SUMMARY: Most people would probably say that the friendzone is the worst place to be, but you'd beg to differ. This time, you're determined to keep things between you and Jungwon strictly platonic, because the alternative is just setting yourself up to fail. Again.
PART ONE
WARNINGS: f!reader, timeskip from pt1, much more fluff than angst, cuteness, reader be lowkey traumatized tho and in some crazy denial, feelings are super confusing!!!!
WC: 9.8k - MASTERLIST
A/N: posting bc if i proofread one more time i might acc die. that being said, if you see any little changes within the next few days.... 🤫 happy reading!!
---
Getting your heart broken by Jungwon via Jake had to have been one of the top ten most traumatic experiences of your life.
Like, genuinely.
In those late nights when you cannot sleep, rather than thinking about literally anything else, you’re thrown into the jaws of your mind, replaying that moment and cringing yourself out to the point where a peaceful slumber is no longer an option. Frankly speaking, it’s pathetic, considering how much time has passed since then.
It’s been three years since you walked across that stage, diploma in hand, and yet, sometimes you feel like it was just yesterday. But not for a lack of maturing. You’d like to say that you have changed immensely since then.
You’ve moved across the world to earn your Master's, built a career from scratch in an unfamiliar city, and now work as a Medical Assistant Liaison at Hybe Health Co., a job you genuinely love and one you worked hard to get.
And miraculously, you've managed to stay close with most of your university friends despite everything, the years and the distance doing surprisingly little to wear down what you built together. When schedules align, you find a way to get Yunjin and the rest of the girls onto one chaotic group FaceTime to catch up, or send just a quick message to Jake to call for five minutes, even though it always stretches into an hour.
Lately you've found yourself talking to Sunghoon more than usual, too, mostly because he's looking to change career paths and has grown interested in applying to the same Master's program you once did. He's been peppering you with questions ever since, about coursework, about the application process, about whether moving abroad would be a good option for him as well. You don't mind it, though. If anything, walking him through the parts you wish someone had explained to you feels like paying something forward, a small correction to the version of events you actually lived through. Remembering how lost you felt going in, how much you had to figure out through trial and error simply because no one was there to tell you sooner, makes answering his messages something you look forward to.
Jungwon is the one name missing from your list of maintained friendships, as you’d expect. Truth be told, for the first few months after graduating, you couldn’t even hear his name without getting a feeling akin to full-body shivers. Over time, that response faded, and his name appearing in the group chat became just another notification, but you could never bring yourself to message him privately, never ask how he was holding up.
Though you haven't heard from him in years, and haven't dared bring up his name in conversation with the other friends (an unspoken agreement everyone settled into once they found out about what happened), the lingering effects are still there, not as loud but present all the same.
You can't name a single time you have felt real romantic feelings for someone since him. Sure, there have been men in your life since graduation, but you never let yourself like any of them, never tried to read into their actions the way you once did with him. Every time you feel the smallest pull of attraction toward someone, the fear of delusion crawls up your throat. You've gotten good at talking yourself out of feelings before they finish forming, forcing yourself to find flaws in order to prevent them from growing too strong. It is exhausting, though; if you allow yourself a moment of honesty, this constant policing of your own heart.
Three years you've spent locking in, rebuilding, telling yourself the worst of it was over and done with, and then, without so much as a breath of preparation, you hear your name called from behind you, and the first brick of everything you've spent all this time constructing comes loose.
“Jungwon?”
You're dumbfounded. Here you are, in a completely different country, on a completely different continent, standing face to face with quite possibly the last person on earth you expected, or wanted, to see. He looks good as he jogs up to you, better than good, actually, some traitorous part of your brain notes. Time has clearly been kind to him.
"No way, is that actually you?" He stops a few feet away, grinning. "It's been forever!"
You laugh sheepishly, trying to buy yourself a second to figure out what emotion your face is supposed to be portraying. "Yeah, I know. It's been a while. I hope you've been doing well."
“I’ve been great,” he says, looking you up and down, “so do you live here then?”
"Yeah, I do. I work as a Medical Assistant Liaison over at Hybe Health Co." You don’t know if you should be doxxing yourself like this so fast, but the words tumble out in the flurry of jitters you’re currently feeling.
His whole face lights up. “Wait, seriously? I'm starting there Monday. What are the odds."
Suddenly, you feel your heart drop all the way to your ass, and then a bit further as you process this new information. Is Jungwon going to be your new coworker? Swallowing, you force a smile. “That’s amazing. Look, I’m going to have to get going, but it was great running into you!”
“Likewise,” and then he fumbles in his pant pockets for a moment, pulling out his phone and waving it. “Your number still the same?” You nod. “I’ll message you then!”
—
He wasn’t lying about messaging; you feel the vibration in your purse before you even make it home.
jungwon: hey it was super dope running into you. lmk if you have time this weekend, i’d love to get coffee and catch up
Just picturing it, the two of you sitting across a tiny cafe table with nothing but hours of small talk between you, has you shuddering. It’s as if every nerve ending is screaming at you to say no, but of course, you override that instinct, your thumbs beginning to type.
you: it was :) i’m free on saturday around 11, meet @ en-cafe?
Message bubbles appear in the bottom left corner right away.
jungwon: works for me
"Then" arrives faster than you would have liked, you think, standing outside En-Café and stalling for one more second before pushing the door open. The bell above the door announces you the moment you step inside, and Jungwon’s head turns immediately, a smile spreading across his face as he lifts a hand to wave you over.
You force your own smile into place and make your way toward the table, weaving between the narrow clusters of chairs. "Hey, sorry, were you waiting long?"
"Not at all, I got here maybe ten minutes ago." He gestures to the seat across from him. "Wanted to grab us a good spot before it got busy."
A hum of agreement escapes past your lips while you settle down into the chair. “So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”
Jungwon leans back, considering the question for a moment before answering. He tells you about his first job out of university, a decent enough position that should have felt like an accomplishment but never got there, the days blurring together until he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt excited about anything. He admits later, a little sheepishly, that he spent almost a year feeling stuck, going through the motions without any real sense of where it was leading. Eventually, he'd reached a point where staying felt worse than the fear of leaving, so he took the leap and moved abroad, applying for a job at Hybe Health Co.
"Actually, now that I think about it," he says, tilting his head, "Jake mentioned you lived in this city. Guess it slipped my mind until just now."
Your eyebrows shoot up. "Huh. Well, he definitely didn't mention anything to me about you moving here."
"Guess now we know who his favourite out of the two of us is.”
You snort. Surprisingly, talking with Jungwon is nice, easier than you expected it to be given everything sitting underneath the surface of this reunion. As the time passes, you feel yourself growing more and more comfortable, whatever tension you walked in with slowly dissolving until you're actually able to relax into the conversation. The two of you fall into old rhythms, joking around and laughing as if you were still classmates. You don't dare breach the topic of dating, at least not yet, maybe not ever if you can help it.
You’ve noted that he has yet to mention a partner, but you know better than to read anything into that, having learned that particular lesson the hard way once already.
Looking at him now, there is zero chance he isn’t cuffed. You’re not even trying to be biased, or speak as your past self; he is just genuinely gorgeous– anyone with eyes would be able to tell you that. It’s only been three years since the last time you saw him, and he still has that boyish look, but at the same time, there's a manliness to him that didn’t exist before. For starters, the baby fat that used to soften his cheeks is gone, replaced by a toned jaw. And his shoulders, which were already doing plenty of damage back in university, are now…
Realizing what you’re doing, you shut down your thoughts as fast as you can. Nope. You’re not checking him out, not falling back into old habits; you’re merely making an observation.
“So… looking forward to starting on Monday?”
Jungwon puts his mug down. “Honestly, yes. Well, I’m definitely more excited now than I was a week ago. Knowing you’ll be there too is pretty comforting.”
Before you know it, four hours have somehow passed, and you only notice when you check the time on your phone screen. Since you actually have errands you were supposed to run today, you hastily gather your things, apologizing as you stand, explaining that you'd completely lost track of time.
Waving it off, unbothered, and already gathering his own jacket, Jungwon just smiles. "Don't worry about it, I should probably head out too."
–
The rest of the weekend passes in a blur, and when Monday comes, you note that you are feeling significantly lighter and more prepared than you'd previously expected. When you show up to work, you're not shocked to see Jungwon there, already deep in conversation with a cluster of upper management near the front desk, nodding along and shaking their hands. He catches you passing by out of the corner of his eye mid-sentence, and without breaking his conversation, offers you a small smile.
A few hours later, you hear a knock on your office door. Opening it, you find your boss standing there, and she tells you, very matter-of-factly, that you'll be the one showing Jungwon how everything works, the go-to contact should he need help settling in or navigating anything during his first few weeks. Perfect.
Your first task of the day is introducing him to some of your coworkers, so during the lunch break, you bring him down to the company cafeteria. "Hey guys, this is Jungwon."
At your usual lunch table sit Soobin, Eunchae, Yunah, and Kai, the four people who have made this entire job bearable since your first week. Mostly it's because you all started around the same time, fumbling through onboarding together, and it also helps that everyone else on the floor is old enough to be your parent. The four of them look up in near unison as you approach, Eunchae already scooting over to make room before you've even asked.
"New hire?" Soobin asks, eyeing Jungwon with open curiosity as he sets his tray down.
"Fresh meat," Kai jokes, earning himself an elbow from Yunah.
Jungwon laughs, sliding into the empty seat beside Eunchae. "Guilty as charged. Starting today, actually."
"He's a Medical Assistant Liaison too," you add, taking the seat across from him. "I've been assigned to show him the ropes here."
‘Oh, so it wasn't out of the goodness of your heart? You wound me.” He pretends to hold a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, and you roll your eyes.
Reaching for your fork, you say, "Don't flatter yourself. Boss's orders. Apparently, I have seniority now."
"Seniority," Kai repeats, snickering into his drink. "Since when?"
“Like an hour ago.”
Yunah, who has been watching the exchange silently, her chin resting on one hand, finally leans forward, eyes flicking between you and Jungwon with open interest. "Okay, but do you two know each other? You seem pretty comfortable with each other already."
"Oh, we went to university together, actually. Small world,” you answer.
“Small world indeed.” You hear from across from you as you begin to eat.
Well, it seems that your friends take well to Jungwon, spending the lunch hour getting to know him and asking questions. You, for the most part, stay quiet, not having much to add to the conversation since you know pretty much everything already. Instead, you focus on your food, occasionally glancing up to catch snippets of the conversation or piping up every now and then to add details to a shared story.
Walking back to your office afterwards, Eunchae jogs a few steps to catch up with you, her heels clicking quickly against the floor as she chases you down.
"Was he always like that?"
"Like what?"
"Charming."
Choking and caught completely off guard, you have to clear your throat twice before managing a response. "Uh… I haven’t been keeping track of that. Sorry.”
She doesn't say anything else, already slowing once she reaches the turn for her own hallway, but she gives you a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised, mouth pressed into a smirk, and much to your dismay, you know exactly what she's trying to say without her having to say it. “Don't start,” you warn, but her smirk just grows even wider as she disappears from your view.
–
It's the next morning when you hear a soft tap on your door. You pause your filing, confused, glancing toward the clock on your wall. No one should need anything this early; half the office hasn't even arrived. But when you swing your door open, you're greeted by Jungwon, two cups of coffee balanced carefully in his hands, his jacket still on as though he came straight from outside. Based on the packaging, the coffees are from an outside cafe rather than the office machine down the hall, the cups stamped with a logo you don't recognize.
"Hey," he chirps, holding one out to you, his eyes bright despite the early hour. "I just got whatever you used to drink in university, hopefully still like it."
You stand there puzzled, mouth opening and closing uselessly before any actual words come out. "What? I—" you trail off, blinking down at the cup he's still holding toward you. "Thank you, Jungwon. Although you didn't have to do this."
“I know,” he shrugs, “but I wanted to.”
He's still the same, you realize, watching him. He always used to show up to morning lectures having bought you a coffee (that is, before the Incident). And the fact that he still remembers your order? Perhaps it's the sheer nostalgia his actions stir up in you, but you can't help but beam as you reach forward and take the cup from his hands.
"Thanks again. I'll see you around, okay?"
He nods, pushing himself off the doorway where he'd been leaning, giving you enough room to get the door shut. You catch one last glimpse of him heading back down the hallway before the door clicks closed and you're alone again.
–
Fuck Thursdays. Nothing sounds better than declaring a war on Thursdays.
Hardly two hours into the morning, and your computer has decided it was done for the day. One second you're replying to an email, the next the screen freezes, cursor spinning uselessly, no matter how many times you click. You restart it, then it freezes again, but on a blue error screen you don't recognize, and you stare at it before shoving your chair back in frustration and marching straight for your office door.
Flinging it open, you lean out into the hallway. "Soobin! Soobin, I need you!"
His door flies open a moment later, head poking out. A second passes, and Kai's door creaks open too, his head appearing at a considerably lower level of urgency than the former.
"What did you do this time?" Soobin asks, already stepping into the hallway.
You glare at him, hand still braced on your doorframe. "Chill, you know it's not like that. But my computer's not working."
He follows you back into your office to look, squinting at the frozen screen with about as much comprehension as you had. Kai, meanwhile, is still half hanging out of his own doorway, intrigued and deciding whether this warrants leaving his desk as well. "Everything good?" he calls down from his position.
"No idea," Soobin says, waving him over without looking away from the screen. "Come look at this."
So, the aforementioned man wanders over, coffee in hand, and peers over Soobin's shoulder at the screen, saying your name disappointedly. "What on Earth did you do?"
"Nothing! I was just answering emails."
"Well, it's definitely broken now." Unhelpful, as always. "Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"Yes, Kai, that was the first thing I did."
The three of you are still crowded in the doorway of your office when Jungwon rounds the corner from the far end of the hall. "Hey, what's going on? I heard some kind of commotion out here."
"My computer's being janky," you reply, gesturing at the screen. "And apparently none of us can figure out what to do to fix it."
He crosses the hall and picks your laptop from your grasp, cradling it against one arm while he heads toward your desk to set it down somewhere flat and steady enough to work with properly. You wheel your chair out of the way to give him room to actually stand, and he drops into position in front of it, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard, muttering about under his breath. Soobin and Kai both crowd in behind him to watch, equally lost, and you hover just off to the side, arms crossed, waiting.
For a solid minute, the only sound in the office is Jungwon typing and occasionally sighing at whatever blockage he's finding. Finally he hits a key, waits, and the screen resets, the home beginning to load.
"There." He straightens up, looking pretty pleased with himself. "Driver conflict from an update. Should be fine now."
You lean over to check the screen yourself, relief flooding through you at the sight of your unfrozen laptop. "You're a lifesaver."
Ducking his head, he flushes. "It's nothing."
From behind you, Soobin lets out a low whistle. "Okayyy, newbie coming in clutch."
The four of you dissolve into laughter, and once it dies down, you turn to your newfound saviour, reaching out to rest your hand on his shoulder, the gratitude showing on your face. “Thank you so much." You squeeze his shoulder lightly. "I was about to have a really bad day."
"No problem." His voice comes out more hushed than before, and after a beat, he reaches up and pats the hand still resting on his shoulder. The touch jolts you back into your body, and you awkwardly pull it back. Probably a little weird to be touching him like that, right?
"Right, well." Kai claps his hands together, getting your attention. "Glad that's sorted. Back to actual work, I guess."
—
Throughout the remainder of his first week, Jungwon seems to cling to you quite a lot. You chalk it up to greenie nerves, since he's the new hire and still needs help getting his bearings, and there is admittedly a lot of new information for him to absorb all at once.
Of course, you take little to no issue with it and expect him to become more independent over time, but that doesn't seem to be happening. When almost half a year has passed and his probation period has ended, he still buys a coffee for you every morning, still spends his breaks with you, and now, during lunch, he practically only sits next to you, claiming the seat before anyone els gets the chance. Sometimes the two of you go out and eat lunch outside the office instead, at a nice restaurant nearby, one he insists on paying for regardless of your repeated attempts to hand your card to the server first.
It's nice. If you were back in university, you'd probably be geeking out hard at this, reading it as some sign of deeper feelings. But now you just accept it as his way of showing appreciation toward people he considers his friends, nothing more complicated than that. What's better, because you don't allow yourself to read into it, you're able to enjoy the moments as they are, rather than turning them over in your head, wondering what they could be.
In doing this, a different side to you comes out. One that’s more sure— more confident. You'd even go as far as to say you're a better friend now, if only because there are no ulterior motives beneath every interaction. Not that you were ever insincere before, but half of every conversation was spent managing your own feelings.
So, a few days later, when Jungwon is off talking to Kai and Soobin, and Yunah barges into your office demanding you "spill the tea," you're completely startled.
"What tea?"
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"I genuinely do not," you assure her, face scrunched in confusion.
"When did you and Jungwon start dating?"
"HUH?!" You're on your feet faster than she can finish her question, chair scraping loudly against the floor behind you.
Yunah tilts her head, studying your reaction with curiosity. "Wait, am I reading this wrong? Eunchae and I have been suspecting it for months."
"Completely." You lower yourself back into the chair, a tad embarrassed at the outburst. “Nothing is going on between us.”
You’d think that your friend would let it go after you say that, but she doesn’t. “But I genuinely thought… Like he’s totally into you.”
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Please don’t go there; it’s just friendly.”
“Girl, the way he looks at you is insane.”
“He looks at me like a friend, Yunah.”
"Uh huh." She doesn't look convinced in the slightest. "Whatever you say."
At this point, you’ve stopped listening. You refuse, adamantly, to acknowledge that whatever this is with Jungwon has anything to do with feelings, because admitting that would mean actually sitting with it, and that's not something you're willing to do. Truthfully, you can't even fully process what you feel where he's concerned, some tangled thing that isn’t romantic but not fully platonic either. It’s weird.
You know, somewhere in the more rational part of your brain, that this is a wildly disproportionate reaction to a man who has done nothing wrong. But if someone held a gun to your head right now and told you to relive the exact moment Jake told you he had a girlfriend all those years ago, you'd take the bullet.
