fist. Your eyes were drifting to half-mast—it’d been a long day for you, and considering it was approaching midnight already, it was about time you went to bed.
“We brought you a sacrifice,” Hyunjae said. “We were wondering if you could tell us your name.”
A chilling breeze brushed past your cheeks and you glanced up, expecting the air conditioning to have caused it. There was no vent above you, however. Strange.
You wrung your hands in your lap. “You could possess me if you'd like.”
Your eyes joined your friends’ as you all pinned your gazes to the Ouija board. The planchette remained still.
After a beat, your patience ran thin, and you sat up to lean back on your hands—wasn't something supposed to happen?
The amber glow from the candles in the living room wavered violently. In your surprise, your fingers grated against the salt and hardwood as you nearly fell backward. You yanked your hand back to you at the sting.
The bodies in the room went taut, speechless.
A gust of wind—something impossible in this enclosed space—whipped past you in a wide circle. The salt circle was no more, the candle flames were snuffed.
You sat stiff as a board. For a moment, you could swear you felt some invisible, foreign weight rest upon your chest. It sank deep into you, a phantom hand reaching into your body as if to latch onto your very soul.
Ba bump ba bump ba bump, your heart drummed wildly in your chest.
Howls and gasps of delight were drowned out by the blood in your ears; they were sounds of awe from your friends. You placed your hand over your sternum in the dark to feel for that unseen force, but there was nothing.
The room flooded with warm light. It chased away the shadows to the furthest corners.
You glanced up and saw Juyeon at the light switch with a boyish grin stretched across his lips. “That was crazy! Yn, how do you feel?”
Eyes darted to you.
The pentagram beneath you was smudged, the white chalk staining your pants and your hands. You managed a smile, and then a slow nod. What you felt earlier was probably nothing.
“I'm good,” you chirped. You glanced over at Changmin in the corner, his eyes still shaded by the brim of his cap, but with the muscle in his jaw clenched. Why? Why did you look at him? You couldn't fathom why survival instinct had you encoded to turn toward that which was capable of your demise. “Yeah, I'm good.”
A yawn tore through you as you stepped into your darkened apartment. Your hand fumbled for the light switch and you tucked your shoes away on the rack, before depositing your keys onto the table with a noisy clatter. The remainder of your time spent at Juyeon and Changmin's had been spent cleaning up the failed ritual, and you hit the road as soon as it was over.
Your roommates were all out for the night, so the apartment was cold and quiet as you stumbled down the hall to your bedroom. Compared to your friends, you'd left rather quickly because of a text you'd received from Lee Chan, a good friend of yours and former neighbor from childhood. His home life hadn't been the most spectacular, so you and he became fast friends during the moments after school when you hung out on your front lawn.
He'd swung by your apartment earlier to drop off banana muffins, but you hadn't been home. I'm home now! But you can totally come by in the morning instead, you texted him after setting your backpack down and peeling off your jacket.
As you sat in the dim gold illuminating from your desk lamp, the pressure in your chest returned. You could feel your heart pick up speed in your ribcage and you lifted your finger up to your mouth to suck on the dollop of blood that had welled to the surface. It was a small scratch from when the candles went out—your own clumsiness—but it was nothing a My Little Pony bandaid couldn't fix.
A featherweight sensation drifted over your arm, and you slapped your palm over it as if to catch whatever invisible insect crawled atop your skin.
There was nothing though.
You glanced over at the window to your right. The sky outside was an unpeculiar ebony riddled with the white speckles of distant stars. No breeze drifted in from outdoors and you double-checked that the window was closed.
You startled as your phone vibrated on top of your desk.
dino!!: oh it's okay! i have dance practice early in the morning, so i'd rather bother you while ur still awake haha
dino!!: i'll be by in about 10ish min if that's cool?
your phone: sounds good lol and tysm :’)) love mingyu's banana muffins
You smiled to yourself at the thought of those delicious pastries. Chan's friend Mingyu baked whenever he was stressed, and he usually gave out the results of his stress-bakes to friends. The first time you'd tasted his banana chip muffins was the closest you would ever get to heaven on Earth.
“I'm glad he makes you smile at least.”
Your phone clattered to the floor, your physical body leaping five feet in the air as your soul flew out of its encasing. Everything in you jolted like one, big heart palpitation, and your wide eyes took in the sight of a person standing by your window.
Ji fucking Changmin had nary an apology on his lips for scaring the everloving Hell out of you. It was as if he hadn't even moved out of his position at his apartment: the crossed arms, the tense posture, the clenched jaw.
Except, his eyebrow was cocked this time, unamused by your very valid fear.
“Oh, fuck you.” You braced your palms against your bed as you stood opposite from him. “Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.”
“I got it the first time.”
You could have blown steam out of your ears. “What the fuck are you doing in my room, you creep?”
He raised his palms up, finally breaking pose. “I know what this looks like—”
“You know what this looks like?” You let out a scoff, throwing your arm out in wild gesticulation to match the throttle of your heartbeat. “This looks like Edward Cullen in Twilight, except this isn't a movie, you're not Robert Parkinson, and you just climbed up a five story building!”
Changmin stepped forward, and you took a very obvious step back. He exhaled, pressing his lips together. “Okay, I deserve that,” he muttered.
“No shit. I should call the cops on you, friend or not. What is the matter with you?” You had known Changmin for as long as your college career thus far. The five of you had met in the freshman dorms and stuck together like a package deal since. You were all quite close, and you'd spent more than your fair share of quality time with Changmin.
But this—nothing could warrant this behavior.
“I need to talk to you about something important.”
You enclosed your palms around your arms, defensive. “Then you call or text or use the front door. My window was locked—”
“The lock on your window should be the least of your concerns,” he huffed. There was a firmness in his voice and behind his words, and a matching gleam of desperation in his face. He pressed his fingers against your bedspread and the air seemed to still.
That phantom breeze had returned and it drifted against your arm. It came accompanied by the weight in your chest. “What,” you stammered, “do you mean?”
He glanced away then, that tension seizing his shoulders again. He scratched his jaw seemingly at odds with words. “The ritual that happened tonight… that was real.”
You paused. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“I'm not.”
“Changmin, I'm way too exhausted to deal with your pranks right now. If tonight was all an elaborate thing you guys did to get back at me for waking you up at 4AM—”
“Yn.” The tone of his voice made you stop. It made you think. You considered the graveness of his expression differently; you had never seen him so serious. It was jarring. “I am being incredibly serious. The thing that happened to you tonight? That was a summoning ritual, and you were actually put into contact with Hell.”
You remained quiet, unknowing of how to answer. All logic in your brain was countering his statements profusely—it wasn't possible. There was no way something as little as chalk, salt, and candles could open up a portal to Hell.
At your lack of response, Changmin continued, “Tonight, a line to Hell was opened. The ritual was meant to contact a demonic entity. Usually, ritualists use it to make deals and bargains with whoever answers the call. The human link—the 'sacrifice’” —he looked at you pointedly— “is one half of the signing party responsible for fulfilling whatever the bargain is.”
A shudder rattled down your spine at what he revealed to you. This had to be a joke, you thought. This could not be real. But every time you looked at Changmin, the expression on his face did not change and his voice did not waver.
You swallowed, hard. “So,” you said finally, your voice barely a whisper, “you're saying…”
A lone nod. “You made contact with a demon tonight.” He paused for a beat, something warring behind his eyes. “You made contact with me.”
What. You sputtered out a laugh.
Changmin released a small, but sharp exhale, patiently waiting for you to let your giggles out. There were undoubtedly better ways to reveal it, but any way would still evoke such a reaction from you.
“Okay, now I know you're fucking with me,” you said with the lingering curl of a smile on your face. “You're saying that you're a demon?”
He seemed to weigh an idea in his head for a millisecond before caving. He flicked his chin out toward you. “You cut yourself tonight?”
You flinched and instinctively curled your right hand, your other fingers running over the small slice in your index finger. “What?”
“Come on. Let me see.” At your balking, he lifted up his hand. “I bet you I have a matching mark.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What hand and where?”
“Right hand. Index.”
“This doesn't count because that's the most predictable hand and finger.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yn, don't be silly. I literally have the same mark.”
Slowly, he stepped his way around the bed to your side, stopping only close enough where you could inspect his hand from a distance. Lo and behold, the flesh of his index finger was neatly sliced open, slightly diagonal in the top right quadrant of the finger—exactly where yours was.
The breeze returned like a cool breath, gentle against your cheek, as you raised your eyes to meet his again. The horror in your gaze must have confirmed that he'd convinced you of who—no—what he was.
“So what does this mean exactly?” you asked him. There were no giggles this time.
Changmin sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “We are now bound via soul,” he said and extended his hand out slightly. His fingers curled inward and he gave a tugging motion level with your chest, and something deep within you moved.
Your eyes went as wide as a full moon. “What the Hell…”
“That's the line we're connected by.”
“I'm on a leash?”
Changmin glanced toward the ceiling as if mentally counting to three, then took a breath. “Not a leash; it's just a line. That's what was created between us when I became the demon on the other end and you spilled your blood on the pentagram. It doesn't mean we're restrained to stay within physical proximity of one another, but it does mean that you can't run away and hide from me.”
You shuddered. “That sounds scary.”
“It would be if you didn't fulfill your end of a bargain, but you never made a bargain.” He lifted his baseball cap up to card a hand through his blond hair before replacing the hat on his head. “Which basically means that we're stuck like this. We are emotionally and metaphysically bound to one another.”
There were a lot of words that had been said over the past few minutes, and most of them were difficult to wrap your head around. The worst truth of all was the brief, but very real sensation you had felt when Changmin had tugged on the invisible link between the two of you. That weight on your chest from earlier… had that been the “bond” settling into place?
“How could sitting on a chalk pentagram even” —you waved your hands around as you attempted to formulate words— “how was all of that possible? I thought Ouija boards were fucking toys?”
“I told you guys that you shouldn't play around with those things.”
“Well, how the Hell were we supposed to know this was going to happen?” you countered. The four of you had done some innocent fooling around, and now, you were “emotionally and metaphysically bound” to Changmin. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Changmin sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “We can undo it. I think.”
You think? “How?”
“I—I need to do some research,” he said with a grimace. “I've never heard about instances like this and I didn't think it was even possible. I thought I could just intercept the call—”
Intercept the call? You shook your head. “I need you to start from the beginning, but slowly, as if you're speaking to a five year old.”
He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped abruptly.
A change in expression flickered across his face. It was brief, almost instinctual. You swore it looked like mild irritation, but it was gone before you could be sure. “You should probably answer the door.”
“Answer the what?”
You nearly yelped at the sound of loud knocking at the apartment door. Confusion pummeled you first, then you were swearing. “Chan.” You forgot he was stopping by.
“I'll be right back,” you said, moving toward the bedroom door.
“It’s fine. I need to go looking for answers.” Changmin stopped you before you went out, and you couldn't suppress the violent shudder when the invisible line in your chest pulled taut. “And Yn? Don't do anything stupid.”
You made a face at him from over your shoulder. “I'm already soul-bound to you by accident. How much more stupid can this get?”
He threw his hand up in the air. “Just don't do anything Hyunjae or Shuhua would do. Actually, just don't tell any of them about what I just told you.”
Why not? You were about to ask when you heard Chan's voice at the door calling out to you. Another swear fell from your mouth and you rushed out into the hallway to rip the door off its hinges.
Chan startled as it opened, his eyes going wide like a deer's in the bright hallway lights. There was a loose blue hoodie hanging over his green dinosaur pajama pants. He had his phone in his hands along with a paper bag undoubtedly carrying the legendary banana muffins. “Oh, hi. Sorry, is someone here with you? I thought I heard another voice.”
You braced a hand around the doorframe. Don't tell anyone. “Ah,” you winced, the lie curling up your tongue, “I was just on a call with a friend and he wouldn't shut up. Sorry about the wait.”
“No, it's no worries,” he insisted with a classic, easygoing smile. It made the adrenaline in your veins calm somewhat. Chan had always been a good presence to be around. There was something perpetually warm about his persona that made you want to stay in his orbit. “Oh, right!” He handed you the bag. “These are all yours. Mingyu says to let him know how they taste this time around, as always.”
As you accepted the bag, your face lit up like a Hollywood billboard. “I can guarantee that they will taste as divine as always. Tell him thanks for me” —you glanced up sheepishly from the paper bag— “and also, thanks for stopping by. I wish I was home earlier so you didn't have to drive all the way back.”
You didn't realize your face had contorted into a grimace. If only you had come straight home instead of indulging your friends’ curiosity tonight. Then, you would have been here with the banana muffins and one less soul-bond to worry about; and you would have been none the wiser to the fact that one of your college friends was a demonic entity.
Hadn't Changmin mentioned that you were now emotionally and metaphysically bound? Did that mean he could feel your emotions?
The smile had long since slipped from your face, but now your hands grew cold. When you got your muffins just now, did he know—
“Yn?” You perked up at the sound of your name. Chan's hand froze midair, then retracted back to his pocket. Concern shone on his face as stark as day. “Are you okay? You look like you just forgot you have something due tonight,” he chuckled half-heartedly, but the sheen in his eyes told a different story.
“Oh.” You forced out a laugh. “I'm fine! Yeah, I was just reminded of something. Actually—uhm, I shouldn't hold you up for any longer. It's getting late.”
Chan stared at you for a moment longer, and for that seemingly infinitesimal second, you feared he could see the invisible knot tied to your ribcage. “Right,” he said suddenly while shaking his head. “You should get some sleep.”
Your hand reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for dropping by again.”
“Wait” —his palm pressed against the door to keep you from closing it— “are you sure you're okay?”
It was as if your guilt was written in plain words across your forehead: No! I just became magically handcuffed to one of my demonic friends! And I also sat in a pentagram salt circle less than two hours ago! Please help me!
You channeled all your energy into a convincing smile. “Yes, I promise I'm okay. Have a good night, Chan.”
It was enough. That easygoing beam graced your eyes once more and he took his hand back. “Okay,” he said, “good night.” He waved to you as he turned on the ball of his foot, and you waited until he turned the corner before closing the door.
Your entire body deflated as you let out a rather dramatic sigh. That sigh turned into a loud groan, which eventually escalated into a borderline scream.
Like a woman possessed (would possession have been a better outcome than this?), you slunk back into your bedroom with your treasures in your grasp. “Hey,” you muttered as you kicked the door closed, “I'm… back.”
The room was vacant. Not a trace of the blond demon could be found.
“Son of a gun.” You settled into your desk chair and pulled out one of Mingyu's stress-baked muffins. As you peeled the parchment wrapper from the muffin's bottom half, you attempted to process all that had occurred within the past two hours. Every time you rewound the events, you met the same dozen or so questions. If only Changmin were still here to answer them, but he mentioned something about going off to answer questions of his own, including ones pertaining to undoing this rather inconvenient situation you’d found yourselves in.
“He should have stopped us,” you garbled between bites of banana chip muffin.
Your chewing came to a gradual halt as you marinated on that thought. “He… should have stopped us.” Why didn't he stop the four of you? If he had stopped you and suggested a movie instead, or any other activity for that matter, you wouldn't be here and he wouldn't be stressed.
He should have stopped you since he knew what you were getting yourselves into.
You crumpled the now empty muffin wrapper in your fist. Ji Changmin had far too much to explain to you.
PART II: THE CONSEQUENCES
IF THERE WAS NO REST FOR THE WICKED, Changmin didn't want to be wicked anymore. By popular perception, he and half his heritage were “evil.” While his father was a human from this mortal plane, his mother hailed from one of the nine circles of Hell. They'd fallen in love, conceived a halfling child, and the remainder was history.
“You look like shit, Ji.”
Changmin's eye twitched as irritation needled beneath the surface of his skin. “Thanks,” he drawled, not bothering to spare Lee Chan a glance. If he had limited energy reserves, he wasn't about to spend a drop on giving Chan the time of day.
Plus, Changmin was more than aware of the thick shadows that lingered beneath his eyes like fog clinging to cobblestone. He had woken up from his ninety minute power nap, trudged into the bathroom, and faced his own gauntness in the mirror. Why the fuck did Lee Chan think it necessary to point it out?
Chan's stare lingered on him through the practice room's mirror for a moment longer until he was called away by Kwon Soonyoung. Only then, when Chan's attention was passed elsewhere, could Changmin release the breath he was holding onto.
It was one thing that Changmin couldn't shake the offputting energy he felt whenever he was near Chan; he could stomach being on the same dance team as the guy, even though they each harbored an unspoken dislike for one another; but it was another thing entirely that he and Chan were both friends with you. The two boys attempted to be civil in front of you because your comfort was more important than their pettiness, but currently, said truce was nowhere in sight just as you were.
Simply, there were less reasons for him to be amiable today, including his thinning patience. Last night’s debacle had drained him of his energy. He was a halfling, not a pure-blooded demon. Additionally, his mother wasn’t a high-ranking demon by any means, which basically screwed him in the area of power stores. He had magical capabilities, but it could only handle so much. Answering ritual calls and creating soul bonds required a decent amount of power, which was why they were usually only answered by the more powerful demonheads of Hell. They enjoyed making human suffering a pastime.
Tacking onto that Changmin’s brilliant idea of warping into and out of your room last night instead of using his own two feet, as well as spending hours digging through the occultish corners of the internet, added all together to make for one exhausted, stressed, and grumpy halfling.
A presence—this one being far more welcome than the previous one—appeared by Changmin’s side in the mirror. “You really need to start going to bed when you say you're going to bed,” Juyeon said as plopped down onto the laminated hardwood to stretch out his calf muscles.
Changmin followed his lead onto the floor, but opted to slide into a left split. “I was tossing and turning the whole night,” he dismissed with an innocent lie. (Well, “innocent” was subjective.)
“You should try this new matcha that Hyunjae got from his hyung. He brought it back from his recent trip from Japan.”