Yunah is still yapping away about how obvious it all is, how everyone on the floor has noticed, blah blah blah, as you sit there, stewing in your thoughts.
It just isn't possible. If he didn't want you back then, then why would he want you now? Whatever thing people think they’re seeing between you two must be some rose-tinted echo stirred up by proximity and old habits.
And besides, you enjoy this new friendship with him. It's not the same as it was in university, and that’s good. You wouldn't just ruin it by projecting and beating a dead horse.
“Please,” you plead, “just drop it.”
Finally, she gets the hint, shoulders dropping at the lack of juicy information to relay back to Eunchae. “Okay… I just think you should think about it.”
If only she knew how much you already have.
—
Achoo!
You feel awful.
Standing just in front of your washroom sink, you pull out the thermometer and see the temperature: 103.4 degrees. You groan internally, already dreading the domino effect this number is about to set off. Calling in sick is something you actively hate doing– always have– but there's such thing as no pushing through a fever this high. You set the thermometer down on the counter and lean against the sink for a moment, forehead pressed briefly to the cool mirror.
Maybe you can work remotely instead, you ponder, scrolling through your phone. It feels like a reasonable compromise. It’ll let you avoid the guilt of a full sick day while still letting you collapse back into bed between tasks. You type out a message explaining the situation, and hit send. Within minutes, your boss responds, telling you to rest properly and log off if you need to, which does little to ease the small, nagging voice chastising you for not being there in person. You shuffle back to bed anyway, propping yourself up against a mountain of pillows, laptop balanced precariously on your knees as you brace for a day of feeling roughly like death.
Around noon, your phone buzzes against the mattress, and you squint at the screen through gritty eyes. It's Jungwon.
"Hey," your voice is scratchy and thick, the effects of this being your first spoken word all day showing. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” On the other end, you can hear traces of worry in his tone. “Your desk is empty, and neither Kai nor Yunah know why.”
"I'm working remotely today," you explain, punctuating the sentence with a cough. "I've got a fever.”
“Working remotely? You should rest,” he responds. “Seriously. Close the laptop— I see you’re active on slack.”
You laugh weakly, which hurts your throat, and you wonder if a fever is the only thing you’re sick with. "I have deadlines."
"Screw that, your deadlines can wait one day. Go lie down properly." There's no room for argument in his voice, and you feel a small, warm flicker in your chest at his apparent worry. You promise, mostly to get him off the phone, that you'll rest soon, even if you both know you'll probably answer at least a few more emails before actually following through.
Alternating between naps and trips to get more tissues is what constitutes your afternoon, once the evening rolls around, your fever has dipped, though you still feel wrung out and miserable, curled beneath a blanket. You're in the middle of debating whether you have the energy to make actual food when your front hallway bell rings. Who could that be? You drag yourself upright and pad over to your video intercom, squinting at the small screen. There, distorted slightly by the fisheye lens, stands Jungwon, holding what looks like a plastic bag in one hand.
It’s only after you’ve buzzed him in that you’ve realized what you’ve done. Panicking, you spend the next thirty seconds adjusting yourself, trying to make yourself look less like a corpse, only to give up when you catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. There's no use; it's a lost cause.
You open the door after the first knock, and Jungwon lifts the small bag in greeting. “Hey. How are you feeling?”
"I'm a bit better.” Wow. Your vocal cords still desperately need some warming up to do. "What the hell are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?”
“Well, one, someone should be here for you,” he says, already stepping past you into the kitchen as you shut the door and trail after him, watching him set the bag down on the counter. “Two, you gave it to me a while back, remember? When we were figuring out carpooling for that excursion thing.”
He starts unpacking the bag as he talks, pulling out containers of soup, a box of crackers, a bag of orange slices, and a small pharmacy bag containing medication, hand sanitizer, and a box of tissues. "I wasn't sure what you'd actually want, so I just grabbed a bit of everything."
“Jungwon… you really shouldn’t have.” You’re so grateful for him. “Also, fair warning, I don't want to get you sick, so maybe keep some distance."
He waves off the concern, pulling two bowls down from your cabinet after floundering around, opening the wrong drawer twice before finally locating where you keep them. "Don't worry about it, seriously, I don't mind, and even if I catch something, it's not like it'll kill me."
Carefully, he ladles the soup into the bowls, grabbing spoons from the drawer beside the sink, then signals for you to head back to bed, insisting he'll take care of the rest. This whole thing, him in your apartment, in your kitchen, taking care of you while you're sick, feels oddly and extremely domestic. It feels like something he’d do for a girlfriend, which…. you very much are not.
A few minutes later he appears in your doorway, careful not to spill as he crosses the room and sets the bowl down on your bedside table. You move to reach for it, but he juts out a hand, blocking you, tutting a soft nuh uh uh as he picks the bowl back up himself, spoon already dipped in and lifted toward your mouth. If you weren't so thoroughly ill, you'd probably protest on principle alone, but alas, your body has no fight left in it.
So it's in your room where Jungwon stays with you for who knows how long, feeding you soup until you finally convince him that you can manage the rest yourself, then lingering afterward simply to talk. At some point he abandons his position of squatting awkwardly beside your bed and climbs up to lie next to you, sitting himself against your headboard. When you think about it, this is the first time he’s ever been in your room– and that includes during university.
As he continues telling you about his new favourite TV shows, you find your eyelids growing heavy despite your best efforts to keep them open. No matter how hard you try to resist it, blinking rapidly, shifting slightly against your pillows in an attempt to stay present, you can’t. The last thing you register before sleep pulls you under completely is the sensation of your head tipping sideways, coming to rest against a broad, solid shoulder.
—
You’ve never seen the bar this busy. Usually, when you guys decide on doing happy hour after a shift, it’s a smaller crowd, your normal group plus a few stragglers from other floors, but today, word must have gotten out far, because you’re seeing people you didn’t even know worked at Hybe Health Co.
Aside from a round someone in the nutrition department bought for the table, you keep your own drinking modest, uninterested in embarrassing yourself in front of colleagues you'll have to face again tomorrow. And also, you’ve only been back to work for two days after your fever, so alcohol probably isn’t the best idea. Luckily, you have Kai for entertainment instead: three shots deep at six in the evening on a Wednesday, and jumbling words together in a way that makes it impossible to even decipher what his original thought was.
Jungwon stays beside you for most of the night, his arm draped along the back of your chair, whispering things into your ear when he sees something funny. You spot Yunah and Eunchae a couple of seats down with some women, but catch the glances they keep cutting in your direction, eyes tracking from his arm to your face, and you decide that maybe it’ll be better to not engage with them this time, or else you’ll have to deal with their incessant teasing.
Why they still keep pushing for you to relieve the ~underlying tension~ is beyond you. You don't know how many more times you'll have to say you're just friends before it actually sinks into their thick skulls (said with love, obviously).
Suddenly, a voice chimes in from your side. "Hi, sorry. Are you two together?"
You and Jungwon freeze and stare at each other briefly before you turn back to the girl standing there, cup in hand, eyebrows raised expectantly. Does it really seem like that?
"Nope. We’re not."
"Oh, okay." She doesn't seem particularly invested in the answer either way, redirecting her attention to Jungwon before you've even finished responding. She pulls the empty chair beside you closer, angling it so she's facing him directly, and then she's leaning in front of you to talk to him, effectively boxing you out of your own conversation.
Listen, you are all for women supporting women, but you would be lying if you said your patience wasn’t getting tested at this very moment. In the span of ten seconds, this girl’s voice has risen like four pitches, and no offence to him, but Jungwon isn’t that funny.
To his credit, your friend attempts a few times to loop you back in, throwing you a glance or repeating something you'd said earlier for her benefit, but she barely acknowledges you exist, her attention fixed entirely on him. Eventually, you’ve had enough of this, and stand up.
"Where are you going?" Jungwon's hand catches your wrist before you can fully step away.
"Just going to the washroom," you answer, easing your wrist free. If you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have caught the way the girl’s face lights up the second you’re out of his grasp, but you did. And it pisses you off.
Huffing, you make your way to the washroom, taking a deep breath in front of the sink. Why the hell are you getting cockblocked when you’re not even trying to get cock? Like you’re purposefully friendzoning yourself! No mentally sane person would do that.
The tap water is cold and just what you need as you splash it onto your face. Jungwon pulls. That’s not a problem– you’ve known that for years. The problem is the fact that you're being blatantly disrespected by some random girl.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
All those online meditation seminars you joined finally seem to be useful as you calm yourself down, and after some time, you head back out.
You’re astonished at the sight you’re met with upon exiting: the seat you'd been sitting in is gone, occupied now by that same girl, her elbow propped casually on Jungwon's shoulder as she tilts herself into him.
And Jungwon, poor Jungwon, looks severely uncomfortable. His gaze drifts toward the hallway you'd disappeared down, once, then again a few seconds later, searching. The second time, he catches sight of you actually standing there, and his whole posture shifts, eyes going wide before he does a full double-take.
Next thing you know, he too has stood up and approaches you. "I hated that," he whispers, arriving, hand settling against your lower back.
You cackle, slipping into your best impression of him and lowering your voice. "Oh no, I'm Jungwon, and I get sooo much attention; everyone wants to talk to me. My life is so difficult."
"I see how it is," he uses his hand that's touching you to pinch at your skin, causing you to yelp. "This is how you want to treat me. After I so graciously took care of you when you were sick, fed you soup and everything."
“Not my problem– that was of your own volition!”
"I should have left you there to rot."
"You should have," you agree, "and yet."
"And yet," he repeats, features softening.
Is this… flirting? Nope! Absolutely not! It’s just friendly banter between friends! Just two really good friends who get along well! As friends!
Clearing your throat, you take a small step back, putting a bit of distance between the two of you under the guise of grabbing a glass of water from a table nearby. Jungwon must be more of a lightweight than you thought; he’s just saying anything now.
—
jungwon: yooo the weather's super nice today. wanna go for a walk during the break?
you: yeah i would love to!
jungwon: woah texting on the clock? crazy
you: literally says you
jungwon: seems like we’re both slacking off then
you: fake news i’m always on that grind
jungwon: true. you’re the best
you: should we invite anyone else? i’m sure our friends would want to come
jungwon: lowkey no…
you: ok! no worries haha
jungwon: see you @ noon :)
That’s how you find yourself currently on a nice little stroll through the streets. The two of you are side by side, the warmth of the midday sun against your skin as you make your way down the path outside the office. He has his hands tucked into his pockets, looking over at you every so often. "So what are your plans after work?" he asks, stepping on a small branch that fell onto the sidewalk.
"Hm, I don't know." You tilt your head, considering it. "I think I was planning on—"
Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket before you can finish the sentence, cutting you off mid-thought. You glance at the screen and see Sunghoon's name lighting it up, and you send Jungwon a quick, apologetic look before answering.
"Hey, what's up?" Slowing your pace slightly, you listen as Sunghoon's voice comes through, and almost immediately, your face breaks into a wide grin. "Wait, seriously? Oh my god, congratulations! I'm so proud of you, I always knew you could do it."
You’re quiet for a moment, nodding along attentively as he speaks, even though he can't see you, before laughing again. "No, stop, you did all the work, I just answered a few emails." A pause, then your voice softens, gooey with affection. "You're going to do so well there, I mean it. You're amazing, you know that?"
Jungwon is still walking beside you, silent, and though he can't make out the words on the other end, he can obviously hear the unmistakable low pitch of a man's voice leaking through the speaker. His eyes flick toward you, brows drawing together, a question forming on his face. You catch the look and hold up a single finger, mouthing "one sec" before turning your attention back to the call, missing the way his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
"Okay, okay, I'll let you go celebrate," you say eventually, slowing to a stop near a bench along the path. "Really though, I'm so happy for you. I'll call you soon, okay? Tell me everything then." You laugh once more at whatever the man on the phone says back before finally pulling the phone away from your ear and ending the call.
When you finally hang up, you're still smiling, tucking your phone back into your pocket. "Sorry about that."
"So…" Jungwon is trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "Who was that?"
"Oh! That was Sunghoon." It comes out easily.
His eyebrows lift, genuine surprise flickering across his face. "You kept in touch with him?"
"No, no, we only reconnected within the last year or so."
He hesitates, glancing at you sideways, something careful creeping into his voice. "Are you two... you know…”
"What?" You laugh, shaking your head. "No, nothing like that. He was just asking about the Master's program I did a while back, and he called to tell me he got accepted."
"Ohhh. Okay." Jungwon nods slowly, and a silence settles between you for a few steps, comfortable at first, then noticeably less so, until he clears his throat and says, apropos of nothing, "I'm not, either."
Confused, your gaze is questioning. "You're not what?"
"I'm not seeing anyone either," he says plainly, eyes fixed ahead on the path.
Huh? Where did that come from, and why did he feel the need to inform you? Many questions start running through your head.
"I never said I wasn't seeing anyone, though…”
Jungwon's head turns sharply, a flash of panic crossing his face. "Oh. I just assumed, since you never mentioned— I'm not saying that I don't think you'd have—" He stops, drags a hand through his hair, tries again. "You're gorgeous, funny, and like actually perfect, so I mean—"
He keeps going, tripping over one sentence after another, and you feel something cold start pooling low in your stomach as you watch him struggle. Questions start piling up in your head faster than you can sort through them.
Did he just call you gorgeous? And perfect?
"Jungwon." You cut him off gently. "Breathe. What are you trying to say?"
He exhales a long and shaky breath. Then, "I like you. I have for a while now."
Oh god. Your chest lurches, but you’ve been stunned into silence. You should be happy, you know you should be happy, but what you feel instead is complete bewilderment. No part of you could have expected this; your mind is a thick cloud of disorienting confusion, thoughts scattering with no way to catch hold of a single one. It's as if your past self has come forward, trying to seize control, while the part of you that's still humiliated from the years of unrequited feelings, fights back with everything it has.
Involuntarily, your feet take a step back, and Jungwon's expression crumbles.
"No, wait, I—" The words are strangled, and you press your palm briefly against your forehead. “I have to go. I'm sorry."
You turn before he can say anything else, before you have to watch his expression shift into whatever comes after disappointment, and you walk fast, practically sprinting back toward the office. Your heart is pounding somewhere near your throat. You don't dare look back to see whether he's still standing there. He is.
—
The afternoon's a bust. Obviously, you are unable to concentrate on anything.
How lame is it of you to have left him like that? Extremely. It was the wrong thing to do, and you know it, and yet you couldn't have made yourself stay there a second longer if you'd tried. But wow.
You'd spent your entire university career hopelessly crushing on him, only to get hit with the reality of him choosing someone else. Then you spent the next three years trying your best to change, to move on from it, working your way to the point where you couldn’t even allow yourself to consider pursuing anyone romantically, terrified of repeating the same mistake twice. And now, after all that, Jungwon is back, and this time he likes you?
You’ve been putting in so much work to see him only as a friend, so deep in denial about the possibility of something changing, something shifting from platonic into anything else, that now that the opportunity is sitting right in front of you, you're frozen.
Make it make sense.
Groaning, you slam your head down onto your desk. Feelings are so hard. Jungwon is so…
There’s no word to describe it, not one that captures the specific, infuriating combination of relief and terror currently weighing in your chest.
You need to apologize to him, talk to him, explain everything, and the thought alone makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. A chill runs down your spine as you realize you'll probably just have to take the hit to your pride and tell him everything, as in, tell him about liking him in university. But who knows, maybe it'll give you the closure you need.
This time, instead of waiting for him to come to you, you stand from your chair, smoothing down your blouse, on a mission to find him yourself. Upon exiting your office, you head down the hallway and toward his, trying not to let your resolve threaten to buckle with every step. You need to do this.
You reach his door and lift your fist to knock, hesitating for only a brief moment, but when you move your knuckles to land against the wood, the door swings open from the other side, causing you to flinch back in surprise. On the other side stands Jungwon, jaw set and hair unkempt. Quickly, he grabs your hand that is still suspended mid-air and pulls you into his office, shutting the door behind him.
“Jungwon wha–”
“Did I read it all wrong?” he cuts you off. He doesn’t let go of your hand, you notice, his fingers still wrapped loosely around yours as his eyes search your face. "Because if I overstepped, or made things weird between us, I need you to tell me right now so I can fix it.”
Your heart plummets in realization that this– the anxious edge in his voice, his clear stress– is entirely your doing. The irony of him asking if he’s read it wrong is not lost on you, either.
“No, I– you didn’t–” You pause, grappling for the right words. “But since when did you…?”
Understanding what you’re insinuating, he sighs heavily, taking a moment to think. "I'm not sure… Looking back on it I– don't get me wrong, you've always been stunning and easy to talk to,” he swallows thickly. "And I always enjoyed spending time with you."
He shifts slightly, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles as he keeps talking. "But I never really stopped to read between the lines… it just never occurred to me to look at it that way."
You nod slowly, letting what he says to settle, before deciding no version of this conversation works if you keep holding your own truth back.
"If I'm being honest I—" Taking a breath, you steady yourself. "I really liked you in university, ever since we met. And I thought… I thought there was a chance you returned those feelings." You glance down for a moment, licking your lips before continuing. "But then Jake told me you had a girlfriend the night before graduation.”
Jungwon goes still. "You... liked me?"
What.
Did.
He.
Just.
Say?
"You didn’t know? There's no way you didn't know." You're in a state somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.
He chuckles a little, the hand that isn't still holding yours running through his hair. "I was a guy in uni who spent his free time playing videogames or studying. If you didn't tell me, I wouldn't have a clue."
"And if I had?" you ask, quieter now, scanning his features. "Would that have changed anything?"
He's silent, clearly turning the question over, and as that silence keeps on stretching, you become more and more unsure of if you want to hear the answer or not.
"I don't know," he admits finally. "But what I do know is that right now, in this moment, I like you. And if there's a chance you still… if you feel something for me too—"
"I do," you interrupt. This is scary; it’s probably one of the hardest conversations you’ve ever had. "But I mean, I've spent the last five months holding myself back. Refusing to see you in that light for fear of the exact same thing playing out." Something akin to both a laugh and a sigh breaks through your lips. "I don't know. It's stupid, probably."
"It's not stupid." His hand tightens slightly around yours, and he tugs on it, bringing you into his arms.
You go easily, your head coming to rest against his chest, and it's there, pressed so close, that you hear it: his heart, hammering away far faster than his calm exterior lets on. The sound brings a small smile out of you that you don't bother hiding, tucked as you are against him where he can't see your face anyway.
"I don't know what to do from here," you whisper, the words muffled slightly against his shirt, your own arms coming to wrap around him.
"A good starting point would be letting me take you out on a date." His breath is warm along your ear, his arms tightening around your waist.
His warmth is inviting, and you close your eyes, sinking further into him. "That sounds great."
Allowing yourself to feel these emotions freely, to embrace them, feels strange. Wrong, almost, even though it isn't. You'll have to do the work, at some point or another, and teach yourself not to push everything down. But for now, you’ll enjoy this moment as it is.
Eventually, you pull back, though not without some reluctance. "I should get back to work; I still have things to finish."
But he doesn't let you go far, keeping a loose hold on you, his expression shifts, darker and more intense than before. "I really want to kiss you right now."
Your eyes widen, every part of you very aware of exactly where you are. "We, um, we're at work."
He laughs loudly at that, hands rubbing gently up and down your arms as if to soothe your sudden spike of nerves. "I know. I'll save it for our date." His eyes meet yours. "Are you free tonight? You never told me what your plans are.”
"Yes, I’m free," you squeak out, your voice betraying you completely.
After a few more minutes, you finally manage to peel yourself out of his grasp, murmuring a flustered goodbye before slipping out of his office and heading back toward your own, dying a giddy death.
—
That night, he picks you up from your apartment, and you try not to blush too hard when you spot him through the video intercom, a bouquet cradled in his arms. When you step outside, he's already extending the flowers toward you with an exaggerated little bow, chin dipped, one arm sweeping out theatrically.
"For you, my lady."
You swat at his chest with your free hand, cheeks warming instantly. "Stop, you're going to give me the ick."
"Bit late for that," he counters, mouth curling upward. "You took the flowers, and I’m pretty sure that means you secretly liked it.”
He laces his fingers through yours once you've managed to tuck the bouquet properly into the crook of your arm, tilting his head toward the end of the block. "Come on, the restaurant's this way."
The pace he sets is slow, and he swings your joined hands back and forth as you walk. "So," he says, glancing at you, "you liked me in university?"
You let out a long groan, tipping your face toward the sky. "Please, anything but that. It's genuinely the most humiliating chapter of my entire life."
"Why's that?"
"Because I spent four straight years thinking you felt the same, building up this whole fantasy in my head," you confess. "Only for Jake to bring me back down to Earth."
His grip on your hand tightens, his pace slackening. "Is that why you avoided me like crazy at graduation?"
Your gaze meets his, shocked. "You caught that?"
"I always picked up on you," he states. "Maybe not in the way you were hoping for back then, but yeah, I noticed you, cared about having you around. When you went quiet on me at graduation, after everything we'd been through... I’ll be real, it actually stung a lot."
Guilt tugs sharply at your ribs. "I'm sorry. That was a pretty childish way to handle it."
He shakes his head, using his grip to tug you a bit closer. "Don't apologize, I get it. If anything, I should've put in more effort to keep us close after graduation instead of just letting the distance take over."
You're still chewing on that thought when the restaurant comes into view: it’s a modest little building wedged snugly between two taller storefronts, and you suddenly, you’re filled with excitement. "Wait, oh my god, I've wanted to try this place forever."
"Really? I stumbled onto it during my first week here," he says, pulling the door open and stepping aside to let you through first. "Been one of my favourite spots ever since."
After you’ve been seated, attended to, and the server has taken your orders, you finally ask the question that’s been sitting at the back of your mind all evening.
"I’ve been wondering…" you start, tracing a finger along the rim of your water glass, "what made you see me differently? Like, actually, why do you like me now?"
Jungwon goes quiet for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. "Truthfully, I, uh, I can't really pinpoint the exact moment it started. You just kind of started occupying my thoughts more and more, and I wanted to spend all my free time in your company, you know?" He rubs the back of his neck, working through how to phrase the rest.
"Like I said, I've always thought you were pretty, but seeing you again after three years, you've, I don't know, grown into your features." He exhales, and you giggle at his wording. "And I really, really like your personality too, obviously. It's, it's different now, more- how do I put this?" his gaze flickers up to the ceiling as he thinks, "more you, I guess, if that makes any sense at all."
"It makes sense," you nod. "What can I say?" Sighing satisfactorily, you lean back against your seat smugly, "letting go of my feelings for you changed me for the better."
A smirk spreads across his face as he says poignantly, "but deep down, you didn't let go of those feelings, did you?"
"Hey!” Launching forward from your previous position, “I was perfectly content with just friendship," you assure and lift your chin with mock dignity. "I can go right back to that, you know. This whole date thing is entirely optional on my end."
"Absolutely not. That’s not how this works." He reaches across the table, catching your hand in his and pinning it there. Without breaking eye contact, he brings your hand slowly up to his mouth and kisses each knuckle, taking his time.
Your chest all but detonates. You stare at him, mouth slightly parted, any witty comeback you might have had evaporating the instant his lips make contact with your skin. Heat crawls up the back of your neck, circling your ears, before washing down your face. "You," you manage to get out, "cannot do that in public."
"Why not?" He finally releases your hand.
“You know why.”
“Sorry, I don't. Oh, would you look at that, the food's coming."
Sure enough, the server appears then, balancing two plates as she sets them down in front of you both with a quick rundown of what's what. The interruption breaks the moment cleanly, and you're almost grateful for it, giving your racing pulse a chance to settle back down to normal. Conversation shifts into more mundane territory as you eat, work gossip, plans for the upcoming weekend… if those plans include him….
Halfway through the meal, Jungwon pulls out his phone and angles it toward you. "Smile!"
You barely have time to react before the shutter clicks, catching you mid-bite with your eyebrows raised in surprise. Glowering at him, you ask, "What are you doing with that?"
Mischievously, "What if I sent this to the uni group chat?"
"Hmmm..” you contemplate, tapping your chin curiosity. “I genuinely wonder how everyone would react."
Wordlessly, he types something out and hits send, angling the screen briefly so you can catch the caption before it disappears: look who my beautiful date is. And within seconds, both your phones start buzzing furiously, one notification stacking on top of another in rapid succession, in what you can only assume to be messages like omg no way or FUCKING FINALLY!!!!!
The remainder of the night unfolds easily, and on the walk back, Jungwon all but demands stopping for ice cream, with no care for the evening chill, and both of you end up sharing a single cone, not only fighting for what flavours to choose, but also bickering lightly over who gets the last bite of the cone itself.
Standing outside your building now, you don’t want your time together to end. “Thank you for tonight," you say, peering up at him. "I had a really good time."
"Me too." Neither of you make a move to leave.
In a sudden spurt of boldness, you offer, "Do you want to come up?"
“Yes.” His answer comes practically before you even finish asking.
No words are spoken as you ride up the elevator. You can feel him standing close beside you, close enough that your arm brushes his more than once, and each time it does, you feel a zing go down all the way to your... anyway. Neither of you look at the other directly, both opting to stare at the numbers ticking upward above the door, though you're fairly certain he's just as aware of you as you are of him.
He follows closely behind as you unlock your door, and the moment it clicks shut, he's crowding into your personal space. Lightly, his fingers press down on your wrists, pinning them to the wall as his eyelids droop and his focus lasers onto your lips.
"Can I kiss you now?"
His voice is the lowest you've ever heard it, rough around the edges, and irresistible.
"Yes," you breathe, barely more than a whisper.
Still pressing you gently against the wall, Jungwon releases your wrists, one hand rising to tilt your chin upward while the other settles firmly against your waist, drawing you in until there's no space left between you. He leans down slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle. And soft. And tender. You melt into it instantly, hands coming up to wrap around his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. The softness doesn't last long after that.
His grip on your waist tightens, hauling you flush against him, and the kiss deepens into something more passionate, hungrier.
You lose track of how you end up moving, stumbling backward together without ever breaking apart, his hands guiding you carefully around furniture. Somewhere along the way, you shed your jacket, and his follows shortly after, discarded on the floor of your hallway. By the time you reach your bedroom, you're both a mess, laughing between kisses, breathless and a little clumsy, falling back onto your bed together.
It's perfect, he's perfect, everything about tonight is perfect, right down to the ridiculous amount of butterflies still going haywire in your stomach every time his lips find yours again. Though nothing goes further than making out, it still manages to feel extremely intimate, more intimate somehow than anything you've shared with anyone in years.
And to think, this might not have happened if he hadn’t dared to confess to you his feelings. God knows you wouldn’t have. You’d locked up that part of your heart, with him being the sole owner of the key.
Leaning into him further, you don’t feel anything except unbelievably, undeservedly lucky. Whatever came before this feels increasingly distant now, replaced by the joy of being, after so long, with someone who wants you just as much as you want them.
---
a/n: ngl a part of me wanted to make this significantly more angsty, but i decided to go down the realistic route of two people maturing and acting like adults. i think it's fair to say that, in general, you shouldn't let a crush hold so much power over you. i've been there, and it sucks. please just be yourself bc that's who they're going to like more in the end 🧡 comments & reblogs are always appreciated!!
genre: hogwarts au, brother's best friend trope, fluff
synopsis: you tried to ignore how ni-ki made your stomach flip. you really did. all you wanted was a normal term at hogwarts. instead, you’re dealing with a love-potion-struck ni-ki, whose clinginess and love struck antics are giving your poor heart(and patience) a workout. your brother thinks it’s hilarious. you think you might combust. and ni-ki? he just wants to snuggle forever.
warnings: lots of kissing, they makeout, hickeys, skin-ship, cringey nicknames, some angst, clingy! lovestruck!ni-ki
note: for the anon who wanted a ni-ki hogwarts au, so sorry for the delay!!😭 halfway into writing this i realised my nonchalant bro ni-ki would NEVER act like this but proceeded anyway since it's fiction so enjoyy reading!!
word count: 7.7k
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
you told yourself this term would be different.
no more stolen glances across the great hall, no more lingering in the library just to catch a glimpse of his messy hair as he flipped through spellbooks. ni-ki was your brother’s best friend—always had been, always would be. that fact was as unchangeable as the house colours on your robes. and yet, every time he slung an arm around your brother’s shoulders, laughing too loud in that carefree way of his, your pulse betrayed you.
it wasn’t fair.
he was everywhere. lounging in the common room like he owned it, tossing a snitch between his hands while your brother groaned about quidditch drills. leaning over your shoulder in potions, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "you’re adding too much lacewing, y/n." his fingers brushing yours when he passed you a vial, the contact brief but enough to send sparks up your arm. you hated how your body reacted—how your stomach twisted, how your cheeks burned when he smirked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.
you were good at pretending. you had to be. when he flicked your quill during study sessions, you rolled your eyes instead of smiling. when he called your name across the courtyard, you waved half-heartedly instead of sprinting to him. when he winked at you—always winking, always teasing—you looked away before he could see the way your breath hitched.
but then there were the moments you couldn’t control. the way your gaze lingered when he stretched after quidditch practise, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. the way your heart stuttered when he ruffled your hair, his laugh ringing in your ears. the way you memorised the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy.
you were pathetic.
this term, you swore, would be different. you’d focus on your studies, on your friends, on anything but him. you’d stop daydreaming about what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looked at the quidditch pitch—like it was the only thing that mattered. you’d stop wondering if he ever thought about you when you weren’t there.
because ni-ki wasn’t yours. he never would be.
and yet, when he slid into the seat beside you at breakfast, his knee pressing against yours under the table, your resolve crumbled all over again.
damn it.
. . .
you should’ve known better than to think this term would be easy.
the common room was its usual mess of noise and warmth—crackling fire, hushed gossip, the occasional shriek of laughter as someone recounted their latest mishap in potions. you were tucked into your favourite corner of the couch, a well-worn copy of advanced arithmancy open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. your friends were bickering good-naturedly beside you, debating whether transfiguration or charms was the more practical subject, but you weren’t really listening. your mind kept drifting, as it always did, to the one person you were desperately trying not to think about.
then the door burst open.
a group of seventh-years stumbled in, grinning like they’d just pulled off some grand scheme, and dumped a tray of shimmering, unnaturally bright sweets onto the low table in the centre of the room. the candies pulsed faintly, shifting colours like liquid trapped in sugar shells, looking clearly enchantwd. a few curious hands reached out, but the seventh-years just smirked and said, "dare you to try one," before sauntering off, leaving behind a ripple of nervous excitement.
you barely had time to roll your eyes before the common room door swung open again, and there he was.
ni-ki.
your breath caught.
he was still in his quidditch gear, his hair damp and tousled from the showers, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the evening air. your brother trailed behind him, complaining loudly about some foul during practise, but ni-ki wasn’t listening. he was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face alight with that effortless joy that made your chest ache.
then his gaze flicked to the tray of sweets.
"what’s this?" he asked, already reaching for one, his fingers closing around a candy that glowed a dangerous shade of pink.
something in your gut twisted.
"ni-ki, don’t—" you started, scrambling to your feet, but it was too late. he popped it into his mouth without a second thought, chewing once before his entire expression shifted.
his eyes, sharp and playful, always so alive suddenly went soft and unfocused. then they locked onto you, wide and wondering, like he was seeing you for the first time.
"you’re beautiful," he breathed, voice low and awed, as if the words had been pulled out of him against his will.
the common room went quiet. your friends stopped mid-sentence. your brother blinked, confused. and you? you couldn’t move.
ni-ki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in three long strides, and before you could even think to step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole your breath. his cheek pressed against the curve of your neck, his exhale warm against your skin. his hands were tentative at first, fingers brushing your waist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—then, as if something in him snapped, they fisted in the fabric of your sweater, dragging you even closer.
you froze.
his heartbeat thudded against yours, rapid and unsteady. his scent—fresh grass and something faintly sweet, like strawberries—flooded your senses. you could feel every shift of his body, every unsteady breath he took, and it was too much. your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land, but your traitorous heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.
"ni-ki," you managed, voice embarrassingly shaky. "what are you—"
he didn’t let you finish. he just nuzzled closer, his nose brushing your jaw, and murmured, "you smell nice."
your brother choked on his drink. someone giggled. your face burned.
this was bad. this was so bad.
because even as your brain screamed at you to push him away, to laugh it off like it was nothing, your body betrayed you. your fingers curled into his quidditch jersey, clinging just a little too tightly. your breath hitched when his thumb brushed your hip, absentminded but deliberate. a tiny, reckless part inside of you never wanted him to let go.
the candy was obviously cursed. it had to be. there was no other explanation for the way ni-ki was holding you like you were something precious, like he’d been waiting years to do this.
but then his lips brushed your ear, his voice so soft only you could hear it.
"i’ve wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, and your stomach dropped.
because what if it wasn’t just the candy?
what if, underneath the enchantment, some part of him meant it?
your brother’s voice cut through the haze. "alright, what the hell did you give him?"
laughter erupted around you, but you barely heard it. ni-ki’s arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin, and you realised with terrifying clarity—
this was only the beginning.
the next few minutes passed in a blur. your friends were howling with laughter, your brother was torn between amusement and concern, and ni-ki—ni-ki wouldn’t let go. not when you tried to gently pry his fingers from your sweater, not when your brother clapped him on the shoulder and said, "mate, you’ve got to snap out of it." he just held on tighter, his face buried in your hair, murmuring things that made your cheeks burn.
"your hair’s so soft."
"you’re perfect."
"i love the way you laugh."
each word sent a fresh wave of panic through you. because this wasn’t just some silly, fleeting crush anymore. this was ni-ki—your brother’s best friend, the boy you’d spent years pretending not to adore—holding you like you were the only thing that mattered, saying things you’d only ever dreamed of hearing.
and you had no idea what to do.
"we should get him to madam pomfrey," your brother said finally, though he was grinning like this was the best thing he’d seen all year.
ni-ki made a noise of protest, his arms tightening around you. "no," he mumbled against your shoulder. "stay with y/n."
your heart skipped.
your brother sighed. "alright, fine. but you’re coming with me, lover boy."
ni-ki whined—actually whined—but your brother was relentless, peeling him off you with a strength born of years of dealing with his antics. ni-ki’s hands lingered, his fingers brushing yours as he was dragged away, his eyes never leaving your face.
"i’ll find you later," he promised, voice still thick with whatever enchantment had taken hold of him.
your stomach flipped.
as the common room door swung shut behind them, the room erupted into chaos—laughter, theories about what kind of spell had been on those candies, bets on how long it would take for ni-ki to recover. but you just stood there, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you, your heart racing like you’d just run a mile.
when madam pomfrey had examined him the night before, her lips had pursed in that particular way that meant trouble.
"this isn't your standard amortentia variant," she'd muttered, her wand tracing glowing patterns over ni-ki's dazed expression. "it's one of those experimental brews the seventh years keep inventing. it'll have to run its course naturally."
you'd nearly choked when she'd added, "could be a day, could be a week," just as ni-ki blissfully unaware of your internal crisis, chose that moment to nuzzle his face against your hand like an overgrown puppy, his lips brushing your knuckles in a way that sent electric jolts up your arm.
"my moonbeam," he sighed dreamily, completely ignoring madam pomfrey's exasperated eye-roll. "your skin is so soft. are you made of clouds? you must be made of clouds."
your brother, the absolute traitor, was filming the entire thing on his enchanted camera.
but nothing, not even the humiliation of the hospital wing visit could have prepared you for the absolute nightmare that was the next morning.
the morning light filtering through your dormitory curtains was soft and golden, promising a slow, lazy day. you were still half-buried in your blankets, caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, when the first sign of trouble came.
a faint creak of the door. the rustle of fabric. you assumed it was just one of your roommates returning from an early shower, until—
thud.
a muffled "oof" that you'd recognise anywhere.
your eyes flew open just in time to see ni-ki picking himself up from where he'd tripped over someone's abandoned shoes, his hair sticking up in every direction, still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. when he saw you looking, his entire face lit up like you'd cast the sun itself.