For a second, Changmin let the words feed into his head one by one: matcha… from Hyunjae… from Hyunjae's brother… which one was he? Oh, the one who just got back from Japan, Sangyeon. When his tired brain finally caught up, he gave a nod. “What about it?” he asked, raising himself up to switch his hips into the right split.
Juyeon looked on with envious admiration, even if this was the thousandth time he stretched with Changmin. “It’s really refreshing and has a bit of a caffeine kick, but it's not as awful as coffee. Indigo likes it, too—said something about it being one of those rare finds that you can only get in the secluded countryside or something.”
Changmin paused. Juyeon's girlfriend Indigo was someone Changmin got along with well, but that wasn't why he was slightly interested in the matcha now. What Juyeon wasn't aware of was Indigo's witch heritage. Just as Changmin was hiding in plain sight, so too was Indigo. And if she recommended some countryside matcha powder, he was going to be inclined to try some.
“Yeah,” he coughed, “sure. Sounds like it wouldn't hurt to try.”
Pleased with the outcome of the conversation, Juyeon smiled and nodded. “I'll get you some later today then. Hopefully it'll help with the weird headaches you've been having, too.”
Changmin had nearly forgotten about those with everything that had happened. He'd recently been struck by random headaches; there were no patterns to their appearance, and no remedy—human, at least—that could soothe them until they faded on their own. He'd failed to ask Indigo about it because, well, he didn't think it was important enough to act on. But if this tea could help him out, then it would be taking out two birds with one stone.
Practice went on swimmingly. Though Changmin could only boast about his ninety minutes of sleep, when it came to dance, it was as if he was possessed. This was a hobby—a passion—that never failed to drive a fire through his veins. It didn't matter if he'd had the worst week in the history of worst weeks; when the music started, he was cued in, and he gave it his all.
As a river of sweat poured down his face and the room suffocated with the humidity of everybody's labored breathing, practice came to an end. Changmin hiked his duffle bag over his shoulder and poured water down his throat. Juyeon wasn't far behind as the two of them waved goodbye to their teammates and headed out.
Saturday mornings usually occurred in similar fashions: dance practice was held from 7AM to 10AM, then Changmin and Juyeon would return to their apartment to wash up; Changmin would then eat about an elephant's worth of food while he caught up on lecture recordings—unless he had something else to distract him.
In the case of this Saturday, as soon as Changmin had finished showering, he plummeted face-first into his pillows and was out like a light.
Demons could dream, one must understand. However, the demonic body tended only to dream when it was well spent—exhausted. Demons liked to correlate a weakness with having dreams, because foolish visions meant that one was unable to control their own mind. Control was rather important when dealing with magic.
Even if the dream was about, say, something real and occurring right at the moment Changmin was asleep—it was still considered a dream. Because he had not yet learned to leash his mind from meandering down his fresh soul bond, he found himself in a body that was not his own.
Yours. It was your body.
Was this real, he wondered, as he soaked in the familiar sight of your bed, the desk, and the closet space. He'd been in here just last night—albeit, in a fashion that wasn't agreeable—and he didn't expect it to change, but it did look real.
It was like he was actually sitting in your room, except he wasn't able to move or control his own body. The heart that beat in his chest was yours, the blood that pumped in his ears was yours, and the breath that fell from his mouth was yours.
He inwardly sighed as you adjusted your position at your desk chair. What a predicament he found himself in. He could feel the ache in your back from the uncomfortable piece of furniture beneath you, as well as the knots in your shoulders. (Did that mean you had a bad night of sleep?)
Though, it wasn't all bad, he supposed. He did adore the smell of your perfume lingering in the air and clinging to the sheets, the walls, the furniture… You would never know this of course, if he could help it.
You were currently reading a book—for class or for enjoyment, he hadn't the foggiest. The left side of the novel you clutched in your hand was riddled with colored sticky tabs, and you had the back of a ballpoint pen pressed between your lips. (His lips? …No, this was a precarious line of thinking.)
Changmin followed along as you read. Well, he tried. Whoever designed the layout of this book must have had perfect vision and no sympathy for someone visually challenged. The font size was likely less than ten point, and good grief, the line spacing—
“Holy shit.”
He paused. Right, that was you and not him.
You leaned forward and brought the book closer to your face as you read over the line again.
“Oh my gosh, Eliot, you incredible, talented woman.” This earnest compliment was swiftly followed by a colored tab to mark the passage. Changmin was about to read what you tabbed, but your eyes went down to the desk to scrawl a thought onto a post-it note. “Dorothea, you poor, poor soul. Casaubon needs to get the fuck over himself—you are fifty, dude.”
Changmin, frankly, had no clue what was happening. But he didn't entirely mind, because the pure joy that fluttered in your (his) chest was enough to keep him satisfied. There was something oddly serene about being in your sphere of presence, and in this state of being, that kept him at ease.
The stress of breaking this soul bond ebbed away like the receding edge of a tide.
Alas, all good things had to come to an end. Changmin couldn't tell how much time passed before you bookmarked your place with an index card and pulled your phone toward you.
12:04PM was what your lockscreen read.
Oh, so he was definitely catching up on sleep, at least.
Wait—had you not eaten lunch yet? The unmistakable void in the pit of your stomach…
Yn! Eat lunch, you silly girl! Eat—
“He could just be away from his phone,” you muttered to yourself. There were a few app notifications waiting for you, but each dismissal was fueled with mild disappointment.
Who were you talking about, he wondered.
A flash of bitter annoyance pierced his chest at the memory of who you'd been texting last night with that big smile on your face. However, any of that sentiment was dashed clean away when you pulled up your text chain with him, not Lee Chan.
Changmin's heart sped to a gallop as he watched you swipe out just as quickly as you'd checked in. The reason was two-pronged: one, you were wondering about him; and two, you had texted him while he was currently asleep and he did not know how to wake himself up.
Ji Changmin, he chastised himself, you're not only intruding, you're also inadvertently ignoring her.
He could understand that he put you (and abandoned you) in a worrisome place last night. If he could tear out the strands of his fried, blond hair he would.
You were his friend, were you not? He cared about you, and this soul bond wasn't only stressful to him, but to you as well. Maybe ignorance really would have been bliss in this case.
Your phone emitted a low vibration as it rang. Changmin had missed the moment you decided to call someone. Juyeon's contact name and photo was displayed in the middle of the screen, and he answered before the call went to voicemail. “Yn, what's up? You're—you’re not mad about last night, are you?” The wince in Juyeon’s voice was audible.
“No, I'm not mad,” you promised him as you leaned your cheek against your palm. “I was just wondering if you know where Changmin is. I texted him an hour ago and he hasn't answered yet—I guess I'm just a little antsy.”
Shuffling, then, “Oh! Changminnie's sleeping. He didn't sleep well last night, so as soon as we came home from practice, he was knocked out.”
Relief made your shoulders sag. “Ah, okay.” A smile, self-deprecating in nature, curled up on your mouth. “No worries then. Thanks, Juyo.”
“No problem. I'll let him know to call you once he wakes up.”
“No, it's okay” —you began putting your materials away— “have you had lunch yet? I can swing by with food; I haven't eaten yet.”
“Really? I haven't eaten yet, and Changmin hasn't either. I'll split the cost with you.” Changmin wished he could say that he would also split the cost. Why were you coming over? He hadn't gotten a good look at the texts you sent before.
(It had to be because you wanted to see him, right? To talk—of course to talk and not for any other reason.)
You stood up from your chair and stretched out the stiff muscles in your back. “I'll be by in—maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”
“Sounds great!” Juyeon chirped. “Thanks Yn-ie. See you in a bit.”
You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, see you.”
As the call cut off, Changmin was left with a daunting task: to wake himself up. There didn't seem to be many options as to do this. If demonic dreaming was activated based on lack of control, that meant he had a lack of energy. Thus, if he couldn't yet regain control, it could only mean that he was still tired.
There were a great many things that he had yet to figure out about this kind of magic. It wasn't like his mother ever anticipated he would need to know about it, so she never explicitly taught it and he never asked.
He was kicking himself in the head now.
Meanwhile, you had busied yourself with getting ready to leave. You'd selected a jacket from your closet, swiped on a thin layer of lip gloss, and spritzed yourself with that divine-smelling perfume. It made his toes curl and his chest feel fuzzy.
Just as you were filling your purse, your phone jolted with an incoming call.
Changmin soured as he saw the caller ID through your eyes and felt, not disdain, but pleasant surprise. He couldn't fathom what you saw in Lee Chan, but he never said anything; you and Chan knew each other longer, after all. It wasn't his place to say anything, especially when his reason revolved around something as subjective as a “vibe.”
“Hi Chan,” you greeted when you accepted the call.
It was funny—a dull, but annoyingly familiar pulsing appeared in Changmin's head. It beat steady against his cranium, hard and relentless. The longer it continued, the more it hurt. Could you feel it, too? The sensation was recognizable at this point after so many instances of the random headaches popping up. Was he seriously getting another stupid headache during a dream?
He winced to himself, but suddenly felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach when he heard you audibly grimace.
Was this headache yours or his? Should he be worried?
“What was that? Are you okay?” asked Chan from the other side.
Changmin/You clenched your jaw as your vision went spotty for a moment. Your hand whipped out to catch yourself against the table.
Panic seized his chest as you muttered out a reassurance, though unconvincing. The invisible string that tied Changmin to you tightened, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. It was as if his own physical body was yanking him back.
He was waking up.
No, he thought, no I need to make sure she's okay—
Distantly, he heard yours and Chan's voices. Your words between one another were muddied and distorted to Changmin. Before he could even begin to understand what was happening, his eyes opened.
“I could smell lunch through the door,” Juyeon sang to you in greeting as he eagerly beckoned you into the apartment.
You chuckled, shucking your shoes off under the rack by the door. In your hand, you held onto a large bag containing a box of delectably fragrant fried chicken and fries. Oh, glorious sodium and cholesterol. “Yeah, well, imagine my suffering as I was driving over here with it in the car,” you mused.
Juyeon locked the door behind you and took the bag out of your hands.
It was another thing to return to the site of last night's ritual. You'd been in this apartment dozens of times before, but it was difficult to look at the specific spot on the living room floor where the chalk and salt had been. Even if the vacuum cleaner had taken care of all that remained, you couldn't help but choose to sit on the end of the couch farthest from that spot on the floor.
“Oh, could I get a glass of water, by the way?” you asked Juyeon as the two of you began taking things out of the bag to lay them out on the coffee table. “I was feeling a bit lightheaded earlier.”
Juyeon's eyebrows creased as he straightened to head into the kitchen. “Shit, yeah—of course. You drove here while feeling like that? What if you passed out, Yn-ie?”
You snuck a fry into your mouth, murmuring your thanks as he handed you the cup of water. “I'm fine,” you insisted with a vague wave of your hand, “it was just the blood rushing up to my head, I think. And besides, you were already expecting me and I was hungry.”
“I would have woken Changmin up and dragged his ass out of bed.” Juyeon settled onto the couch with you and cracked open the can of Sprite he'd gotten out of the fridge. “You know, Changmin's been getting these random headaches, too. I guess not exactly nausea, but you guys have gotta be more careful,” he waved a fried potato at you as he said this.
The irony could not escape you, and you failed to keep a sarcastic smile to yourself. Uh huh. Be more careful, you say? Too late for that. You took a ginger sip of the water. “Is that right? Maybe he just needs more sleep or something.”
“That's what we thought at first,” Juyeon hummed, idly scratching the back of his neck, “but they happen no matter what he does. There's not really a noticeable pattern.”
You wondered if it had anything to do with his demoness. You couldn't be too sure because you hardly knew anything about his species yourself, but that could explain the seemingly randomness of the headaches. Perhaps it was another question to add to your list.
“Huh.” You frowned. “Well, I hope they go away for him soon.”
Juyeon nodded solemnly. “Yeah, same. Hyunjae's gonna bring over some matcha for him to try… oh, hey! You like matcha—do you want some?”
“Sure, I'd love—”
Your phone buzzed violently in your jacket pocket. A laugh of disbelief flew from your mouth when you saw the caller ID, and you flashed the screen at Juyeon. “Speak of the Devil.”
Juyeon chuckled as you answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, I'm so sorry I missed your text.” His voice, rough from sleep, was accompanied by heavy breathing and the sounds of fabric shuffling in your ear.
You nearly choked, but you remembered that Juyeon was none the wiser to the weird spike in your heartbeat, nor the reason for it. “It's all good; I was being impatient. Juyo said you didn't sleep well.” Your eyes darted to his closed bedroom door and wondered why he hadn't come out yet.
“Yeah.” A brief pause. “Are you—are you okay?”
“Of course, I'm okay,” you drawled, glancing over at Juyeon. “Why? Should I not be okay?”
“No, I mean—” His voice in your ear and behind his bedroom door overlapped one another like two ocean waves colliding along the sand. His door ripped open.
Changmin stood on the threshold with his phone in one hand and the other clutching the doorknob. He was in a loose white T-shirt and sweatpants, a thin layer of sweat making his cheekbones shine. His eyes, a wild creature of their own, landed on you—all of the tension in his body melted away.
He exhaled and sank against the doorframe, ending the call. “Hell…” he muttered under his breath as he dragged a hand through his hair.
Concern had you rising to your feet. “What? What's wrong?”
Changmin closed his bedroom door behind him and collapsed onto the couch somewhere between you and Juyeon. “Bad dream,” he grunted. “How much are we splitting?” The latter was asked as he shoved a fry into his mouth and pulled out the Venmo app on his phone.
You and Juyeon exchanged glances over the blond head: what just happened?; you think I know?
Juyeon sent you a shrug. “Well Yn?”
Now their focus was on you. You took your seat again and reached for your glass of water. “Ten bucks each.”
All of the food that you brought turned into crumbs faster than Cinderella's carriage at midnight. Considering all three of you had barely eaten all day, it was expected. At some point, Juyeon dipped out of the apartment to meet someone for a group project, so that left you and Changmin alone. It was the perfect opportunity to get what you came here for.
“You left pretty abruptly last night,” you said to him as you returned to the couch with a full glass of water. Changmin stood nearly opposite to you, his back against the wall by his bedroom door. He also nursed a cup of water. “And I have some questions.”
He let out a small laugh, his lips pressing his dimples into his cheeks. “I'm sure you do. Sorry, I realized that after I left,” he admitted and raised his free hand up to grab the back of his neck. “So shoot.”
It was strange, you thought. There was no way this guy could be a demon, but was that leaning into stereotype? Last night, that feeling you got when he looked at you from beneath the shadow of his cap… your hairs had stood on their ends and you couldn't shake the spike of adrenaline in your bloodstream. It had been undeniable.
But here he was with a pretty, boyish smile as if he was a completely different person.
“What did you mean by 'intercept the call?’ What exactly happened during the ritual last night?” you asked.
The smile slipped from his face a little, and his eyes flitted over to the spot you had been sitting twelve hours ago. “Like I said,” he began, “you opened a line to Hell—like a phone call, basically. I channeled enough energy to answer it before anyone else from Hell could. And instead of, y'know, appearing in front of you like another demon would, I was already there and just chose to stay quiet when the candles went out.”
You straightened. “So the breeze in the room was your doing?”
Changmin cocked his head to the side with a wince. “I think so? At least, I can't control it yet. Think of it as a physical manifestation of power.”
A physical manifestation of power—you imagined last night's scene from Changmin's point of view, where he stood in the far corner. He would have focused his energy toward the breach between the worlds, and that fulfillment swept through the room like a gust of wind. But then what about all the other times? That moment wasn't the only other instance of a cool breeze on your skin.
When you brought this up to him, Changmin pressed his lips together. “Ah. This?”
On cue, something lightweight and cool brushed past your cheek. Your hand darted up to cover it, and you looked over at Changmin who arched a brow at you. “You get creepier and creepier the more I know you.”
His mouth burst at the seams with a smile. He ducked his blond head, shaking it. You were missing some kind of joke here. “Don't speak too soon,” he said. When he raised his head back up, he ran his tongue over his smile. “It happens when I want it to, it happens when I don't want it to. Just depends.”
“Great.”
“I'll get it under control,” he promised.
You leaned forward onto your knees and pressed your mouth into a slight pout. “Is there anything I can do to bug the shit out of you? This seems like it's only entertaining for you.”
“Well,” Changmin shrugged helplessly, “that's kind of the point of why demons started to do this. They find humans entertaining, and they also like to hold them accountable. The line” —he gave a gentle tug at the invisible string you still couldn't find— “is an insurance policy.”
“Saying it like that just implies it's that much harder to work your way around it.”
“Pretty much.” A grin split his face, and you were struck by the ease you smiled back without having meant to. “Don't look too excited now.”
You flattened your face and voice. “I'm thrilled.”
Before Changmin could respond, you suddenly remembered the main question that plagued you last night. You cleared your throat, your fingers dancing around the sides of your glass. “By the way… why didn't you stop us last night?” You watched his facial expression and how it was carefully knitted into something blank. “If you knew what was going to happen, you could have insisted we stopped, and we would have. Why let us get to this point?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you.
Changmin's throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I was pretty confident that I could intercept it, so there wasn't any real risk with doing the ritual if you guys wanted to have fun. I just didn't count on…” He lifted his right hand, where the pinkish scar was left on his index finger.
He hadn't counted on you getting cut and sealing the bond.
You pinched the space between your eyes. “Ah. My clumsiness has now doomed me to be metaphysically handcuffed to you.”
“I wasn't going to say it…”
“Oh, go to Hell.”
Changmin laughed. “Only if you come with me.”
Heat rushed to the surface of your skin. Sometimes, his mouth moved too fast. You snuck a glance at him through your fingers while he sipped on his water. If you peered close enough, the tips of his ears were flushing to a light pink.