"good morning, sunshine!" he chirped, already climbing onto your bed before you could process what was happening.
the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled at the foot of your bed, beaming at you like this was completely normal.
"i waited outside for two hours. did you know the stairs turn into a slide if you're a boy? so rude. i had to bribe a first-year to tell me the password instead."
you sat frozen, your sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. behind you, one of your roommates choked on her toothpaste. another pulled her blanket over her head with a groan.
"ni-ki," you hissed, acutely aware of your messy hair and the fact your pyjama top had slipped slightly off one shoulder, "you can't just—"
"but i missed you," he interrupted, as if this explained everything. his fingers found yours, lacing them together with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. "the second you left last night, my heart started aching. is that normal?"
he brought your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the steady beat beneath his shirt. "it feels normal when it's you."
you were going to find those seventh-years and strangle them with their own shoelaces.
his thumb traced the arch of your eyebrow, then drifted down to the curve of your cheek. you stopped breathing. the early morning light gilded his features in soft gold, catching on the tiny scar above his lip from that quidditch accident last year. you'd never been this close before, close enough to count his faint freckles, to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
before you could react, he was leaning in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple. then another just below your ear. then another along your jawline—each one lingering just a second too long, his breath warm against your skin.
"ni-ki—" you gasped, but he just hummed and continued his lazy path of destruction, his lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear that made your toes curl.
"you're so soft here," he murmured against your skin, his free hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as his mouth continued its devastating exploration. "and here." another kiss, this time to the corner of your jaw. "and here." his lips grazed the pulse point beneath your ear, and you swore your heart stopped.
when you tried to squirm away, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you back against him with embarrassing ease.
"where do you think you're going, snugglebug?" he teased, nuzzling into your neck. "i just got comfortable."
you were going to die. actually die. right here in your pyjamas with ni-ki's stupidly perfect lips tracing nonsense patterns across your skin.
"this isn't—you can't just—" you stammered, but your traitorous body was already melting into his touch, your hands fisting in the sheets to keep from reaching for him.
ni-ki pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something you couldn't name.
"can't just what?" he challenged softly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "can't tell you how pretty you look in the morning? can't kiss every single mole on your face?" to demonstrate, he pressed his lips to the tiny one near your eyebrow. then the one by your nose. "can't adore you the way i've always wanted to?"
your breath caught. that couldn't be—he didn't mean—
before you could overthink it, his mouth found yours in a kiss so sweet it made your chest ache. just a brush of lips, barely there, but it shattered you completely. when he pulled away, his smile was brighter than the sunrise streaming through your windows.
"pancakes?" he asked, as if he hadn't just rewritten your entire universe with one kiss.
you could only nod, dazed.
as ni-ki helped you up (his hands lingering at your waist, his lips stealing one last kiss from your cheek), you caught your dormmates' wide-eyed stares in the mirror. one mouthed "holy shit" while another gave you a thumbs up.
you were so, so screwed.
. . .
breakfast in the great hall was nothing short of a public execution.
the moment you sat down, ni-ki was there, sliding onto the bench so close his thigh pressed flush against yours, his arm immediately curling around your shoulders like a possessive, overly affectionate scarf. when you reached for the pumpkin juice, his hand shot out, intercepting yours with a delighted gasp.
"let me," he insisted, pouring it for you with the kind of exaggerated care usually reserved for handling ancient, fragile artifacts.
he even made sure to wipe the rim of the glass with his napkin before handing it to you, his eyes sparkling. "you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, my precious little pumpkin."
you choked on air.
across the table, your brother was already losing it, his spoon clattering into his porridge as he doubled over with laughter. tears were actually streaming down his face.
"oh, this is too good," he wheezed, slapping the table. "this is the best day of my life."
you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. "stop encouraging him."
"encourage him?" your brother gasped, wiping his eyes. "merlin’s beard, i’m taking notes!" to your absolute horror, he pulled out an actual notebook and scribbled something down. "'my precious little pumpkin'—that’s gold."
ni-ki, blissfully unaware of your suffering, was now meticulously cutting your toast into heart shapes with the precision of a master chef.
"you need proper nutrition," he informed you, deadly serious, as if this were a matter of life and death. "how else will you stay as perfect as you are?"
you buried your face in your hands, willing the ground to swallow you whole.
it only got worse. when you tried to take a bite of your eggs, ni-ki intercepted your fork, holding it up to your lips himself.
"say 'ah,'" he coaxed, grinning when you glared at him. "come on, sweetheart. you’ll waste away if you don’t eat properly."
"i can feed myself," you hissed through gritted teeth.
"but where’s the fun in that?" he pouted, leaning in until his nose brushed your cheek. "let me take care of you. just for today."
you caved, because apparently your willpower had abandoned you the second ni-ki decided to turn your life into a romantic comedy. as you reluctantly took the bite, his entire face lit up like you’d just handed him the moon.
"good?" he asked, thumb brushing the corner of your lip to catch a crumb that wasn’t even there.
you were going to combust.
your brother, the absolute traitor, was now narrating the entire ordeal to jake like it was a quidditch commentary. "and ni-ki goes in for the kill—oh! he’s wiping her mouth! ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history!"
you threw a piece of toast at his head.
ni-ki, meanwhile, had moved on to rearranging the fruit on your plate into what appeared to be a smiley face. "you didn’t eat enough blueberries yesterday," he informed you, as if he’d been keeping track. "they’re good for your brain. and your eyes. and—"
"my soul?" you deadpanned.
"exactly," he said, completely serious, popping one into your mouth before you could protest.
by the time breakfast was over, half the great hall was watching your personal nightmare unfold with varying degrees of amusement and envy. ni-ki, still glued to your side, was now insisting on carrying your bag for you, despite your protests.
"you’re ridiculous," you muttered as he slung it over his shoulder, his free hand immediately finding yours again.
"ridiculous for you," he corrected, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
your brother fake-gagged behind you.
you were going to murder them both.
classes were somehow worse. in charms, ni-ki kept whispering ridiculous compliments every time the professor turned his back.
"your eyelashes are like tiny works of art," he sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. "do they sparkle in the sunlight or is that just magic?"
when you shushed him, he pouted so dramatically that even the professor noticed. "mr. nishimura, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"just that y/n is the most brilliant witch in hogwarts," ni-ki announced proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal answer. "and possibly the universe."
the class erupted into giggles. your face burned so hot you were surprised your hair didn't catch fire.
by lunchtime, you'd developed a new survival strategy: complete and utter surrender. when ni-ki insisted on carrying all your books (stacked precariously in his arms because he refused to use a charm that might "strain their delicate pages"), you stopped protesting. when he fed you bites of his treacle tart ("you need the sugar, my little sugarplum"), you accepted it with minimal grumbling. when he held your hand everywhere you went, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin, you stopped trying to pull away.
it was easier this way.
(and if part of you secretly thrilled at the warmth of his hand in yours, well, no one needed to know that.)
the common room was warm, the warmth making your eyelids heavy and your thoughts slow. the fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the scattered books and half-finished homework. you were trying to focus on your essay, really trying, but it was hard when ni-ki kept shifting beside you, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair.
every time you moved, his hand would tighten just a little, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. when you reached for your pen, he intercepted your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a quiet hum.
"your hands are cold," he murmured, bringing them to his lips to blow warm air across your skin. the gesture was so tender it made your chest ache.
across the room, your brother and his friends were playing some loud card game, but you could feel their eyes darting over to you every few seconds, their grins barely hidden. you shot them a glare, but it only made them laugh harder.
"are you comfortable?" ni-ki asked suddenly, his free hand brushing a stray hair behind your ear. his touch lingered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he was memorising it. "you seem tense."
you swallowed. "i’m fine."
he frowned, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he studied your face. then, without warning, he pulled you sideways until your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away.
"better?" his breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and sleepy.
"ni-ki—"
"shh," he interrupted, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder and neck. "just relax. i’ve got you."
one hand traced slow circles on your stomach, the other playing with your hair, his fingers moving in a rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.
it was too much. the warmth of him, the way he smelled like fresh laundry and something sweet, the steady beat of his heart against your back—it was all so dangerously comforting. against your better judgement, you felt yourself sinking into him, the tension leaving your shoulders one breath at a time.
until he spoke again.
"you smell amazing," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "like vanilla and... something else. just you."
his arms tightened slightly. "i could stay like this forever."
a choked noise escaped your throat. the entire common room seemed to be watching now, their conversations forgotten in favour of your humiliation. even the portraits on the walls were leaning in, their painted eyes wide with amusement.
"ni-ki, people are staring," you hissed, trying to squirm away.
he made a soft, wounded sound, his grip tightening. "let them stare," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. then, quieter, just for you: "you’re perfect. why wouldn’t they want to look at you?"
your face burned. "that’s not—"
"i mean it," he continued, undeterred. his chin rested on your shoulder, his voice dreamy.
"the way your eyes get all squinty when you’re trying not to laugh. how you bite your lip when you’re thinking." his fingers found yours again, lifting them to press a kiss to each knuckle. "the little noises you make when—"
"okay!" you lurched forward, nearly falling off the couch in your haste to escape. "i think i left my—my astronomy book in the library!"
ni-ki’s face fell. "i’ll come with—"
"no!" you stood too fast, your vision swimming. "i mean—you should stay. here. with my brother." you shot your brother a desperate look, but the traitor just grinned and raised his drink in salute.
for a long moment, ni-ki just stared at you, his eyes suspiciously shiny. then his lower lip actually trembled.
"you don’t want me to come," he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question.
the entire room went silent. even the fire seemed to pause.
you opened your mouth. closed it. the words "it’s not that" died on your tongue when his expression crumpled, like you’d just kicked a puppy.
your brother sighed dramatically. "just take him with you," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "before he starts crying and ruins my winning streak."
ni-ki’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. he was on his feet in an instant, gathering your books and pens with single-minded determination.
"i’ll carry your stuff," he announced, already stacking your papers neatly. "and your sweater. and that water bottle you forgot yesterday. and—"
you buried your face in your hands as the room erupted into laughter. somewhere to your left, someone whispered, "ten bucks says he proposes by friday."
as ni-ki proudly handed you your neatly stacked belongings, beaming like he’d just won the lottery, you came to a terrible realisation:
you were so, so screwed.
the afternoon sun was warm on your skin as you sat on the weathered wooden bench near the greenhouses, your textbook propped open in your lap for the quiz you had in next period—or at least, it had been, before ni-ki decided your lap made for a much better seat. the spell still hadn’t worn off.
once again he was all up in your personal space, sprawled across you now, his long limbs tangled with yours, his arms curled tightly around your waist like he was afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly. his head was nestled against your shoulder, his soft hair brushing your jaw, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against your collarbone, warm and familiar.
his fingers traced absent, lazy circles on your arm, his touch feather-light but enough to send tiny sparks skittering across your skin. you tried to focus on the page in front of you, really tried, but it was impossible when ni-ki kept nuzzling closer every time you shifted, his lips brushing the curve of your neck in a way that made your pulse stutter. it was ridiculous. embarrassing, even. and yet—despite yourself—you felt your body softening into his, your free hand coming up to card through his hair almost without thinking.
just then, the crunch of footsteps on gravel made you glance up. your brother stood a few feet away, eyebrows nearly in his hairline, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“wow,” he said, crossing his arms, “you two might as well get a room already.”
ni-ki lifted his head just enough to flash him a cheeky smile, his arms tightening around you. “we tried,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence, “but she said she had class.”
your brother barked out a laugh so loud it startled a nearby group of first-years, who scurried away like frightened mice. you, on the other hand, felt your entire face ignite.
“ni-ki,” you hissed, smacking his shoulder, “stop being a weirdo.”
but he only chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. before you could scold him further, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just a second too long. “you’re too warm to resist,” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.
you wanted to protest. wanted to shove him off and tell him to quit messing around, to stop saying things that made your heart do stupid, traitorous flips in your chest. but the words died in your throat when he tilted his head up to look at you, his dark eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, his smile so fond it made your ribs ache.
your brother whistled. “yep, i’m definitely telling mom about this.”
“don’t you dare,” you snapped, but your voice lacked any real heat—especially when ni-ki shifted in your lap, his nose brushing yours, his fingers threading through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“let him,” ni-ki said, grinning. “i’ve got nothing to hide.”
you groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. this was a disaster. you were a disaster. and yet—when ni-ki’s laughter rumbled against you, when his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that stupidly gentle way of his—you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
that same evening you decided to sneak off to the library to finally get some studying done, but ni-ki had caught you in two minutes with a pouty look on his face. so, here you were now—at the library which had always been your sanctuary, a quiet place where you could escape everything—until now. the flickering candlelight made the words in your potions textbook blur together, but you hadn't registered anything in front of you in at least fifteen minutes. not with ni-ki pressed against your back like a second shadow, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he lazily flipped through your notes with one hand while the other traced mindless patterns on your thigh.
"you're skipping the good parts," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, his breath warm against your neck. his finger landed on a passage about amortentia variants. "this is where it gets interesting."
you swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. "we're supposed to be researching counters, not reading about how love potions work."
ni-ki hummed, nuzzling closer until his lips brushed the sensitive spot behind your ear. "maybe i like knowing how it works," he whispered. "maybe i want to understand why i can't stop thinking about you."
the book nearly slipped from your hands. "that's—that's just the potion talking."
"is it?" he shifted suddenly, turning you to face him with surprising gentleness. the candlelight caught in his dark eyes, making them glow. "then why did i watch you all last term? why did i always find excuses to sit by you in the great hall? why—"
"shh!" you glanced frantically at the librarian, who was glaring from her desk. "you're going to get us kicked out."
ni-ki only grinned, unrepentant, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "worth it," he breathed. his fingers tangled with yours, squeezing gently. "you're so pretty when you're flustered."
"you're impossible," you muttered, but the protest was weak—especially when he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with exaggerated care.
"only for you." his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "your heart's going crazy. is that the potion too?"
you couldn't answer. not when he was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing that mattered. not when his free hand came up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering at your jawline.
the moment stretched, fragile and breathless, until ni-ki suddenly yawned, the spell breaking as he slumped against you with a quiet groan.
"m'sleepy," he mumbled, his words slurring as he nuzzled into your neck. "your hoodie smells nice. like... like vanilla and that lavender soap you use."
you stiffened. "how do you know what soap i use?"
he didn’t answer, already half-asleep against you, his arms slipping around your waist like living seatbelts. you tried to return to your research, really tried, but how could you focus when every other page was punctuated by ni-ki's soft murmurs of "love you" and "so warm" against your skin? when his fingers would tighten unconsciously whenever you shifted, as if afraid you'd disappear?
frustrated, you turned another page with more force than necessary, your eyes scanning for anything about countering experimental love potions. that's when you saw it—a faded footnote nearly obscured by water damage:
"when the subject already harbours affection for the potion's target, the effects intensify tenfold, blurring the lines between enchantment and genuine feeling. in such cases, the potion acts not as creator, but as catalyst—removing inhibitions and amplifying existing emotions that the brewer may have otherwise concealed."
the words hit you like a bludger to the chest. your hands trembled as memories surfaced—ni-ki always volunteering to be your partner in potions, his laughter a little too bright when you brushed against him. the way he'd show up in the library "by coincidence" whenever you studied alone. how his teasing had always carried an edge of something warmer, something deeper you'd been too afraid to name.
"y/n?" ni-ki's voice was thick with sleep, but his gaze was startlingly clear as he lifted his head. "you okay? your heart's going crazy again."
"i found something," you whispered.
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours as he peered at the book. too close. always too close. you could count his eyelashes from here, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"huh," he said after a moment, surprisingly lucid. "so you're telling me i didn't stand a chance?"
"what?"
ni-ki smiled, slow and devastating. "even without the potion," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, "i was already gone for you. this just... made it harder to hide."
his thumb brushed your lower lip, feather-light. "do you hate that?"
you couldn't breathe. couldn't think. the library, the book, the world outside this moment—none of it mattered. not when ni-ki was looking at you like you were his entire universe. not when his confession hung between you, raw and terrifying and beautiful.
the librarian's sharp cough shattered the moment. "if you two can't keep quiet," she snapped, "i'll have to ask you to leave."
ni-ki didn't even glance her way. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his fingers still tracing nonsense patterns on your wrist. "well?" he whispered, so quiet only you could hear. "do you want me to stop?"
that was the problem. you didn't. not really. not when every touch set your skin on fire, not when his sleepy "i love you"s had started to sound like home.
your silence was answer enough. ni-ki's grin could have powered the castle lamps as he tucked you back against his side, pressing one last kiss to your temple before nuzzling into your hair. "knew it," he murmured triumphantly.
and as you sat there, surrounded by dusty books and the steady rhythm of ni-ki's breathing, you realised with terrifying clarity that you had no idea how you would deal with this once he gets back to his normal self.
because somewhere between his whispered confessions and the way his hands always found yours, your heart had stopped questioning whether his feelings were real—and started wondering when yours had become so painfully obvious.
the next morning, you stirred awake to the unfamiliar weight of someone pressed flush against your back, their arms locked securely around your waist like living chains. for one disoriented second, your sleep-fogged brain couldn't process why your bed felt smaller, warmer—until ni-ki nuzzled into the nape of your neck with a sleepy sigh, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent immediate sparks down your spine.
you stiffened, memories flooding back - last night's study session in the library that had stretched too late, your reluctant agreement to let him walk you to your dorm, and then...oh. then his pleading eyes in the dim torchlight, his fingers playing with yours as he'd whispered, "just five minutes? i'll be good." and like the weak-willed fool you were, you'd caved, cracking the door just enough for him to slip in before anyone noticed.
except apparently "five minutes" had turned into him sneaking under your covers when you'd fallen asleep, his body curled around yours like a second shadow. even now, his knee was wedged between yours, his chest rising and falling against your back in a steady rhythm that suggested he'd been awake for a while, just...holding you.
"morning," ni-ki murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you shivered, feeling his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.
you tried to turn, to protest this ridiculousness, but his arms only tightened, pulling you back flush against him with surprising strength.
"don't move," he whined, his breath hot against your neck as he scattered kisses along your shoulder.
his hand slid up from your waist to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. "so perfect."
"ni-ki," you started, but the protest died in your throat when his teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. he soothed the sting with his tongue, then did it again slightly lower, his free hand slipping under your sleep shirt to splay across your stomach possessively.
"mine," he murmured against your skin between kisses that were quickly turning into something more.
his lips travelled up the column of your throat, sucking deliberately until you knew without looking he was leaving marks—dark, unmistakable hickeys that would be impossible to hide later. when you squirmed, he pinned you gently but firmly, his thigh sliding more firmly between yours as he continued his devastating path along your collarbone.
"ni-ki, stop—" you gasped, but it came out breathless, unconvincing even to your own ears.
he lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something that made your stomach flip. "make me," he challenged, voice low and rough. when you didn't respond, too busy trying to remember how to breathe, he grinned that stupid, heart-stopping grin before ducking back down to worry another bruise into your skin, this time high enough that no collar would hide it.
"you're terrible," you managed, but your hands had somehow found their way into his hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands as his mouth worked magic on your throat.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration against your skin making you shiver.
"your terrible," he corrected, punctuating each word with a kiss. he shifted suddenly, rolling you onto your back so he could loom over you, his hands framing your face as he took in the damage—the blooming purple marks scattered across your neck, the flush creeping down your chest.
his expression turned unbearably smug, "pretty."
before you could respond, he was kissing you properly, slow and deep and devastating, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head just how he wanted it. when he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh.
"how are you even real," he murmured, the ridiculous nickname paired with the way his thumb traced your swollen lips making your stomach swoop. "my perfect, perfect y/n."
you should've pushed him away. should've reminded him this wasn't real, that it was just the potion. but as the morning light painted gold across his features, as his hands moved over you with a reverence that stole your breath, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
. . .
you didn’t hear it from ni-ki.
it was your brother who told you, somewhere between transfiguration and charms, like it was nothing. like it didn’t matter. he was shoving books into his bag, not even looking at you when he said it.
“potion wore off last night,” he muttered, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
your hands froze around the strap of your bag.
“ni-ki didn’t say anything?” you asked, your voice too light, too careful. your heart was suddenly pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
your brother just shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “he seemed kind of… weird about it.”
and that was it. no grand moment, no dramatic shift. no lingering looks or whispered explanations. just—over. like none of it had ever happened. like you hadn’t spent a week tangled up in him, learning the shape of his laughter against your skin, the way his hands always found yours like they belonged there. like he hadn’t looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
so you did the only thing you could. you pretended.
the next two days you acted like nothing had changed. like you hadn’t once been his entire world. when you passed him in the corridor, you nodded politely, your face carefully blank. when he held the door open for you, you gave him a stiff smile and nothing more. in charms class, you sat two desks away, your eyes fixed stubbornly on your parchment, even when you felt his gaze lingering on the side of your face. and when his shoulder brushed yours by accident in the crowded hallway, you barely let yourself flinch, barely let yourself remember how those same hands had traced every inch of you like you were something precious.
it was fine. it had to be fine. this was just how things were supposed to be—back to normal, back to before. it was safer this way. less humiliating.
(because what if he remembered everything? what if he remembered the way you’d melted into his touch, what if he knew—)
you swallowed the thought down like acid.
it was just the potion, after all.
except—
except sometimes, when you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch him staring. his expression unreadable, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. and once, just once, when you turned a corner too quickly and nearly collided with him, his hands came up instinctively to steady you—just for a second—before he remembered himself and let go like you’d burned him.
you told yourself you imagined the way his breath hitched.
you told yourself a lot of things.
but then the same evening after class you were heading towards the common room, nearly at the fat lady's portrait when you felt it—the familiar prickle at the back of your neck that always meant ni-ki was nearby. you quickened your pace instinctively, but before you could turn the corner, arms wrapped around you from behind in a hold so warm and familiar it made your breath stutter. his chest pressed flush against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily against your neck.
"why have you been ignoring me?"
his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, barely above a whisper, but it resonated through you like thunder. your hands hovered uncertainly over his arms where they were locked around your waist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
"i haven't," you lied, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration travelling through your back and settling somewhere deep in your chest.
"you have," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear in a way that made your knees weak. "you stopped talking to me. stopped looking at me like..." his voice cracked slightly, "like i matter to you."
you swallowed hard, staring resolutely at the wall ahead. "i just figured... things went back to normal. this is how we were before."
his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you. "i thought you were embarrassed," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your neck.
"when the potion wore off, i didn’t know how to face you. i thought—i thought you hated how i acted. how clingy i was. how much i—" he cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "but then you started avoiding me, and i couldn’t just sit there and do nothing."
your heart pounded so violently you were certain he could feel it. "ni-ki..."
"you do know that i like you, right?" his voice dropped lower, more vulnerable than you'd ever heard it.
"you know how love potions work. when someone's already..." he hesitated, his grip on you shifting slightly, "when someone's already in love, it makes everything stronger. more intense. everything i did, everything i said to you—i meant all of it."
slowly, so slowly, you turned in his arms. he let you, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you as you faced him properly for the first time in days. his eyes were darker than you remembered, full of something raw and open that made your breath catch.
"so you actually liked me before the potion?" you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet hallway.
ni-ki sighed, one hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.
"i've liked you since third year when you hexed that sunghoon kid for stepping on my broom," he admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "i just... never thought you'd look at me that way."
your hands found purchase in the front of his robes, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. "so all that time... the cuddling, the stupid nicknames, the way you'd kiss my forehead when you thought i was asleep—"
"things i've wanted to do for years," he interrupted softly, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. his touch was feather-light, reverent, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he pressed too hard. "the potion just... gave me the courage to actually do them."
you could feel his pulse racing where his wrist brushed against your neck, could see the nervous hope shining in his eyes despite the confident set of his jaw. it was this—this vulnerability from someone usually so self-assured—that finally broke you.
ni-ki's breath hitched when you leaned into his touch, his eyes darting between yours.
"can i kiss you now?" he asked, his voice rough with barely restrained want. "properly? without any potions or excuses?"
your answer was to rise up on your toes and close the distance between you.
his lips were softer than you imagined, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. one of his hands slid into your hair while the other pulled you flush against him, eliminating what little space remained between you. you could feel the way his breath stuttered when your fingers tangled in his hair, could taste the quiet sigh he let out when you kissed him back with equal fervour.
it was slow and sweet and so devastatingly perfect that you forgot to breathe. ni-ki kissed you like he was memorising you, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment and wanted to savour every second. when you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were kiss-swollen and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.
"no more pretending?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
ni-ki grinned, bright and unrestrained, before capturing your lips again in a kiss that left no room for doubt. "never again," he murmured against your mouth, his arms tightening around you.
GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, strangers to lovers
SUMMARY: Best friends would do anything for each other, right? So when you tell a little lie to save your friend Minju’s ass, a punishment falls on your doorstep from the Witches' Council: do not lie for an entire lunar cycle. What you thought was simple starts to get complicated when you can't keep your mouth shut and honesty oozes out of your pores in the most uncomfortable and awkward situations. Add Riki Nishimura to the mix, the sharp-eyed boy who starts to take an interest in your sincerity.
WORDS: 21k+.
WARNINGS AND CONTENT: strangers to lovers, reader is a magnet to chaos, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, spanking, praise, overstimulation, Niki big cock agenda, just Niki being a menace in general.
The Witch's Council chambers was an old place outside town that smelled like wood, incense and power. You could easily sense the magic and power like it was engraved in the air, strong and ancient. But the old-fashioned look was interrupted by modern touches: new chairs, a wall projector and council members with iPads, some others playing with their phones. Not the entire council was present; only the president, Na Seorin, and the vice president, Kim Junseo, Minju's father. Off to one side stood the council secretary, Lee Sunjae, who seemed more engrossed in his phone than in what was happening around him, wearing a deep, concentrated frown. He was very, very focused on his phone and at some point he even leaned towards Seorin, asking her if she could send him lives on Candy Crush. She silenced him with an unimpressed look.
There was a small jury of witches and warlocks that you obviously knew, uncles and aunts and even parents of some friends, people who you grew up around. You were sitting with Minju on a wooden bench at the front, being judged in a very dramatic fashion in your opinion. Your back was straight and your knees touching and Minju wore the same position, you could feel the nervousness radiating from her. You didn’t quite know why you'd been summoned there with her, but hell, you wouldn't open your mouth to incriminate yourself until someone else started the whole thing. What was worse, you and Minju didn't have time to talk and organize a lie together.
‘’We are here to clarify the events of last Friday that have caught our attention,’’ Minju’s dad started, voice calm. He turned to face the jury. ‘’We have sufficient reasons to believe that both witches are involved.’’
You raised both eyebrows and tilted your head, wondering what on earth was going on. You weren’t involved in shit. Beside you, Minju whimpered under her breath, probably knowing where this whole thing was heading. Junseo turned his attention towards you and it took everything in you not to shrink under his steel gaze. He looked like a very offended father.
‘’You are a well-known associate of Kim Minju. You grew up together and are very close, as we all know. Responsible, respectful, talented with magic, and disciplined.’’
‘’Thank you, sir,’’ you muttered, lowering your head humbly and nodding. You heard one juror behind you cooing and telling another how polite you were.
‘’Did Minju attend a fraternity party Friday night?’’ He asked.
Oh, so that's what this was all about. You lied without even thinking, in a steady voice, even frowning slightly as if you were confused that he even asked you that. ‘’Um, of course not. She spent the night with me; we were catching up on some reading. It was a quiet night, and we went to bed early.’’
You knew perfectly well that was a damn lie. The last thing Minju would do is spend a Friday cooped up inside studying instead of following Jungwon, her campus crush, to parties. You knew Minju was pretty easygoing and a lightweight, so alcohol wasn't exactly the wisest thing to give her, since chaos usually followed her wherever she went. When you asked her the next day how the party was, Minju only remembered maybe a quarter of it, not even a half. You weren't entirely sure what Minju had done to warrant a damn jury of witches, but you were going to defend your best friend no matter what anyway. Minju was... prone to getting into strange situations. You were used to it.
You turned your face and smiled innocently at the jury trying to sell your act; some thoughtful murmurs reached you while others simply nodded in agreement. You looked at Junseo as if nothing was wrong, with an open and friendly expression, nothing challenging or mocking. His eyes studied your expression and Minju's in a very familiar way, like when you were little and he wanted to find out which of you had eaten the whole drawer of chocolates.
‘’I don't know exactly what this is about, but I guess the only thing I can assure Minju did was snore very loudly,’’ you joked with a chuckle. ‘’We had a super quiet Friday, sir.’’
Minju gave you a playful nudge and you both giggled adorably, the very picture of good, innocent girls that the jury was totally buying into. For a beautiful moment you believed it had worked and that would be all, except that Mr. Kim had an ace up his sleeve.
He just nodded thoughtfully and, without saying a word, simply raised his hand holding a small remote control. The projector sprang to life and displayed a slightly blurry image filmed from a porch security camera. The room filled with sound: loud, silly laughter, someone yelling "aim well!" and "do it again!" A group of clearly drunk college kids came into view, eggs in their hands. Someone threw one and completely missed the house; another projectile did hit the door and splattered a little on the camera.
Minju gasped next to you. ‘’Oh my God. No way.’’
Then Minju's face appeared, her eyes wide and dilated, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiling as if she had just summoned a vortex of pure chaos. You frowned, believing your sight was deceiving you, but no, Minju was throwing or at least trying to throw eggs. She looked absolutely ridiculous, drunk as a sailor and staggering, unable to contain her drunk giggles, hands full of eggs, some failing into the floor. You covered your mouth, trying to control your laugh from spilling.
‘’Oh no,’’ Minju blurted with worry. ‘’My hair looked like that?!’’
You closed your eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. The video continued playing, showing Minju teetering on the sidewalk and trying to aim the eggs, some landing on her shoes while others cheered on her failed attempts. No eggs actually hit the house. Now you understood why the two of them were there. The house that Minju and her friends had vandalized was one of the oldest in town, now a museum, and what not many people knew was that it had actually been a house belonging to the witch settlers. In fact, nobody knew, except for those of their kind. Minju egged a historic house to your community, a very important one.
The screen went dark and a heavy silence fell over the room. The president spoke for the first time, clearing her voice. ‘’Girls, this is not exemplary behavior for witches.’’
‘’I know and I’m sorry,’’ Minju panicked, moving her hands desperately. ‘’I’ve grown since then! I swear!’’
‘’This happened three days ago,’’ her father said flatly.
The president moved her attention to you and you shrank a little in your seat under her stare. ‘’And you have lied to this council and the jury, covering up for the accused.’’
You deflated like a balloon, looking at the floor. ‘’Yes,’’ you admitted with a sigh, there was no point in denying it. ‘’I did. I’m sorry.’’
Seorin sighed loudly. ‘’You’re two young witches still forging their path, but at your age you should already understand certain rules. This room isn't a place for lies, girls. Magic doesn't just respond to power, but to truth,’’ she scolded you two gently but firmly; her eyes were not unkind. ‘’I'm a little disappointed in both of you. I was expecting better.’’
Being scolded by an older, more experienced witch felt just as embarrassing as when you were a little girl. Thank goodness your familiar, Soomin, had taken a short vacation, otherwise you would have been doubly scolded, though you suspected she probably already knew. Some jurors nodded, others agreed, and some looked at you two more suspiciously, as if they thought Minju had more eggs in her pockets and was about to attack them. Perhaps with better aim.
‘’This is obviously not a criminal matter, but every action has its consequences,’’ the president continued. ‘’And this is no exception.’’
Minju held your sleeve while looking at you alarmed. ‘’They're going to burn us at the stake!’’ she whispered urgently.
You rolled your eyes and pushed her softly, scoffing. ‘’Of course not!’’
‘’For you,’’ the president said, looking directly into your eyes, ‘’one lunar cycle without lies. No falsehood or trickery, your tongue will always speak the truth. May sincerity teach you an important lesson, young witch.’’
Your stomach dropped, but you maintained your neutral expression, even as you could feel the faint presence of a spell reaching your body and settling there. Your tongue felt heavy for a second and you touched your lips with a frown, noticing that the sensation appeared as quickly as it vanished, as if something had been tied up and then melted on your tongue like candy. Well, fuck.
‘’And for you,’’ she turned to Minju, ‘’you will be in charge of three hens. You will feed them, care for them, clean their coop and collect their eggs. It goes without saying that not a single one should be broken in the entire month.’’
‘’Oh. These hens,’’ Minju continued, ‘’are they… alive?’’
‘’They’re chickens, Minju,’’ her father sighed tiredly. ‘’That is usually how they work.’’
Seorin struck the gavel once. ‘’With this, we conclude the council meeting. Thank you all for your presence today.’’
Minju fell dramatically to your side, staring at the ceiling with a pout. ‘’Next time I’ll tell the truth.’’
You looked at her sideways. ‘’You don't say.’’
She pouted even more, regretting filling her cute features. ’‘I'm sorry I dragged you into this! But it was kind of worth it, if we think about the grand scheme of things. Like, I kissed Jungwon at the party and I got his number!’’
You looked at her in disbelief and wondered if they would increase the punishment if you hanged her right there. ‘’Minju, we're under a spell for a whole month! I can't lie, and you've become the babysitter for three chickens. Aren't you forgetting something?’’
She stared at you blankly, head empty, just waiting for you to say more after she shook his head no.
‘’You're afraid of chickens.’’
By morning you had already begun to encourage yourself. Honesty was easy, wasn't it? You could do this. It's not like you're constantly lying, you weren't a pathological liar. One month. One lunar cycle. Thirty days. It would be easy. You could do this. People liked honest people, after all.
It's not like the most powerful witch of the coven casted a spell on your tongue forever. There was no chance that a careless word could send you back to the Council chambers with judgmental candles and Minju’s chickens clucking in the distance… right? Right. You could do this. Being honest was a good thing! Maybe this whole mess could turn into something positive.
But one thought wouldn't leave your mind. How did this spell exactly work? Did silence count as an answer? Perhaps it was a good idea to fake pharyngitis and take a few days off. If you could keep your mouth shut and stay quiet, maybe take a lower profile… Huh. That could maybe do the trick.
You were so caught up in mental damage control and possible ways to cheat (or maybe not cheating as such, you would call it... walking the spell's edge), that you barely noticed someone started walking beside you.
Too close, close enough that you could smell his cologne. You glanced sideways and there was Park Jongseong in all his glory and blinding smile, gracing you with his presence. Jay was one of those guys who had a high place among campus royalty, definitely a party prince. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him. Always smiling like he knew something most people didn't, confident with a track record to back it up: friendly, athletic, way too good with the girls, as you’ve heard the rumors. Trouble.
Your alarm bells were starting to quietly go off because Jay was smiling at you as if you two were lifelong friends (you weren’t), looking at you as if he didn't notice your expression, which was somewhere between disinterest and slight concern (like saying please think twice what you’re about to say).
Jay wasn't a conceited idiot per se, but hey, you weren't going to give all your trust to one of the campus's favorite heartthrob just like that. You knew his kind (frat, attractive boy) and well, his group of friends had a certain reputation on campus. You weren't particularly interested in getting involved in their games like Minju, who had her sights set on Jungwon and apparently it was working well, without any illegal love potion included. You hoped.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re in Professor Park class, right?”
You looked at him and then at the empty halls.
“I am,” you replied flatly.
He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Cool, cool. Listen— quick favor. I’ve been kinda… busy lately,’’ Jay made a vague gesture that probably meant parties, games, existing attractively, fucking around, more parties. “Missed a few lectures. You take good notes, right?”
You felt a strange sensation in your chest, like a tickling inside. Your eye twitched a little, too early to deal with whatever that was. ‘’My notes are good, yes,’’ you said.
“Perfect,” Jay said enthusiastically, as if you had come up with the idea and not him. “Think you could send them to me? Or maybe help me catch up sometime? Maybe you could tutor me from time to time.”
You inhaled slowly, ready to say that you hadn't been taking notes lately, or that maybe he wouldn't understand your handwriting, that you didn’t have the time to tutor someone or even just a clear yes so he would leave you alone.