He lowered the glass from his lips, and a crease formed between his brows. “Also,” he said carefully, his tone starkly different from less than a minute ago, “I do have another side effect to add to the list.”
Your stomach flipped. Not another thing—
“I may or may not be able to occupy your physical body when I'm dreaming—”
Changmin grimaced as the bottom of your glass banged against the wooden coffee table. That expression only deepened at the wide-eyed fury—fear—on your face. “And when I was asleep earlier,” he continued on, dooming himself to walk the plank, “I kind of intruded on your reading session, and when you called Juyeon, and when Chan call—”
“Can I murder you? Would that harm me in any way?” you cut in.
His mouth was open, but no words were coming out.
You stood, abandoning your seat on the couch and your water glass, to step across the room toward him. “Because if I could,” you said while pressing the back of your knuckles to your lips, “I can rid myself of the absolute creep of a friend I have!”
Changmin's eyes widened as soon as it hit him—your hand. Your hand hit his shoulder.
He bolted.
“Hey, let's talk about this, Yn-ah!” he exclaimed and dove into the kitchen to duck behind the counter. Some monstrously high-pitched scream left his mouth as he scrambled to stay out of your reach.
“We are talking about this, Changmin-ah.” You charged after him, chasing him around the counter and back out of the kitchen. If you didn't respect Juyeon like you did, you would have fully embraced becoming a bull in a china shop.
Your fist hit the solid plane of his bedroom door just as it slammed in your face. You let out a sound suspiciously close to a growl. “You possessed my body without my consent!”
“It's not like I consented to it either! It just happened!”
“That's not a valid excuse, you panini head!”
“I don't want to possess your body!” he insisted through the door with his voice going higher than the Eiffel Tower. “Why would I want to possess your body? I don't wanna be around when you and bestie Lee Chan gush about Star Trek.”
On certain occasions you really wished you had Superman's laser vision. Then you could burn through this stupid piece of door and roast a demon. “You're not helping yourself, Ji.”
A beat passed. “Look,” he huffed. “It only happened because I was exhausted as shit, okay? I really had no control of it, I swear on my life.”
You remained still with your arms braided across your chest without a word coming to mind.
“I didn't see anything sensitive, I promise, and my body woke me up and pulled me out of it when you got that really bad headache.”
Huh? That bout of lightheadedness… was that related to how the connection was severed? Or at least, hindered? You brushed the curiosity aside; weren't you supposed to be mad at this guy?
“Which was also why I was worried when I woke up and asked if you were okay,” he added in earnest. He did look worried like you were going to die when he woke up…
You glared impetuously at the closed door to the point you were sure even the wood grains were two seconds from apologizing to you. “Okay, fine,” you relented. “But you're not fully off the hook; I just won't use the kitchen knives.”
A choking sound filtered through and you felt the corners of your mouth tug upward.
“What can I do to make it even?” Changmin asked, though he continued to remain behind the closed door.
Frankly, there weren't many things he could do to even the score unless you chose to be creepy and sit in on his private moments. You shuddered—you’d rather not. Those were private for a reason. Maybe he could burn his eyes out with bleach. (Kidding… ish.) “I don't know,” you said half-heartedly, ”tell me a secret.”
A moment of silence passed. “I thought it was hot when you asked if you could kill me.”
Not even an ounce of shame with this one, huh? “You're sick. I'm leaving.”
For the second time today, his bedroom door ripped open. “No, wait, I was kidding! Yn, I was kidding.” (He was not kidding).
You stopped, half-whirled around. In your periphery, he stepped out of his room, but refrained from getting too close. When you turned around fully, the red that dusted his cheekbones was unmistakable. Unfortunately, seeing him flustered was enough for you at the moment.
With a feigned, heavy sigh, you motioned to him. “C'mere.”
Changmin perked up like a confused puppy.
“Come here,” you repeated with more urgency this time. You curled your hand toward you to beckon him closer.
He crept closer to you. There was a gleam of uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes as you continued to gesture at him closer… and closer still. Your heart throttled against your ribcage; your physical body was even unsure of what exactly you had in mind.
Only once his face was close enough you could count his eyelashes were you satisfied. You could hear him gulp.
And maybe you let the moment linger too long. His gaze flickered away from your eye contact for a heartbeat, eyelashes fluttering as he considered something out of the bounds of friendship.
You raised your hand up to his forehead and flicked him between his eyes. Hard.
Changmin yelped and fumbled backward to the boisterous sound of your laughter. He rubbed his forehead furiously where an angry, red mark formed and smarted. He snarled at you, “Not cool!” His face was nearly as red as the mark… oops.
“That's what you get!” you countered with an accusing finger. “Now. Promise me you'll never purposely possess my body in your dreams, you perv.”
A grumble came from the depths of his throat—agreement. “I never did it on purpose,” he mumbled, slapping his hand with yours in a binding handshake. He sounded like a teen boy who's gaming console was just taken away.
“And promise me that you will take care of yourself, so that we can get out of this binding thing and so that you don't accidentally possess me.”
“Didn't you offer to get possessed last night?” Changmin stiffened as the words left his lips. “I didn't mean that! Don't get the kitchen knives!”
His giggles pierced the air, sharp but endearing, as he scrambled back into his room with you clinging to his heels. “Or get the kitchen knives—it’s kind of hot.”
“Ji Changmin.”
PART III: THE RELATIVE
WHEN YOU APPEARED IN YOUR 8:30 biopsychology lecture on Monday morning, you had nearly forgotten that the world had not completely turned upside down when you bound your soul to Changmin’s. No one else but you and he knew about it, and it seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Nonetheless, when you settled in your usual seat about midway up the lecture hall, close to the exit on stage right, you looked into Yeh Shuhua’s terrifyingly beautiful eyes and almost blurted your secret.
It was because of that reason, and the fact that she was one of your close friends. She was one of the participants of the ritual; it was only right that you disclosed to her the consequences of all your actions. However, the reminder from Changmin echoed in your head like a dull heartbeat: Don’t tell any of them. Don’t do something stupid like Hyunjae or Shuhua. He realized that ‘stupid’ applied to him, too, right?
“You seem antsy,” were her first words to you as you finally decided on how you would roll up your jacket. It had taken a couple tries and configurations before you settled on just draping it over the chair behind you.
You straightened in your chair. Perhaps subtlety was not with you this morning. “My coffee was too strong,” you said.
She snorted, a bright and unassuming sound, as she pulled her laptop out from her bag. “Honey, you don’t drink coffee.”
…Right. You let the words sink in to properly register your dumbassery, then settled on the most basic excuse known to college students. “It’s too early for this.”
“Amen.” Conversation saved.
When you first signed up for this class, you were under the impression that it would be a riveting insight into the brain and its inner workings. Alas, your professor from Psych101 did you a disservice by testifying to Psych210’s interest factor, because it was entirely lacking in interesting things. The majority of what was being discussed in lecture could be read about via the slides, but unfortunately, participation was mandatory. Even worse was that this class was the prerequisite to the neuroscience class that was actually interesting.
You didn’t like to critique the teaching skills of a professor who was meant to research and not to teach, but you were going to for the umpteenth time.
Beside you, Shuhua barely swallowed a yawn and hid the last bits of it behind the lid of her coffee tumbler. She took a sip, then leaned over to you. “I’m pretty sure I learned all of this in freshman year biology.”
“Is that right,” you murmured. You hadn’t taken the introductory biology series because you were only minoring in psychology, whereas Shuhua was a neuroscience major. “You must really be suffering then.”
Her head slowly touched down onto your shoulder. “Tell me about it… by the way, did you hear about the house party that’s happening on Saturday?”
You hummed. “Who’s hosting?” House parties were usually something you needed to be a part of a friend group to be invited to. Though, that was usually the case for all parties in college, you’d found out. Fraternity parties were oftentimes exclusive to Greeks, or if you knew a frat brother or sorority sister. Other parties were spread by word of mouth and required an entrance fee that amounted to a fraudulent sum of money. Thus, if you went to any party, it was either a house party hosted by a friend of a friend, or one of your friends’ birthday parties.
“Hm… it’s my family friend’s kid’s friend group.” She paused, then clarified her statement, “Yangyang. You know Yangyang, right?
You made a sound of acknowledgement. “Isn't he friends with Xiaojun, Kevin, and Yuqi, that group?”
“That's the one,” she chirped. “But he only lives with Xiaojun and a couple other guys. It's a house in one of the neighborhoods nearby.”
“I see. Are we going?”
“Of course we are, silly.” Shuhua blindly patted one of your hands and you imagined that her eyes were likely already closed. You and your friends were accustomed to forcing one another to socialize outside the group from time to time; it made the college riptide a bit easier to swim through. “I just didn't know if you were aware or not yet.”
“Well, now I am,” you chuckled.
“You sure are.”
The remainder of the lecture went by as dull as it usually did, and 9:30 could not come faster. You and Shuhua bumbled out of the packed auditorium among the crowd of others filing out.
A yawn stretched your mouth open as you checked your phone. “You've got a class after this, right?” you asked Shuhua.