None of that came out of your mouth.
‘’No,’’ you said instead. Your eyes widened, realizing you couldn't have lied. It wasn't what you meant to say, it was just automatically spat it out.
Jay blinked at you. ‘’Oh. Okay.’’
‘’You should be more responsible, Jay,’’ you said, the words spilling out before you could stop it or control it. ‘’This isn't such a difficult class. If you came regularly, you'd definitely do better and be able to keep up instead of relying on people who actually are responsible, instead of being so unprepared, you know.’’
An awkward, confusing silence fell between you, and you quickly covered your mouth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. If that wasn't guaranteed social death... some passing girls turned their heads, intrigued by the exchange.
Jay continued to stare at you for a few seconds and then let out a small laugh, more surprised than angry. ‘’Wow,’’ he said. ‘’Okay. Fair. Harsh, but fair,’’ he chuckled. ‘’I get it.’’
You shrugged mortified and helpless and bit your tongue hard, trying to hold back the words, but the spell was stronger. ‘’Also, I’m not interested in tutoring someone who prioritizes parties over academic responsibility. You'll just waste my time.’’
Jesus Christ.
Jay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘’Damn. Alright. Message received.’’
He stopped in the hallway, still smiling, but there was something more thoughtful in his expression, his gaze lingering on you, as if he had miscalculated what he expected from you. Jay was placing you in some drawer of his mind with a new label.
‘’I didn’t know you thought like that,’’ he added. ‘’You don’t take shit from anyone, do you? I respect that.’’
Before you could make things worse by replying, thankfully Jay just gave you one of his boyish smiles and walked away. As you watched him go, your heart calmed and you sank into the nearest wall. Well, that turned out just fine. So much for walking on the edge of the spell, huh?
Not very far, someone was watching you and Jay intently, observing the entire conversation without moving with a growing interest.
Fortunately, you didn't scare away anyone else for the rest of the morning with your big mouth. Perhaps honesty wasn't as simple as you thought if it wasn't filtered, you could only hope that no one else asked you something as direct as Jay did. The spell definitely was out of control. So that was a damn problem. Not only could you not stay quiet, but your tongue was moving uncontrollably with thoughts that hadn't even formed yet. It was as if the truth was being ripped from your soul before your brain was even aware of it.
Minju was halfway through describing chicken’s politics when she realized you weren’t really paying attention to her. Your brows were furrowed, your mind racing, analyzing the damned spell. It was both strong and subtle, binding your tongue to the truth in a way that made it impossible to shut your damn mouth once you started speaking. There had to be some way to stop it. Of course, you weren't crazy enough to cast a counter-spell and actually end up in the Witches’ Council basement. But the chances of getting through the month without any trouble weren't looking so high anymore.
“I swear,” Minju said, poking at her salad, “at first they screamed every time they saw me, but now they only scream a little. And one of them lets me hold her for, like, five seconds. Her name is Buttercup. I don’t know why I was scared of them, they’re kinda cute. It’s not so bad.’’
‘’That’s good,’’ you murmured, barely nodding, eyes unfocused. ‘’Chickens are nice.’’
‘’It really is,’’ Minju agreed proudly. ‘’Also, I don’t scream as much anymore either. I think we’re warming up to each other, you know?’’
You hummed softly, taking a sip of your soda. ‘’It's great that you're building a relationship with your chickens. Bonding is important.’’
Of course Minju noticed your thoughtful and cloudy mood and stroked your shoulder with a frown. She also noticed the faint whisper of magic. ‘’How was your day? Is it the spell? Is your soda not fizzy enou— oh my God. Oh. My. God— okay, don’t look.’’
‘’What?’’ You asked, blinking out of your haze and looking all around. ‘’What’s going on?’’
‘’I said don’t look! Listen carefully,’’ she whispered urgently, going back to her salad and keeping her eyes down. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘’Niki is looking at you.’’
You frowned at her, not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, but you assumed Minju would have some reason. You snorted, keeping your eyes down anyway and trying not to laugh. ‘’Okay, I won’t. So?’’
Minju looked at you in the most offended way possible, pointing her fork at you, eyes full of incredulity. ‘’You must be kidding. Seriously? Niki? Basketball player, very cute, very tall, friend of Jungwon.’’
A face flashed into your mind and you nodded, remembering him too well. The boy with the perpetual look of disinterest. ‘’I wouldn't call him cute but okay. What about it?’’
Your best friend is practically vibrating with happiness. ‘’What do you mean, what about it? He’s looking at you! This is so good! This mean we could have a double date!’’
‘’Okay,’’ you murmured under your breath, ‘’I don’t wanna know how that occurred to you. Besides, I don't think he's looking at me for that reason. He’s probably planning my social death right now. Don’t mind him, Min.’’
Minju fell from his cloud of excitement. ‘’What? Why? Why would he?’’
‘’I refused to help Jay this morning; the stupid spell made me say a bunch of crap. Basically that he was a party animal with little interest in academics and something about not wasting my time in him.’’
Minju made a face, measuring the damage in her head. The bond between the boys was no joke. Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Niki were like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse if they were five of them and in a frat— incredibly attractive, magnetic, with the kind of presence that simply drew attention. Whether it was their looks, their grades, the trophies they won with the basketball team, the gossip or their fraternity parties, someone was always talking about them. Loyal as hell, crossing one of them meant crossing the whole group of friends. And it wasn't a good idea to do that with the guys who basically controlled the narrative on campus.
Minju tried to smile again. ‘’Oh. Uhm, it doesn't sound very polite but he doesn't look murderous to me. He looks… in love,’’ she sighed cutely.
You looked at her, not entirely convinced and then subtly moved your head, until your eyes did find Riki Nishimura not far away, staring at you as if he could burn you with his mind. Or trying to.
He looked murderous.
Or maybe that was his everyday face. To you, he looked as always, as if he were bored and at the same time thinking about how he could start some chaos and blame others for it. Niki was leaning back in his chair across the courtyard, one arm lazily slung over the backrest, long fingers slowly swirling his ice americano coffee cup in circles. His posture screamed indifference, but his eyes betrayed him completely. They were fixed on you— not in passing, not accidentally. Intentionally. Burning. There was nothing shy about it, but you guessed that someone like Niki didn't know what shyness was in the first place.
It was a little creepy how his eyes had an almost predatory gleam in broad daylight. They weren't flirtatious as such, more like... analytical. Observant. Curious. As if he'd seen something and wanted to figure out exactly how it worked before getting close. He had a sharp, intense gaze, a feline spark that felt more like a panther than a cat. You couldn't deny it, he was one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, no truth spell needed to admit that. His cheekbones alone deserved a separate analysis for sure.
Niki didn’t look away when you caught him. Instead, he held your gaze for too long as if he was challenging you to not look away. His chin tilted and a hint of mockery appeared in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was an effect of the sun, as if he was saying Yes. I am looking. Problem?
You lose on the spot because your stomach did a strange flip under his piercing stare and you looked away, refusing to let him make you blush like a schoolgirl. You turned to Minju again. ‘’Right. I mean, it could be, who knows? That guy only has one expression for everything,’’ you shrugged.
She gasped. ‘’Of course not! He’s actually nice.’’
You arched a brow. ‘’Have you ever saw him smile?’’
‘’Maybe he’s one of those people who has a neutral face. You’re not the smiling type either,’’ she reminded you, mimicking your expression.
‘’You’re trying to say resting bitch face,’’ you offered, taking another sip of your soda. ‘’Or maybe he's just constantly constipated.’’
It was impossible for Minju not to laugh a little at that, and the two of them shared a few giggles that quickly died away when a shadow appeared over the two of you.
‘’What’s so funny?’’
A deep, definitely masculine voice sounded behind you. Minju jolted, eyes wide, while you turned far too slowly in your seat— straight into Niki standing there like he belonged in your space. Relaxed. Unbothered. Looking down at you from his full height, and fuck he was actually tall. Jungwon was at his side, smiling like it was a completely normal social interaction and not a potential social nightmare to you. You bit your tongue in advance.
Before anyone could speak, Jungwon's gaze flicked to Minju and he gently reached out, removing something of her shiny hair with a hint of hesitation, as if reality were playing a trick on him. It was a white feather.
Minju froze as Jungwon studied her and then the feather held in his fingers, his lips trembling as if he wanted to laugh but he was a little confused anyway.
‘’What’s this?’’ He asked her, amused.
You and Minju looked at each other speechlessly as the silence stretched long enough into awkwardness, not knowing what to say or how to explain. But of course, the spell didn't hesitate.
‘’It is from one of the chickens Minju is currently responsible for caring as a disciplinary punishment from the Witches' Council,’’ you quickly said.
Minju let out a strangled noise, horrified at your outburst. A second later you realized what you said and covered your mouth, frowning and looking panicked at Minju, shaking your head in a way best friends communicate meaning help me the fuck out.
Jungwon blinked between you both. ‘’Oh.’’
Niki’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Is that so?’’
‘’Yes,’’ you continued helplessly, ‘’Minju was actually telling me how her relationship with them is progressing and she's not so afraid of them anymore.’’
Minju buried her face in her hands and took a calming deep breath instead of screaming before looking at Jungwon, trying to smile and pretend that everything was normal.
‘’She’s right! I got some new pets,’’ she laughed with forced enthusiasm. ‘’Three chickens!’’
“That explains the feather,” Jungwon said, nodding solemnly as if this makes perfect sense. He placed it on the table. “Chickens are cute. Good luck with… that.”
‘’Thank you,’’ she mumbled, smiling too wide.
You wished with all your heart that no one else would speak to you, that perhaps the boys would just keep walking and think you were a couple of weird girls. But fate couldn't be that kind to you. Instead, Niki's attention never left you, searching for your eyes even while you were picking up your things, ready to bolt. You weren’t about to spill all your secrets and actually earn a worse punishment.
‘’Where are you going? Class?’’
You froze, feeling the spell regain its power and refusing to let you lie. ‘’I do not have class right now,’’ you explained, defeated.
Niki let out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming. “Ah. Then why are you leaving?”
‘’I really don't want to continue this conversation in case I say something terrible or incriminating,’’ you admitted and made a face, grabbing your purse ready to bolt from there. God, just shut up!
Niki smiled slowly. Dangerous. Too handsome. The way something malignant finds out a new soul to torment. “Relax,” he taunted you. “We’re just talking. Do I make you so nervous that you want to run away?’’
You stood up abruptly, almost colliding with him. ‘’Yes. That is precisely the issue.’’
Niki stepped aside without argument, gesturing with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, princess.”
With what little dignity you had left and afraid of revealing some witch secret that would end with you being burned at the town bonfire (or having to move to another town), you left almost running. Niki's eyes watched as you disappeared among students coming and going, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth.
Minju, bless her soul, tried to fill the heavy silence in your favor. ‘’Uh… she’s been pretty tired these days, you know, exams and stuff. She's usually more... quiet. But she’s super nice!’’
Jungwon nodded buying the explanation but Niki simply saw the bottle of soda you left; it was his favorite flavor. ‘’Is she?’’
The last thing you expected when you entered your home was a very, very angry owl staring at you from the stairs. You groaned under your breath as you approached, knowing you were about to get the scolding of a lifetime. You forced a smile onto your face and circled the scowling bird, slowly beginning to climb the stairs under her stare.
‘’Oh, Soomin, hi! You’re back already? How was your vacation? God, how the time flies. Anyway, I have so much work to do so—’’
‘’Don’t,’’ she warned, staring at you with huge, unblinking eyes. You gulped. ‘’Don’t even think to leave this conversation.’’
‘’But Soomin—’’
The owl hissed at you, feathers puffing. ‘’How is it possible that I'm only gone for a week and you've been punished with a spell?! And I'm only finding out about this today?’’
You froze mid-step and slowly turned to face her. Her small, feathered face was somehow the same one your mother used when you broke something expensive as a child. Pure maternal disappointment that could be read as: how have I ever had to put up with you.
‘’A week,’’ she repeated, flipping her wings in stress, ‘’just a week! I left you here trusting you’re a functional adult now and you got yourself in a trial and a punishment?!’’
‘’It wasn’t kinda an official trial—’’
‘’Of course it was official! There was a jury! The president and— I think I’m about to faint,’’ the owl wheezed, wobbling a little enough to worry you.
You quickly approached the bird trying to hold it, but as soon as you got close, Soomin began hitting you with its wing while hissing with renewed strength.
You yelped, cornered to the wall. ‘’Ow! Stop!’’
‘’You lied to the Council! You didn’t call me!’’ She growled, flapping at you with tiny, furious little hits. ‘’You lied in front of the entire Witches’ Council! Do you have any idea of how serious this is?’’
‘’Soomin, please, you’re being so dramatic,’’ you said, running a few steps up. ‘’It wasn't that deep! It's just for one lunar cycle.’’
The owl tilted its head and, of course, followed you, still giving you short, scandalized taps with its wings that weren't painful but ridiculously humiliating. You wondered how many people in the world could be scolded by a bird.
‘’Just a lunar cycle? This is a disaster,’’ Soomin continued, pacing back and forth on the stairs like a furious professor or a stressed lawyer. Probably both. ‘’A complete catastrophe. One week. I leave for one week and you ruin your life. You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened and oh, look at that, you can’t lie to me,’’ she mocked you. ‘’Because you’re cursed!’’
You scoffed and lifted your hands up in a calming gesture, staring down at her tiny form. ‘’Listen. It was just... a very confusing chain of events that somehow ended with me under a spell. I clearly didn’t expect that. How could I have known that was going to happen?’’
‘’Why did you lie in the first place while being interrogated?’’
You hesitated for a second, enough to make Soomin narrow her eyes. ‘’Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That face means it was a stupid reason.’’
You sighed, leaning against the wall, the spell working too well. ‘’I was trying to cover up for Minju. She got drunk and egged the histori—’’ you noticed how Soomin’s feathers started puffing again and you made a face, taking a step up. ‘’Historical house— she went to a party and I told the jury she was with me the entire night.’’
Soomin narrowed her eyes. If owls could facepalm… ‘’So it was a stupid reason.’’
You rubbed your temples. ‘’Hey, I’m actually struggling here. Today was my first day and already made some fucks ups,’’ you groaned, covering your face. ‘’I don’t think I’m surviving three full weeks. This is hard!’’
‘’You’ll find the way to do it because it’s what you deserve,’’ Soomin scolded you. ‘’That’s what you get for lying.’’
‘’It was just a small lie! All of this is so dramatic! You have any idea what this means to my social life?’’
‘’You don’t have one,’’ the owl responded, blinking at you.
‘’That’s not the point,’’ you replied, crossing your arms defensively with a frown. ‘’Now I definitely won’t.’’
Soomin perched on the railing and gave you another motherly look of pure disappointment. ‘’From now on, you won’t be unsupervised anymore,’’ she said firmly. ‘’I’m not leaving you for extended periods of time ever again.’’
You pouted and leaned your head on the wall. ‘’A month,’’ you muttered in pure misery and sadness. ‘’Twenty nine days to go.’’
Soomin shook her head. ‘’Unbelievable,’’ she scoffed. ‘’I raise you for years and this is what happens the moment I take a break.’’
You blinked. ‘’You’re appeared like three years ago, you didn’t raise me.’’
‘’Emotionally, I did.’’
You and Minju looked incredible. There was no other way to describe it, to be honest and full objective. Shorts that showed off your legs, zip-up jackets that clung to all the right places and accentuated your waist, your hair in a high ponytail that could have been in a sports-themed fashion editorial.
You had both made a deal, before the whole punishment mess happened, that both would enter their athletic era; meaning no more sedentary life and naps. It was time to get healthier, enjoy the nice weather and all that shit that was supposed to be good to your body.
You were dying.
Literally. Lungs gone.
You didn't know when you thought it was a good idea to suggest to Minju that you both take an open hockey class as a form of exercise, but it was definitely you trusting too much that your back would hold up. And your knees. And practically your entire body. It wasn’t the case. Who knew running while holding a stick could be so difficult?
By the end of the class you had moved parts of your body that you weren't sure you could coordinate at the same time in the first place, bent over your knees and gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your back as if you'd run a marathon from continent to continent, not just an hour-long class. Minju wasn't in the best shape either, dragging her hockey stick towards the benches while groaning, like she was leaving a battlefield.
‘’I think I saw angels,’’ Minju panted beside you, ‘’when they made us sprint the second time.’’
‘’I saw God,’’ you wheezed. ‘’She suggest me to sit down.’’
On the other side of the field, the men's team was finishing their practice too. From afar you could hear their shouts, grunts, and jeers. These classes were supposed to be the Student Council's idea to provide free, open sports spaces for everyone, but the men definitely treated it like the National Championship. Fast, competitive, sticks and shoulders clashing. You recognized some of the guys and wondered who in their right mind would do two different sports in the same week and survive. Apparently, Niki was one of them.
The way he moved was ruthless, efficient, controlled. You couldn't help but watch him from afar while you drank water because, well, why not? A girl could enjoy the view. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. His t-shirt clung a little to his torso, and it was impossible not to notice the trace of his abs and the muscle in his arms. His body moved with force and speed. And although he seemed incredibly focused, his eyes still occasionally wandered. Towards you. Searching.
Again. Again. One more time, until Jungwon noticed and it made him snort with a knowing smile.
After practice, while your lungs were slowly coming back to life and Minju was showing you videos of her chickens, on the other side of the field a group of boys were making a straight line towards you. It was too late to run when you looked up and Jungwon was approaching with an easy smile, Jay by his side and Niki just a step behind, hands in their pockets and a serious expression.
‘’Hey,’’ Jungwon greeted warmly, eyes drifting to Minju. ‘’How’d it go?’’
‘’We survived,’’ she smiled at him, proud. ‘’Barely. But it was fun. I can’t still feel my legs.’’
Jay arched a brow, chucking. ‘’That intense?’’
‘’You have no idea,’’ you whispered to no one, positioning yourself behind Minju as naturally as possible while you put away your water bottle and grabbed your bag. So, a new game plan was set. If no one specifically spoke to you, you couldn't say anything catastrophic, right?
All you needed to do was make yourself a little invisible.
For a moment you thought you were actually succeeding. Jungwon was clearly only interested in Minju, with whom he was animatedly discussing hockey (or so you thought, because you had no idea about the terminology they were using). That was the moment: back away slowly, as if you'd decided in the moment and hadn't overanalyzed it for several minutes. Slowly, imperceptibly, so no one would smell your fear. Just a few steps toward freedom, just a bye under your shoulder and no one would get hurt.
Jay noticed right away, calling your name.
‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, glancing at you and your outfit, taking in your legs. ‘’You look good today.’’
You froze. Oh no. No. Please, no. The spell didn’t wasted a fucking second.
‘’I know,’’ you said confidently. ‘’These shorts gave me an incredible ass.’’
Silence. Minju choked, eyes huge. Jungwon’s brows shoot up. Jay bursted out laughing, full delight, not at all bothered.
‘’You’re so sincere,’’ he said with a grin. ‘’Confidence. I like that.’’
Niki didn't laugh or say anything. He was simply watching you, studying the way you spoke without hesitation and the subsequent panic that followed, as if you had no filter.
Jay playfully nudged Niki with his elbow and kept the conversation going. ‘’You guys watched us play?’’
You prayed that no one else would say anything to you directly, taking another step back.
Of course, Niki’s voice interrupted your attempts. He looked straight at you. Calm, low, direct. ‘’Did you?’’
You swallowed, as if that could stop the truth from rising like bile up your throat. ‘’Uh, y-yes.’’
‘’And?’’
“You looked very attractive,” you admitted helplessly, eyes flicking to him for half a second before staring at the grass, accepting your destiny. “With your hair all sweaty and pushed back.”
Minju made a tiny distress sound, Jungwon tried to look neutral watching the exchange and failed, and Jay grinned knowing he found free entertainment and material to taunt his maknae. But Niki didn't mock you, or smiled, nor did he seem embarrassed or smug. He tilted his head and continued looking at you with heavy, but not cold, eyes. Just… attentive. Listening. Like he never heard that sort of answer before.
‘’Did I?’’ He asked, mildly.
‘’Yes,’’ you said immediately, planning your own death. ‘’It was distracting.’’
Jay looked at Niki, considering your words. He was enjoying it too much. ‘’Distracting, huh?’’
Niki ignored him and moved a little closer to you, just enough to make the air shift. ‘’Then maybe,’’ he said quietly, eyes steady on you, ‘’you should stop watching.’’
‘’I would, but you’re hard to ignore,’’ you murmured automatically, slamming your eyes shut. ‘’Okay. I’m leaving now.’’
‘’We need water!’’ Minju intervened, taking your arm and leading you away with an apologetic smile. ‘’Bye, guys!’’
Jungwon was smiling and waving, Jay was saying something about Niki's sweaty hair being gross and Niki... his eyes followed you the whole way. Smiling a little.
Already deciding.
Avoidance is power, you told yourself.
Clearly you couldn't control the spell. Okay. Nor could you control who spoke to you. Obviously. But you could control the exposure. Limited interactions, minimal risks, avoid potential red flags that could lead to humiliation. You were going to finally walk the line of the spell or die trying.
It didn't matter that Minju was officially dating Jungwon and that somehow included his friends who orbited him and, due to their proximity, your best friend, like damn satellites. You wouldn't be rude. Just... brief and efficient. Simply as that. In the middle of a night where you were staring at the ceiling wondering how you ended up in this problem while you were in a chocolate ice cream coma, that's when it occurred to you.
You couldn't lie, but you could control how you told the truth. You wouldn't be lying per se... you'd simply be revealing the answers in long, technical sentences. Careful words, a controlled tone, crafted and directed honesty. That wasn't lying. You were simply adapting to the rules of the game. Expanding your vocabulary. Making things complicated wasn't lying. The spell didn't imply that people had to understand you.
In the dating world, some friends canceled plans because of their boyfriends. Minju did it for her chickens. She bailed on hockey practice before it even started when her security app sent a notification.
“One of the girls laid an egg and she looks emotionally overwhelmed,” she had said seriously, already packing her bag. “I need to supervise.”
‘’She’s just a chicken,’’ you stared at her.
‘’She’s sensitive.’’
That's how you ended up alone, suffering, exhausted but not as dramatically as last time. Or maybe you just didn't have anyone to complain to. Either way, once practice was over, you actually enjoyed it a little. Other girls were stretching and chatting, laughing and drinking water, while you sat on the benches. You breathed a sigh of relief when you took down your ponytail and let your hair fall, enjoying the fresh air.
Perhaps doing outdoor sports wasn't so bad, you supposed. The sunset and the breeze caressed your damp skin, and for a second you relaxed, enjoying the silence. You tilted your head slightly toward the sky, toward the last rays of the sun, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You even smiled a little, not ruining your social interactions for a whole day felt like a huge victory.
You weren’t aware of it, but at the other side of the field the boy’s team were finishing warm-up drills. Niki’s focus shifted, as he had done all week, to you. Finally alone. Illuminated by a halo of sunlight, looking so pretty and relaxed, not like the times he had approached you and you looked ready to flee.
By the time you sensed someone’s presence it was too late, opening your eyes to Niki standing close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. You got startled with a small yelp and your heart rate went crazy while Niki was completely and clearly unashamed of staring at you like that in the open.
He broke the silence first. ‘’Minju abandoned you?’’
You were ready for this. You cleared your throat and sat straighter. ‘’She had a chicken-related emergency.’’
Niki blinked once, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. ‘’I thought you were avoiding us,’’ he said plainly. ‘’Avoiding me.’’
You inhaled, choosing the words carefully in your head. ‘’I’m being selective with my interactions at this particular moment.’’
His mouth twitched slightly. ‘’Selective? And I didn't make the cut?’’
Panic spread across your brain, that was dangerous territory!
‘’I'm trying to minimize situations where I have to interact verbally because… because I'm avoiding saying things that can amplify the exposure of my personal, reserved thoughts and put me in complicated circumstances.’’
Niki’s eyes sharpened. ‘’So I complicate your life?’’
This fucker. You froze for a second, feeling the spell around your tongue, ready to pounce head first into the truth. ‘’I believe you increase the odds a little,’’ you admitted, maintaining your calm tone.
He took a step closer, his knees almost touching you. ‘’And why is that?’’
Because I can't decipher the way you look at me.
Because you don't react like everyone else.
You didn’t say any of it. ‘’You ask direct questions,’’ you said instead, finding the right words. ‘’And I struggle with filtering in those interactions.’’
His eyes fell on the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair waved in the breeze, your cheeks a little pink from exercise. ‘’You look better like this,’’ Niki said casually.
You frowned. ‘’Like what?’’
‘’Less guarded.’’
Your brain short-circuited, and thankfully, not even a powerful witch's spell could fix that. But before you could die crushed by Niki's dark eyes, he was the first to look away towards the other side of the field, where his team resumed training.
‘’We’re not done,’’ he started, and you suspected he wasn’t just talking about hockey. ‘’Stay.’’
You blinked. ‘’Stay? Why?’’
He gestured subtly with his head towards the bleachers and you followed his line of sight. Oh. A few girls were there, watching the boy’s practice. Some talking, others taking photos. Waiting for boyfriends. Watching situationships or prospects.
You looked at Niki again, not fully understanding the situation. Actually, more in denial. The implication was too obvious to ignore, but it still confused you a little. Why the hell Riki Nishimura wanted you there of all people?
‘’You can sit there,’’ he said, like it was the most normal outcome. ‘’Watch.’’
You kept staring at him, blinking slowly. ‘’You’re recruiting spectators, Nishimura?’’
His mouth twitched again, trying not to crack a smile. ‘’I’m inviting you.’’
Your stomach lurched catastrophically. ‘’You want me… to sit there and openly watch you?’’
‘’Yes.’’
‘’No.’’
He didn't react badly to your refusal, he simply studied you. ‘’Why not?’’
You swallowed and searched your brain for an answer that made sense. ‘’Because that could create some assumptions.’’
He tilted his head, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘’What kind of assumptions?’’
You narrowed your eyes a little, knowing that now he was playing with you. He knew what kind of assumptions, the cocky bastard.
‘’I would prefer not to fuel potential situations that could lead to rumors that are not substantiated… based on our interactions. Misinterpretations could arise.’’
He searched your eyes while lowering his voice a little. ‘’What if I want them substantiated?”
Fuck this frat boy. You let out a loud sigh and thought about your next move. There was no chance you would let Niki throw you into the stands full of girlfriends, when the possibility of the spell going out of control due to the pressure and the crowd was so high. You were barely taking baby steps into the edge of the spell, not doing fucking somersaults on it.
So you took the next best route: evade. ‘’You’re very confident,’’ you managed to say, trying to smile.
‘’Yes.’’
‘’That's very... threatening to my… filtering,’’ you groaned, feeling the spell tightening.
He kept his eyes on you, pleased by it. ‘’Then stay,’’ he muttered, almost soft. ‘’Face the danger.’’
‘’That’d end with me saying something incriminating,” you warned him with a sigh.
“I’m counting on it.”
Alright.
You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “This is exactly the kind of scenario I am strategically eliminating.”
He didn’t move out of your space immediately. “You’re running again.”
“I am exercising discernment.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing.”
You looked at him once more, trying to appear composed and with a serene face, even though your heart was beating strangely inside your chest. ‘’I'm not equipped to deal with you right now. Bye.’’
That made him stop for a second. And then: ‘’Good.’’
‘’What? Why’s that’s good?’’
‘’Because when you are, I'll be here. I want to see it.’’
Niki walked back onto the playing field, leaving you behind as if he hadn't desestabilized your nervous system.
From that day on, things got progressively worse, little by little, as if the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up. And by loose ends, you meant Niki's friends. The strangest part was the stares you got from other girls. Some were curious and interested, others hateful. The campus had eyes everywhere, that was obvious to anyone. The five horsemen and their lost bachelorhood were the talk of the town. First Jungwon, then Jake, who would be next?
The initial plan to avoid social interactions wasn't working too well. Maybe it was because you were just one soldier, and well, Niki's army was bigger, not to mention the whole campus. Little things started happening. Like Jay sitting next to you in class, much to your alarm, and you even considered pretending not to know him. But if there was one thing impossible in the world, it was getting Jay to shut up. He talked about everything. Your head was completely empty by the time he launched into his anecdote about the basketball team's mascot falling into the pool last week.
The party invitations came in a more personal way. It wasn't like fraternity parties required it, but maybe it was something about the social hierarchy you weren’t aware of…? You had no idea and weren’t about to ask Minju about it. You assumed people just showed up, like you had done a few times before. But then Lee Heeseung basically blocked the library entry and asked you (more or less threatening you) if you would like to come to one of their parties. It took you too much by surprise to put together a coherent sentence, so you basically scuttled out the side with a yelp and a hurried ‘’no!’’.
That’s how you ended like this. Looking insane.
A scarf wrapped around your head as if you were a Hollywood actress from the 40s hiding from the paparazzi (you weren't), oversized black glasses that definitely weren't your style and didn't serve much purpose on a cloudy day, shoulders hunched as you slid along the edges of buildings like a cartoon thief, trying to blend into the shadows. Head down, quick steps, incognito mode activated.
The problem was that the Silverveil’s campus was a curse in itself, starting with its architecture: lots of open spaces, glass walls, and lots of people who liked to talk. And of course, him.
Nishimura Riki.
You had acquired a new knack for finding Niki in a crowd, though it wasn't too difficult. Tall, existing effortlessly, hands in his pockets with a semi-bored expression. You saw him at the other end of the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, his laugh short and sharp, and just that sound made your stomach clench.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
You spun around instantly, nearly colliding with a group of students, muttering a quick apology before making a beeline run towards the nearest column. You leaned your back against it and took a breath, waiting a few seconds before poking your head out and inspecting the area.
No five horsemen of the apocalypse. No teachers. No curious girls asking if you can introduce them to Jay or Heeseung— or asking if it's true they're in a polyamorous relationship. No hockey coach asking why you didn't go to the last class and you not answering that you'd rather sleep for ten hours than drag your ass through that torture again.
Good.
You adjusted your scarf, lowered your glasses further, and leaned again— only to freeze. Niki was definitely close. Too close. So close you could see the lazy way he walked, unhurried, making his way along without even asking, as if he weren't chasing after anything. As if he knew exactly where he was going.
You pulled back fast, heart slamming against your ribs. Shit.
‘’Who are you spying on?’’
His voice came from behind you, low and amused, close enough that you felt it more than hear it. Slowly, too slowly, you turned around and there he was, devastating so. Niki’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the handkerchief, the glasses, and your expression somewhere between guilt and panic, as if you were assessing your chances of running away.
For a second he just looked at you, until one corner of his mouth lifted.
‘’No one in particular. I’m just… examining the perimeter and human elements near me.’’
Niki arched a brow, somewhat amused and slightly judgmental. ‘’Is this a disguise or a styling choice?’’
Panic surged through your mind, flooding your entire brain, barely remembering the plan and survival mode before the spell revived. ‘’I’m avoiding being recognized to prevent unnecessary social interactions that could result in irreversible harm to me.’’
Niki let out a short laugh, surprised and real, eyes bright with something dangerously close to interest. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… specific.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, heart trembling. “I would appreciate it if you did not interpret my current behavior as an invitation for conversation.”
“And yet,” he replied lightly, stepping closer instead of away, “you’re still talking to me. You are hard to go unnoticed, too.”
You swallowed. “This is an unfortunate consequence of your proximity.”
He studied you like you were a puzzle he didn’t know how he wanted to solve, which piece picked up first, gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You know,” he started, voice dropping a little, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
Your heart stuttered. “Did you? That information is… distressing.”
Niki smiled fully now, slow and unreadable. “Good,” he responded.
And suddenly, hiding felt impossible and dumb. You were pressed against the column when Niki moved closer, cornering you enough so that you couldn't leave without brushing against his body. Niki lifted a hand, slow enough that you saw it coming but not slow enough to stop it. His fingers brushed your cheek for half a second before hooking under the arm of your sunglasses.
‘’Hey!—’’
He slid them off your face with infuriating ease. The world suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed. His gaze settled on your eyes immediately, intent and unreadable, like he was cataloguing something important. Up close, you noticed details you really shouldn’t be noticing: the curve of his lashes, the way his expression softened when you weren’t hiding behind dark lenses, a faded scar on one of his eyebrows. The smell of his cologne.
“Hm,” he hummed, studying you. “So that’s what you were hiding.”
You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “…That statement is inaccurate since you don’t know my intentions and motives.”
Without breaking eye contact, Niki casually slipped the sunglasses onto his own face. They looked ridiculous on him. He also looked unfairly good as well.
‘’There’s a party tonight,’’ he said, like it was the most normal conversation he ever had. ‘’Our frat. You coming?’’
There’s no way in hell I’m going, you thought. Instead, you said: ‘’Attending an event of that magnitude is not in my immediate plans.’’
He stepped back, finally giving you air. “That’s a shame,’’ he smirked, then tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “If you want these back,” he added, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, “you should come.”
You opened your mouth to renegotiate the deal or tell him it was ridiculous, but Niki turned around and left without looking back, just like that. Hands in his pockets, wearing YOUR big glasses, carefree, as if he hadn't left you there with the words on your lips and your heart racing, or with people nearby pretending not to have seen everything.
By the end of the day, it was everywhere.
People saw Niki.
People definitely saw the sunglasses.
People definitely saw Nishimura Riki wearing your sunglasses like they were his in the first place and didn't steal it from you in plain sight. The bastard had the audacity to actually wear them throughout the day, even with his friends, completely unbothered by the small chaos he caused.
You even heard some whispers throughout the day that made you stare at nothing while some people gossiped about your life in real time. You sat in class, notebook opened, half-hearing your professor, doing doodles and making an effort to write something even if you barely care. That’s when you heard the whispers.
‘’...Is that her?
‘’Mmmh. I think so.’’
‘’Ya, she’s pretty. No wonder Niki’s dating her.’’
You stopped doodling and paid more attention, your eyes were on your professor as you grip tightening around your pen. Waiting for more gossip to spill.
‘’They look like an idols couple or something.’’
‘’My friend saw them flirting in front of everybody. Is that serious.’’
‘’Really?’’
‘’I know, right? He’s wearing her glasses. She’s friends with Jay too, I think.’’
By the end of the day, it was everywhere, and Minju was proof of that, because at some point during the day your best friend dragged you to the nearest cafe and interrogated you in a very similar way to the Witches' Council. With two lattes and two muffins and Minju unsuccessfully trying to contain her excitement, you sighed in defeat.
‘’Okay,’’ she started, resting her hands on the table, trying to calm down as if that would make her hear better. ‘’I’m ready. Tell me everything! What’s is going on with you and Niki?’’
You shrugged. ‘’There’s nothing going on,’’ you murmured, taking a sip of the latte. ‘’I think? I can categorize it for sure. Try be more specific.’’
Minju narrowed her eyes. ‘’Someone from my Economics class saw you and Niki earlier,’’ she paused. ‘’She said he took your glasses, like, he took them.’’
‘’That’s true. I was robbed in broad daylight and slightly criticized by my fashion choices, I think,’’ you frowned.
Minju blinked and deflated a little. ‘’That’s not… how she described it.’’
You stared at your best friend, unimpressed. ‘’I’m literally incapable of lying, remember?’’
‘’So? What you’re gonna do?’’
‘’Honestly, I don’t know,’’ you sighed, massaging your temples. ‘’He told me I can get them back if I go to their party. He can keep them, I guess.’’
Minju gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘’Oh my God. You’re being courted!’’
‘’More like terrorized. He stole from me!’’
‘’He’s flirting, you dumbass!’’
‘’He committed a crime,’’ you stated.
‘’You’re brushing!’’
You groaned and covered your face with a whine. ‘’Leave me alone.’’
‘’Listen,’’ Minju said, in a softer tone. ‘’I’ve never seen Niki doing something like that, he’s very reserved. He’s always looking at you like… like he wants to eat you alive. And to be honest, you don’t look at him very differently.’’