She nodded. “Unfortunately. Do you wanna have lunch together afterward?”
“Ah” —guilt anchored itself to the pit of your stomach, allowing the urge to spill your secret to dwindle— “I'm actually hanging out with Changmin today.” Neither of you had terribly busy Mondays, so you both decided to do some solution-hunting together, whatever that meant. He just needed to be back by the time his dance rehearsal started.
Her mouth quirked to the side in a slight frown. “Oh, okay. Just you two?”
“Yep.”
For a second, you thought she was gazing right into your soul where the invisible knot was tied linking you to your mutual friend. But she suddenly smiled and blew you a kiss. “No worries! Have fun.”
You blinked, the anxiety lingering. “Yeah… thanks. You, too.”
Shuhua left first to hurry off to her next class while you remained in the lobby. You had fully expected that she would at least ask what the two of you were doing, and you were prepared to come up with another dumb excuse. It wasn't suspicious that you and Changmin were hanging out alone, right? There were plenty of instances where you hung out solo with your close friends.
You brushed it away. It was the paranoia talking.
You headed toward the nearest parking lot. Because you lived relatively close to campus, there was usually no need to drive, but since you and Changmin were going elsewhere in the city, you opted to drive.
As you settled into the front seat, you sent him a text to let you know you were on your way over to his apartment. It would be convenient if you could somehow use the soul-bond to communicate with him instead, you thought as you navigated through campus to a nearby neighborhood. Alas, based on what Changmin told you before, the bond was more useful to him than it was for you. How wonderful.
You let your car run as you pulled up to the curb outside of his apartment complex. Through the windows on the first floor, a periwinkle sheen caught your eye. There wasn’t much doubt in your mind that it was the ribbon Changmin tied to his bicycle. It was his favorite color—not that you knew that for any particular reason, other than the fact that you were friends. It was useful information for birthday cards, was your reasoning.
Before you could meander down some weird mental road of thoughts, the passenger side door opened and closed. Your counterpart was dressed in dark green today: dark green sweater, a darker but muted shade of cargo pants, followed by a matching cap shoved over his blond hair. “Hi,” he said, strapping himself in with the seatbelt and setting his bag down by his feet.
He looked particularly pocket-sized today with the cheeky, dimpled smile on his face and you smiled in greeting. “Hi!” you chirped back. “Where to?”
“An aunt of mine lives downtown. Do you know how to get to Union Station?”
You nodded, tugging the car into drive, “Yup. Wow, she lives down by the waterfront?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. When he did, he ducked his head so you only caught a glimpse of that dimpled smile. “She’s married to a siren.”
Your eyes went wide, and his laugh grew louder. You flattened your expression into a deadpan as heat rushed to the back of your neck. “Don’t laugh,” you muttered. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’d say for you to not pout then, but it’s cute,” he replied with that smile lingering on his face in the form of a half-smirk. He had pulled his phone out to text someone. “I’m only laughing because I had a feeling you’d react like that, and I was right.”
You huffed. “I feel like I’m at too much of a disadvantage around you.”
“You have more power than you think.” Changmin passed you a glance and deposited his phone in the cupholder. He leaned his cheek against his knuckles. “You just need to exercise it.”
“Well, I can’t exactly threaten you with kitchen knives and forehead flicks all the time.”
He shrugged. “That’s not what I meant, but it’s whatever. How was class?”
Changmin, Juyeon, and Hyunjae were all aware of yours and Shuhua’s disdain for your shared biopsychology class. The complaints had filed (flooded) in as soon as the first week of classes were over. You could gab on and on about the boredom that plagued you, but you hardly wanted to be a broken record when there were other things to talk about. “It was fine,” you said, then swiftly moved to something else. “I think I almost told Shuhua, like, twice about the soul bond thing. Why can’t we tell them again?”
“Do you really think they’d believe us?”
You thought about it—about the twin cuts on your index fingers, the unseen string that tethered your souls together, the dream that Changmin had. They would think Changmin had roped you into his regular shenanigans, and in a way, he had. You sighed, albeit reluctantly. “True. But it just feels…” you grimaced. “Is it weird that I feel guilty?”
Changmin shook his head. “No, I’ve had to tiptoe around my mom’s and my true nature around you guys for years. It’s natural to wanna be truthful to your friends, Yn, but some things are better left unsaid.”
“Is there a reason why the supernatural community stays hidden? Is that something I can ask?”
“Of course,” he said easily, turning his gaze out the window. “It’s just that it’s better—safer—for us this way. Humans can hardly handle differences amongst themselves as it is; imagine what would happen if they found that even more species of sentient beings existed, y’know?”
Truth was a difficult pill to swallow. It was a capsule that often found itself lodged in a throat rather than being digested. And even if it eventually managed to make it to the stomach, it sank to the bottom like a body anchored by bricks in a river. There was, unfortunately, much merit to what Changmin said.
Your eyes flickered to your side mirrors as you merged onto the highway. “I see.”
“It’s definitely relieving that at least one of my close friends knows the truth now, though.” He knocked the back of his hand against your arm in a warm gesture, and although you were unable to return the expression or even look at him then, he was looking at you.
Because you and Changmin set off just after rush hour passed, the drive through the downtown scene was relatively easy. The rest of your time in the car was spent chatting about the party Yangyang and his housemates were throwing, as well as Changmin directing you to his aunt’s residence by the marina. His ability to give directions left much to be desired; your car was filled with shouts and bickering whenever he told you to turn too late.
Somehow though, you arrived at the right street, and he even helped you find a parking spot along a curb that didn’t involve ungodly hourly parking rates. You wouldn’t call it a complete redemption, but he was on his way toward one.
“Are you sure it’s cool if we just show up unannounced like this?” you asked him, tilting your head back to peer up at the apartments that towered above you. Some of the windows were left open and their curtains drifted whimsically in the mid-morning breeze; some of the fire escapes were connected by copper-colored ladders, fitting together like a puzzle. You liked to think that complexes like this housed residents who were friendly to one another like some fantasy video game—a pair of friends hanging out of their windows to gossip across the fire escapes, a cat sleeping in the window—that sort of thing.
Changmin stood next to you, but his gaze was turned out to the marina in the distance, the sails of boats in the foreground of the slate blue-gray of the bay water. “Yeah, it’s cool. And we’re not exactly unannounced; I told her we were coming.”
“When?” You followed him in through the front door. The hinges squealed upon use and the door shuddered violently when it closed.
“In the car.”
You deadpanned at his back as you followed him up the stairs. “You’re an awful relative.”
“Don’t all relatives show up to their other relatives' homes unannounced?” he jested. “I’m a model nephew, actually.”
“A model in what standard? Hell?”
He shrugged up ahead, glancing back to pass you a boyish grin. “Yeah, basically. My mom says demons just kind of teleport into their relatives’ homes unannounced.”
“So that’s where your incredible lack of boundaries comes from,” you said and glowered up at him.
You met Changmin on the landing of the second floor and ducked out of the stairwell into the dimly-lit corridor. It was quiet here in the middle of the day, but you could hear the muffled sounds of television programs and voices emanating behind different doors you passed by. The carpet was well-trodden and didn’t kick dust up when you walked, and the overall smell was vaguely fishy and reminiscent of the seafood section of a supermarket.
“Cultural difference,” he replied cheekily. “This is hers, Aunt Jenna’s.” He gestured to the door he stood at with a rusted, gold B29 hanging on its surface just above the peephole.
You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. “Anything I should know before going in?”
Changmin paused and his face flashed with realization. It translated roughly, but accurately enough, to ‘Uh oh.’ He opened his mouth to say something, but the door beat him to it.
Correction: his aunt beat him to it. Or at least, she was who you assumed was his aunt. Her facial features and bone structure weren't similar to Changmin’s at all, but those eyes—dark like the deepest corner of a shadow; engulfing, embracing, enveloping—her eyes were what made familiarity pang in your chest where the soul-knot sat.
Her mouth stretched into a bright smile. “Changmin-ah! And his significant other, isn’t it—or kids these days say partner instead, hm? Don’t be strangers now; come in, come in!”
What did she just say? You have got to be kidding me.
Too overwhelmed to think, you let his aunt usher you and Changmin in through her front door. You threw—chucked—an alarmed glance over at your counterpart, who could only meet your wide eyes with his own. Shoes were exchanged for slippers, and you were guided toward a couch settled in one part of the cozy living space.
“It’s nice to meet you, Aunt Jenna,” you finally managed to say through the heat flaring up your neck and behind your ears. “But I do have to, uhm, correct you.”
Changmin coughed beside you on the couch as his aunt perched on the coffee table across from you both. “She’s not my romantic partner, auntie. Yn’s just a friend.”
You nodded earnestly.
His aunt’s face flickered from that sunny smile to a more somber surprise. She broke into a sheepish sort of laugh, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, well how silly of me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—I got embarrassingly excited,” she confessed. She addressed Changmin specifically, reaching over to whack his knee, “You used the word for lover when you texted me earlier!”
Changmin’s hands rocketed up as both you and his aunt fixed him with pointed looks. “It was a typo and an honest mistake,” he swore. “I haven’t spoken or written in that demonic dialect in awhile,” he said to you, “and the words for friend and lover are, like, one letter different.”
His mouth had pursed into an unconscious pout, and you reached over to flick him between the eyes. Bone against fingernail, and the dense thunk sound the impact produced was quite satisfying.
“Ow! I'm sorry!”
You turned to a rather amused Aunt Jenna. “I'm sorry I did that in front of you. I swear, I won't make a habit out of it.” That remained to be seen, however. How had you refrained from flicking him for his behavior before this?
She chuckled. “I'm sure he's warranted it more than once. It's nice to meet you, Yn.”
“Likewise. You have a lovely home.”
Changmin held his forehead with his hat now sitting in his lap, and his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “This was the worst idea I've ever had.”
“Do you drink tea, Yn?” his aunt asked you, waving aside her nephew's comment. “I'll make us some tea and we can talk about whatever you both came to discuss.”
Tea was served on an elegant tray made of polished dark wood. The color was a deep red, as if it had been dipped in a vat of blood, and was engraved with images of what you assumed to be flowers with long stems crowned with big, beautiful petals. You nursed a Finding Nemo mug between your palms, gently blowing on the steam that wafted out of the aromatic floral tea.
Just the fragrance of the drink was enough to put you at ease. The muscles and knots in your shoulders loosened, your frown lines smoothed over. You took a gentle sip and savored the tangible warmth that streamed down your throat and into your stomach.
You nodded to Aunt Jenna who's dark eyes gleamed knowingly over the rim of her mug. “That's very good,” you said.
“Isn't it? Would you like to take some home?”
Changmin harrumphed from beside you after taking a hulking gulp of his own drink. “Guys, please.”
“Mm yes, yes.” Aunt Jenna waved her free hand flippantly. “Your problem.”
While Jenna had prepared the tea, you and Changmin explained to her how your souls became tied together. Most of the explanation consisted of specific details of the ritual itself, not the circumstances before. You described the physical sensations on your end, and Changmin added in his out-of-body experience.
When your piece was said, it left Aunt Jenna to marinate on all the facts. She took a sip of her drink first. “Well, you're both fools, but you” —she wiggled an accusing finger at her nephew— “especially. How could you be so irresponsible as to let your friends go through with a bargaining ritual?”
Changmin grabbed the back of his neck and hung his head like a kicked puppy. “It didn't seem like the end of the world if they wanted to have fun.”
“I suppose,” Jenna muttered, but not without some sympathy. She was a demon living amongst humans, too, after all. “But look where that's gotten you both. There are just far too many unforeseen variables that could have made this situation ten times worse. You and Yn becoming soul-bound is probably the best outcome, frankly.”
You would beg to differ, but you kept your lips stitched together and attached to the rim of your mug.
“But as for undoing it, I'm afraid there aren't many options.”
You detached your mouth from the mug.
You and Changmin exchanged a glance with one another. He asked, “What are our options?”
Aunt Jenna's mouth pursed slightly to form small divots in the sides of her cheeks. “The one most accessible to you is to bargain with another, more powerful demon to take over your bond with Yn.”
“Absolutely not,” he interjected. “That's out of the question.”
“I guessed as much,” she said, taking another sip. “Then it's quite literally impossible—unless you used cursed magic—but even if you didn't care about facing the hellish consequences, gaining access to a Book of the Diabolical is insanely difficult.”
Though you were completely ignorant to almost everything Aunt Jenna was saying, you weren't so ignorant to her message between the lines: you were fucked. Supremely.
Looking over at Changmin only confirmed what you were thinking. There seemed to be a war being waged behind his eyes as he clutched his mug in his lap and glared at a grain in the hardwood floor. This situation was partially your fault and his, and now, the only thing you could do was to drown in the consequences.
You turned to his aunt. “Then how can we live with it?” In your periphery, Changmin's head raised. “I mean, are there techniques to better control this situation, like on both Changmin's end and my end if we can't simply rid ourselves of it?”
Aunt Jenna considered you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There are,” she said. “Control is something very valuable to demons, Yn. I don't know how much Changmin's told you—”
You sent him a thin smile.
“—but mastering your own body is one of the most integral things young demons first learn. If you don't have control over your mind and body, then how could you possibly be trusted to control anything else?”
That made sense, you thought. It was a thoughtful principle, too, that others (humans) could learn from. What other parts of demon culture and values were there that these two would be willing to share with you?
Jenna had finished her cup of tea by now and set her empty mug back onto the tray. “So the easiest way, I think, to safeguard yourselves against one another is to strengthen your minds.”
What exactly Aunt Jenna had in mind was meditation. Because you were human and couldn't exactly perform the same demonic energy rituals and mind exercises that Jenna and Changmin could, meditation was the next best group activity. In order to do this, Jenna shut all of the curtains and sealed the living room off from the outside world. The coffee table and sofa were shoved to the edges of the room, while the empty space was occupied by three bath towels and a Bath and Body Works candle.
It was reminiscent of the ritual from That Night, but your heart rate sat a little more stable with the belief that you were in capable hands this time.
The three of you arranged yourselves in a loose triangle around the lit candle, its small flame shuddering at the force of your breaths.
“You can place your hands wherever you're most comfortable,” Aunt Jenna said lowly, softly—a vocal embodiment of the small head of fire upon the candle. “Sit up straight, close your eyes, and breathe in deep… let the darkness envelope you.”
There weren't many moments when you considered yourself petty, salty, or bitter. But at this very moment, you were most certainly all three at once.
“Are you really still mad that you fell asleep?” The question was posed with as much audacity as there was incredulity in his voice.
You didn't have to direct your glaring eyes at Changmin for him to feel the edge. “It was embarrassing,” you grumbled.
“Aw, it's okay. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to meditate.”
And you do? you wanted to snap back like a five year old. Instead, you tightened your grip on the steering wheel and focused on not steering the two of you off the road. “I will literally ditch you on the highway.”
He leaned his head against the window to watch you with a twinkle in his eyes and a toothy grin on his lips. “And I will literally haunt you in your sleep.”
The pair of you were in the car driving back up to the university. You had just left Aunt Jenna's about fifteen minutes ago after the failed meditation session (for you) and her insisting you both stayed for lunch. With your stomachs full and your heads quite literally empty, there was nothing left to do but to return home.
There had been a moment before you both left when Jenna pulled Changmin aside to have a private conversation. You had lingered outside the apartment door, but couldn't hear anything despite it being left slightly ajar. There must have been some crazy soundproofing done on her apartment. A charm, perhaps?
But when Changmin came to join you, you picked up the tail end of their talk. It had to do with Changmin pleading with her not to tell his mom about what happened; Aunt Jenna would only agree if he promised to babysit her kids next week.
That thought made you smile to yourself even through the cloud of salty pettiness in your vision. What was Changmin like around kids? The guy was rather childish himself, but… you wouldn't deny that he would probably be good—
“What are you smiling about?” he mused as he peered out from under the brim of his cap. He reclined his seat back a little and crossed his arms over his chest, settling himself in for the ride back.
You scoffed and forced the smile away. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He hummed. “Methinks it was about me,” he teased and tugged his cap further over his eyes so even his mouth was barely visible. At your silence, he murmured, “Also, I hope you're not bothered about earlier.”
“Hm?”
“I mean—the fact that you weren't able to meditate. And,” he added quickly, “I'm not trying to make fun of you. It's just that that was the only way Aunt Jenna could think that you could safeguard yourself against me. I'm gonna be really good about this, Yn, I swear. I don't—y’know, I don't want anything to change between us.”
Ah. Well, since his hat was over his eyes, you allowed your smile to slip back into place. The weight in your chest was warm, a comforting sort of tightness. You were gradually getting more accustomed to its presence, and at this particular moment, you were glad to be aware of it.
“I believe you,” you said to him. “And I don't want anything to change between us either.” You were friends before the ritual, and you would continue to be friends after it.
You were content with being accompanied by your thoughts and the radio for the remainder of the ride. Your companion in the passenger seat had drifted to sleep at some point when the highways began to grow rather congested with the early afternoon traffic. Changmin had a dance rehearsal in a couple hours, which gave some leeway as to what time you needed to get him back by.
By the time you hit the university district, the sun perched lower in a sky spotted with cirrus clouds, wispy and drifting in the autumn breeze. The filter it cast over the world was a mute gold, warm.
Changmin peered out his side window as you navigated through the busy streets, his face nearly pressed up against the glass because his cap was turned around. There was far too much foot traffic at three in the afternoon, but it was unfortunately a popular time to be out and about for students on a Monday. “Could you drop me off at the sandwich shop on the corner over there?” he asked suddenly, his voice gravelly from disuse. He inclined his chin further down the block, and you had enough time to switch lanes.
“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, glancing over at him. “You don’t want me to drop you off straight at the dance hall?”
“Nah, I’ve got a couple hours, so I think I’m gonna get another bite to eat first.” He rummaged around in the bag at his feet, double checking that he had brought along everything he needed. “D’you wanna…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head up toward you.
You hummed in question and furrowed your brows in concentration to direct your car into a parking spot along the curb.
“Did you wanna come in with me? I don’t know what your plans are after this.” Changmin had one foot out the door, but the rest of his body remained here with you, in the car, as if hesitant to leave just yet. With the brim of his cap turned around, you could better see his face, the hair pushed out of his dark eyes. There was a small smile seated upon his lips, hopeful in the way it curved into his cheeks in the way you always found slightly endearing.
Your hand lingered by your seatbelt. What were your plans after this? Nothing, right? “I mean, if you don—”
“Yn, is that you?”
The voice and the interruption elicited similar jolts from both of you. Your head whipped around on instinct to locate the person who had called out to you.
Crossing the street to you now was Lee Chan. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder, and he waved a hand at you when he caught your eye. But they flickered away from you to someone behind you—Changmin straightened to his full height, his head appearing over the roof of the car.
You glanced back at your counterpart. That smile, so boyish and innocent, had grown an edge.
“Thanks for the ride, Yn,” Changmin said to you, ducking his head to address you. He reached into the car so he could clasp your hand, his fingers clutching yours as he stole your gaze away… they lingered. “I’ll talk to you later, hm?”
You nodded, unsure why you were so dumbfounded. “Yeah, sure,” you stammered out. “I had fun today.”
“Same.” And there was that smile again. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it had softened out at the corners. With a final raise of his hand, he shut your passenger door and jogged off toward the shop.
You blinked as air suddenly filled your lungs again. Had you been holding your breath the whole time? You forgot to wish him a good rehearsal.
A knock on your window had you swiveling your head around. Chan grinned as you rolled your window down. “Hey, what’ve you been up to?”
Not a mention of Changmin, you noted. You were aware of Changmin and Chan’s dislike for one another, and though it caused you a torrent of internal conflict, there was nothing that you could do about it. If they were unwilling to talk about it with each other or with you, then there was no use. Both of them were important figures in your life, so it was just as important that you could keep them both—was that selfish? It seemed that they were able to somewhat coexist, however, if they participated on the same dance team. How did that even work out?
“I was out with Changmin for most of the day,” you said. “We were just… y’know, visiting a relative of his downtown.” There was no harm in saying that, right?
Chan’s expression didn’t even shudder. “Oh? I didn’t know he had relatives downtown.”
Of course, you didn’t. You appreciated that he tried to be civil about Changmin around you, but sometimes the pretense was more aggravating than the petty disdain. “Yeah, they were really nice. We drank tea and chatted a bit.”
“Glad it was a chill time,” he smiled. “Ah, speaking of—I was wondering if you wanted to go visit Chaeyoung noona with me sometime this week? I've been trying to figure out the best time to go see her before midterms.”
You brightened at the mention of Chan's older sister. Though his parents had passed away before Chan graduated high school, he was supported mostly by his older sister, Chaeyoung. You'd heard and seen for yourself the chronic illness that she was cursed with, however. There had been a decent stretch in time when her situation looked much better, but recently, she had been forced back into long-term care at the hospital.
“Yeah, definitely! It'll be nice to see her after so long. Just text me and let me know what day you decide.” The last time you saw Chaeyoung was probably at the start of the past summer break when you went home to see your parents with Chan. Though you and Chan were around the same age, he acted more as an older brother figure to you, likely because of Chaeyoung's good influence.
The golden hour sun glinted its rays into your eyes, and you were reminded of the time. “Oh, don’t you have dance practice soon? Need a ride over?”
“Yeah, I do, but I don’t need a ride,” he said. “I was about to meet Vernon in the cafe down the street though. Do you wanna come with?”
The idea of accepting his invitation crossed your mind, but the ache in your legs and at the nape of your neck were suddenly a lot more prominent than before. You hadn’t even realized how tired you were. “Not this time; I think I'm a little tired. Thanks for the invite, though!”
He pressed his mouth together in slight disappointment, but waved it away with a casual hand motion. “Of course. Drive home safe, then.”
“I will. Have a good time, Chan.”
Chan returned the sentiment back to you, but instead of leaving right away, his lips parted another time. He paused, concern gleaming in his eyes—or was that the setting sun? You couldn’t tell the difference, but there was something he couldn’t quite articulate with words that his facial expression was desperate to reveal to you instead.
You frowned. “Something wrong?”
He let out a small laugh and brushed away the thought. “No, don’t worry about it.”
Are you aware that you've been cursed?
Aunt Jenna's words echoed in Changmin's head ceaselessly throughout the dance rehearsal. They had been subdued slightly when he was asleep in your car earlier, but consciousness tended to surface more nightmares than the unconscious state. Even in the bright light of day, those shadows found a way to creep in and force him into some horrific tunnel vision.
No, he wasn't aware that he'd been cursed. How could he?
Out of everything he thought she pulled him aside for, that was the last thing he expected. The look in her eyes—those dark irises that mirrored his in depth—had been stricken by a grave worry. Those all-knowing eyes, far surpassing his in experience, had taken one look at him coming in through the door and determined something horrible had happened.
A curse?
You haven't been feeling strange lately? She had grasped him by the shoulders, her hands firm in their iron grip. Any strange aches and pains?
The headaches. He told her about the random, spotty headaches that had been plaguing him recently. It hadn't occurred to him at all that they could even be a side effect for a curse.
I've heard some strange things have been going on to the demons in your area. The curse has subsided for now because of your half-humanness, but…
Changmin could fill in the blanks.
His appeal to Aunt Jenna about not telling his mom about any of this included both the soul-bond and the curse. Based on what his aunt told him, there have been demons in this area who have been forced into critical conditions by an energy-stealing curse. That would explain his frequent headaches and his increased exhaustion. Though, the headaches had been on the decline as of late, which coincided with the other part of Jenna's warning.
He was at odds. He couldn't simply sit around and wait for whatever maniac was at large to suddenly stop. He and all the other demons around him were sitting ducks. Worrying about the soul-bond was one thing, but he supposed this now took priority.
Changmin hunched over his bag in one of the darkened corners of the practice room. The lights had been turned down slightly as their four reserved hours drew to a close. It was a hard night, but the sweat, heat, and adrenaline was a delightfully addicting mixture.
Absent-mindedly, he rubbed a palm over his chest. The invisible knot there that linked you to him tightened at the attention. He had made a habit of this over the course of the past few hours; the physical sensation of the string tugging grounded him and kept him from disappearing into his head too much.
Could you feel him on the other end? He was certain you could if he made it obvious. If he tugged just right—
“Ji. I need to talk to you.”
The only sign of surprise Changmin let Lee Chan see was the raising of his eyebrows. “I don't need to talk to you.”
“It's about Yn.”
Changmin's movements froze. He let go of his bag's strap and zippers with a sigh, then straightened up to meet Chan eye to eye. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about Yn?” You were his problem now, whether you liked it or not.
Chan's eyes narrowed at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “I don't know what you think you're doing with her, but you need to stop. It was enough that she's friends with you—”
He couldn't help but scoff. What the fuck is he going on about? Changmin's mouth twisted into an incredulous smirk, the points of his canines peering out from under his lip as he jabbed his tongue into his cheek. “I was wondering when you'd finally drop the Nice Guy act.”
“This isn't about me putting up a front,” Chan quipped in hushed tones. He wouldn't have done so if he wanted to make a scene. “This isn't even about us not liking each other. My problem is that you're roping Yn into your—your fucking bullshit.”
Changmin furrowed his brows. “You're being vague and dramatic, Lee Chan. I really don't have the time or the patience for this.”
“I know who you really are, Ji.” In any other context, those words in that order would have made Changmin bark out a laugh.
Changmin shuddered as he sized up Lee Chan in a different light. It was almost funny how perspective could change everything. In the daylight and bright fluorescents, Chan was a model kid with a charming smile and unshakeable charisma. He cared about you and watched over you like a brother. But without the presence of light was when Changmin was most afraid of what he saw. It was not because he was afraid of the dark—the shadows, frankly, were a demon's ally—it was because the dark did something to Chan in the same way blood infested clear water.
Chan's mouth was set in a firm line, and nothing about his facial expression or stance gave even an inkling that he was bluffing.
“I still have no fucking clue what you're talking about,” Changmin replied lowly, scooping his bag up and brushing past Chan.
He went to find Juyeon. The organ in his chest pumped his blood wickedly fast through his system; the blood thundered in his ears, loud and deafening, like an oncoming train. Aunt Jenna was in his head, you were in his chest, Lee Chan was at his back.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—
He and Juyeon were out the door in a flash, but Changmin glanced backward—because we always turned toward that which was capable of our demise; that was survival instinct—and he flinched when Chan's eyes caught his again.
Changmin let the door slam behind him as he stole into the cold night. If only the darkness could hide him from whatever just happened.
read part two here (if the link isn't there yet, refresh out of this page and it'll be linked at the top)
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