You pressed your lips together and watched your coffee as it had the answers of the world. Somewhere on campus Niki was probably smiling to himself, that you were sure of, perfectly aware that he did exactly what he wanted.
Stressed you out, checked.
Provoked you, checked.
Left you with an invitation you could’t stop thinking about, checked.
The worst part? You didn’t care about getting your sunglasses back.
The sky has been gray and cloudy lately, but you hardly care. It was another hockey practice and only half your body was there, your functional neurons checking out a long time ago. Physically you existed there, but your mind? That was a thing with a life of its own. Your body moved when it should, your stick hit the ball when it was your turn, even your legs seemed more coordinated than before. The reality was that your mind was deep in a daydream about the thing you wanted most: your warm bed.
You were planning it in detail, too distracted and entertained.
Hot shower, giant pajamas, a greasy double hamburger— eating cross-legged under your blankets while something mindless played on your laptop. The beginning of your weekend. No campus. No accidental honesty. No dodging dangerously perceptive boys. Just a pause in time to exist without stress.
You jogged half-heartedly across the grass, barely registering the shouts of your teammates playing. The cloudy weather made everything feel slower, heavier. Your eyelids even drooped for a second. And then— a memory flashing too fast, your brain betraying you.
Niki. Uninvited.
How close he stood the other day, the way he said face the danger. His low, deep voice, the way he looked at you like— no. You shook your head slightly, refusing to let yourself do that. But the images, his face, it kept flickering in your head. His smile, his smirk, his intense eyes. Him watching you like—
‘’Watch out!’’
Too late.
A body collided with you, hard, from the side. One of the girls tripped mid run to hit the ball, and suddenly the world turned upside down without warning. Grass. The grey sky. Impact. Your head hitting the ground hard enough to make you stay still with a low groan. There were some black points in your vision and for a second everything sounded muffed, until a sharp whistle pierced the air.
The girl approached immediately, kneeling beside you in alarm. ‘’Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn't see you— are you okay? Don’t move.’’
You blinked a few times, staring at the sky. ‘’I’m fine,’’ you mumbled, pressing your hand on your head, making sure it was still there. ‘’It’s my fault. I was… geographically misplaced.’’
She looked confused but relieved. ‘’Oh…? Okay. Don’t stand up anyway, just take your time.’’
The coach jogged over, calling your name. ‘’Are you okay?’’
‘’Yeah,’’ you muttered, sitting slowly. ‘’It was just grass, it’s okay. Nature softened the hit, I guess.’’
And then, a shadow fell over you, but it wasn’t your coach or a teammate. You didn’t need to look up to know, a sense in your body recognizing the presence before your mind did. But you did look anyway and you suck a breath, cursing in your mind.
Niki dropped beside you, crouching immediately, his expression serious. Shifting into something you never saw before, sharp and alert in a way that made your stomach flip for entirely different reasons than falling into the ground.
Before you could process what was happening or even talk, his hands found you— sliding under your head, cradling carefully like you were struck with a metal baseball bat and not softly bonked by grass.
Your brain short-circuited and you let out a startled squeak, trying to push his hands.
‘’I’m fine!’’ you blurted, trying to push yourself up.
His hands didn’t move, still holding your skull. ‘’Don’t,’’ Niki said gently.
Your heart was beating too fast for someone who just wanted a nap and a burger.
‘’I literally fell on grass,’’ you insisted, noticing more people staring. ‘’This is not a serious injury, really.’’
Niki ignored you completely and looked up at your coach. ‘’She should go to the infirmary,’’ he suggested, voice steady and persuasive. ‘’Just in case.’’
Your head snapped towards him, confused. ‘’Just in case of what?’’
‘’Concussion.’’
You blinked, then laughed. ‘’No way. It was a gentle meeting between my head and nature. I’m perfectly fine.’’
Niki looked down at you. ‘’Do you know how concussions work?’’
The spell was faster than you. ‘’More or less.’’
‘’More or less,’’ he repeated, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘’So you don’t actually know.’’
You clenched your teeth. ‘’I’m clearly conscious. I’m not dizzy. I can form intelligent sentences.’’
‘’Barely,’’ he said under his breath.
You gasped in outrage.
Your coach softened visibly by his tone. ‘’It’s very sweet that you’re worried about your girlfriend.’’
There was a split second of silence. And then:
‘’I am not his girlfriend,’’ you yelped at the same time Niki said smoothly, ‘’Thank you. I’ll take her.’’
You stared at him with both betrayal and alarm. ‘’Excuse me?’’
But Niki was already moving, and before you could react or scream his arm slided under your knees, other behind your back and the ground suddenly disappeared.
You grabbed onto him reflexively, noticing that you were quite far from the ground. ‘’What are you doing?!’’
Carrying you apparently cost him zero effort, holding you like it was nothing. A small part of your brain noticed his arms flexing and his hard chest, but you pushed those thoughts down.
‘’You might faint,’’ he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’I’m not taking risks.’’
You covered your face while Niki carried you bridal-style out of the field, leaving behind teammates whispering, gasping, other laughing, definitely rumours taking a new shape. You swore you saw Jay snapping a pic, but for your mental health you told yourself that was a hallucination induced by mortification.
You squirmed in his arms, refusing to give up. ‘’Right, I will faint from humiliation!’’
‘’You’re so dramatic,’’ he chuckled. ‘’Just stay still.’’
‘’This is completely unnecessary,’’ you hissed, kicking the air. ‘’I can walk. Put me down!’’
‘’No. Stop overreacting.’’
You gasped in pure incredulity at his nerve. ‘’Me? I’m the one overreacting? You engineered this!’’
He glanced down, amused. ‘’How? You were the one so distracted in the middle of a game that you hit your head. What were you thinking of, anyway?’’
The spell enveloped your tongue. ‘’I was thinking about my plans for tonight when I fell. On. Grass.’’
‘’You. Hit. Your. Head.’’
‘’On grass,’’ you groaned, resuming your kicks in the air. ‘’It’s not serious!’’
‘’You don’t know how hard you hit yourself,’’ Niki tried to reason with you. He adjusted his grip on you, too comfortable to care about your protests.
‘’I do? I was literally there?’’
‘’So was I. Saw the whole thing.’’
‘’Put me down, Nishimura.’’
‘’No.’’
‘’I don’t particularly enjoy being paraded like this. People are looking!’’
‘’You’re being cared for.’’
‘’Against my wishes!’’
His expression, despite the teasing and the smirk, is sharp. Watchul. With something deeper, until you realize what it was. Protective. You hated the way your pulse reacted to it, and at some point along the way you relaxed enough to rest your cheek against his chest. You were giving him the silent treatment anyway, all pouty and clinging to what little dignity you had left.
The infirmary smelled like lemon scented cleaner. It was bright and quiet, a small place with a desk and a few simple beds to lay. Niki set you down on one of them, his hands lingering on your body enough for your heart to do a backflip before he stepped back in a very professional way and not suspicious at all.
‘’Sit,’’ he said, unnecessary. You did.
The nurse came up with a clipboard under her arm, looking between you and Niki. ‘’What happened?’’
Before you could open your mouth, Niki started speaking. ‘’She fell, hit her head hard. Black spots, disorientation. She tried to stand up immediately,’’ he accused you.
Your eyes widened. ‘’That’s not—’’
‘’I feared she might have a concussion,’’ Niki continued, crossing his arms and looking at you like you were a very bad behaving kid, ‘’she insisted she was fine and that’s a sign that someone is not fine.’’
You stared at him in disbelief. ‘’I fell on grass.’’
‘’She collapsed after the hit,’’ Niki told the nurse.
The nurse hummed, clearly entertained and nodding to the story, writing something on the clipboard. ‘’Mmm-mm, I see. And you carried her all the way here?’’
‘’Yes,’’ Niki replied like it was the most obvious thing to do. ‘’For her safety. She needs a check-up.’’
You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.
‘’Well,’’ the nurse smiled, turning to you, ‘’you seem pretty alert and you didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s have you rest here for a bit just to be safe,’’ she handed you a small box of juice from her desk. ‘’Drink this, sugar helps.’’
You took it obediently, giving Niki a bitter side eye.
The nurse stepped back to her desk and then paused, taking the paper from the clipboard. ‘’I’ll be back with some paperwork,’’ she sent you a knowing look. ‘’Behave, you two.’’
The door closed behind her and then silence followed.
You snorted softly. ‘’Don’t worry,’’ you said while stabbing with too much force the straw into the juice box, ‘’we’re not having a making-out session here.’’
The words hit your ears a second later and you froze, remembering the fucking spell. You immediately shoved the straw in your mouth like it might save you.
Niki tilted his head, looking at you. ‘’We won’t?’’
You choked when the juice went the wrong way and you coughed until your eyes watered. ‘’—What!?’’
Niki patted your back softly, too entertained for someone who was playing hero. ‘’You heard me. That was a question.’’
You glared at him over the juice box, cheeks burning, spell threatening you. ‘’I'm not going to do anything that doesn't involve the nurse's medical advice, Nishimura.’’
Niki stepped close and you felt it— his fingers brushing the hem of your shorts, idly tracing the edge like it was the most natural thing to do.
‘’I like it when you call me that,’’ he muttered in that deep voice of his.
Your suspicions and alarms went off at the same time and you gave him another warning look, moving your thigh away from his fingers.
His touch followed you, but now it was his giant palm covering your thigh and gently squeezing it.
‘’Don't,’’ you scolded him.
He stooped, mostly. His hand still hovered there, but didn’t move further.
‘’You got me worried out there,’’ he said, quietly.
You studied his face— the crease between his brows, the lack of amusement or teasing. ‘’You didn’t have to carry me all the way here,’’ you mumbled.
‘’I wanted to and I’d do it again.’’
That landed harder than it should, straighter to your chest and even lower. A pause fell but it was soft, quiet, not quite awkward. It felt more like something seeking place and settling down.
‘’Why do you run away all the time?’’ He asked, curious, searching your eyes.
You swallowed and put the empty juice box to the side with a sigh. Your shoulder slumped a little, tiredness waving in your voice. ‘’Sometimes I feel…’’ you explained quietly. ‘’Like… there’s something in me that doesn’t let me lie, even if I wanted to,’’ you chuckled softly.
Niki leaned in, eyes sharpening with interest.
‘’And I don’t know how people would take that,’’ you continued, staring at the floor. ‘’What if I said too much and I hurt somebody? Or I show too much of myself? I don’t like that exposure. I don’t have any… shield or control. So I just wanna avoid those things from happening.’’
Niki didn’t interrupt you, listening attentively. He was silent for a long moment. ‘’You want to protect yourself,’’ he explained easily, making you tense a little. ‘’I know you think running makes you invisible, but it doesn't. It just makes people look harder.’’
You looked up and glanced at Niki, noticing that his face had gotten too close to yours, his eyes focussed on your lips. But before you could respond, the infirmary door opened and the nurse came back. Niki straightened up immediately as if nothing had happened and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other still resting warmly on your thigh.
You didn’t scold him again or move away.
Growing up as a witch was a series of completely out-of-context situations thrown right in your face for you to deal with. Like the time everything inside your house floated constantly for a month before you could get that power under control. Or the time you saw a rabbit, thought it was cute, and overnight your yard was overrun with rabbits from all sizes and colors until the town newspaper reported a rabbit overpopulation in your neighborhood. You hadn't realized you were controlling their energies and, unintentionally, summoning them.
So yes, you were somewhat used to surprising situations, but you still almost had a heart attack when you opened your backpack in the middle of class and two huge, deep, yellow eyes stared back at you from the darkness inside the bag.
You nearly screamed. But the sound somehow got muffled in your throat as you quickly zipped up your backpack and cradled it against your chest like a contained bomb. Slowly, very, very slowly, you leaned forward over your desk and opened the zipper again, enough for Soomin to hear you.
‘’What are you doing here!?’’ You whispered.
‘’I’m doing a surprise check in,’’ the owl whispered back. Inside the backpack, Soomin shifted with the quiet rustle of feathers. ‘’Supervising.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly pulled up the zipper again. You spent the entire class sitting stiffly in your chair, your backpack resting on your lap like the most suspicious object in the world while you pretended to take notes and that everything was normal and you didn’t had a fucking talking owl with you. Every small movement from inside the bag made your spine lock up and discreetly observe your surroundings, in case anyone noticed anything.
You felt the presence of the spell like a fucking dagger waiting to pierce your heart. Your mind kept cycling through every possible disaster scenario: the owl popping her head out, someone hearing her talk, someone asking you what was inside the bag. You had never been so aware of every single person in the room. When class finally ended you were one of the firsts to get the hell out of there, relief hitting you like oxygen after drowning.
You fled the lecture hall still holding onto your backpack.
‘’Don’t run! I’m getting dizzy,’’ Soomin whispered from inside the bag.
‘’You snuck there! Now enjoy the ride,’’ you hissed quietly. ‘’What are you even doing here!?’’
‘’I’m monitoring and supervising, I told you I wasn't leaving you out of my sight and you been acting weird lately.’’
You pushed through the hallway doors, scanning the corridor for a quiet corner where you could finally unzip the bag and properly scold the feathered menace inside. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, of course it did, because you walked straight into Nishimura Riki.
You stopped in your tracks.
He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket, leaning lazily against the wall like he had nowhere urgent to be. When he noticed you approaching at suspicious speed with your backpack clutched like a hostage, his brows lifted slightly. Then his gaze drifted downward and slowly pointed. You followed the direction of his fingers, to the round owl head sticking out of your backpack.
Soomin blinked at him. You froze. Soomin froze as well. For a long moment the three of you just stared at each other in a very tense and confusing silence. Niki muttered your name, a little doubtful.
‘’... Is that an owl?’’
Your brain ran through every possible lie in the world that you could think of, but obviously they all ran into the magic brick wall of the spell. ‘’Uh… uh… this is an animal that can be found in the forest.’’
You stopped talking immediately after that. Niki stared at you, then at the owl, and again at you. He didn't seem alarmed or confused, more like he wanted to understand why you would have an owl with you in the middle of the day instead of questioning how strange it was.
‘’Right,’’ he said slowly. Niki leaned a little closer, examining the bird with curiosity. ‘’And what is it doing in your backpack?’’
The truth tightened in your throat. ‘’It just… climbed in there.’’
Silence fell again, looks were exchanged and Soomin even tilted her head, taking in the boy in front of her, examining him in the same way Niki was doing. Then, he glanced at you and let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose, like he just decided not to question the situation too deeply. Niki was late to class, anyway.
‘’You’re kind of weird,’’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looked at the owl again. ‘’What are you going to do with an owl?’’
You tightened your hold on the backpack, feeling Soomin shifting inside. You sighed. ‘’I’m… going to have a talk with her.’’
Ni-ki glanced down at the owl head still poking out of the zipper. The owl stared back with wide, unrepentant eyes. He nodded slowly, like that explanation made complete sense. Then he reached out without warning and casually pinched your chin in a gesture too gentle and familiar that made your brain short-circuit for a second.
‘’Okay. We’ll talk later, yeah?’’
You just blinked at him, eyes huge and nodded. ‘’Uh-uh. Sure.’’
‘’Good luck with your…’’ he frowned and gestured vaguely at Soomin. ‘’Your forest animal.’’
And with that, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the flow of students like the entire interaction had been perfectly normal.
You stood there for exactly two seconds. Then you spun around into a more hidden corner and put the backpack down with a groan.
“Soomin—!”
The owl immediately hopped out of the bag. ‘’Oh my God, who was that?’’
‘’What?’’
‘’That tall, intense dude. The handsome one with dark eyes,’’ she commented conspiratorially.
‘’You snuck into my backpack, infiltrated in the university, caused me the most stressful class of my life, and you want to talk about a boy?’’
‘’Yes. Spill.’’
You rubbed your face, asking for patience from above. ‘’That’s Niki.’’
The owl studied the hallway where Niki had disappeared with a thoughtful expression. ‘’He’s very attractive.’’
‘’He is,’’ you conceded.
‘’He touched you very confidently,’’ she observed.
‘’Uh— I mean— he kinda does that—’’
‘’And it didn’t bother you,’’ Soomin furthered her observations, blinking slowly. ‘’Are you dating him?’’
‘’No!’’
‘’You’re secretly seeing him? This is some of prohibited romance?’’
‘’What? Of course not.’’
‘’He’s your boyfriend and didn’t tell me?’’ Soomin asked with a squeak, entertained by the gossip.
‘’I already told you no,’’ you tried to reason with her.
‘’... Why are you blushing?’’
‘’Because... because... it's hot and I feel strange, now shut up,’’ you groaned, picking up the bird and putting her into the backpack again like you could trap the conversation inside it.
She gasped. ‘’You like that tall boy!’’
The spell crackled throughout your body, your mind and tongue couldn't agree on what to say, but the truth did its job. ‘’I— I— I think— yes— but—’’
‘’I like that boy too. He didn’t scream when he saw me.’’
‘’You’re a bird, not a monster.’’
‘’That’s not the point,’’ Soomin scoffed. ‘’He was very gentle with you. I approve that.’’
Soomin watched you very carefully and you felt a little nudge in the heart of your magic. Her eyes softened.
‘’Oh,’’ she said. ‘’You’re so doomed.’’
You grabbed the zipper and slammed the backpack closed.
Later that day, after you took Soomin home and she promised you there would be no more surprise inspections, the library greeted you with silence and concentration. The setting sun reached some tables, the soft sound of pens writing relaxed you somehow, and the distant hum from the air conditioner in the distance served as white noise.
You were exactly where you liked to be, seated by the window, notes spread neatly. Pretty and colorful highlighters. Life under control, for once.
That didn’t last long.
You were finishing a paragraph about an idea you had written when a chair scraped against the floor across from you. You didn’t look up immediately, which was a big mistake.
‘’Okay,’’ a low, masculine voice said. ‘’Serious question.’’
Your pen froze mid word and you lifted your gaze, finding Niki sitting across from you like he belonged there. Elbows resting on the table, dark eyes locked on you with immovable focus.
You stared at him, putting down your pen slowly. ‘’Oh, no,’’ you doubted, straightening up as if a bomb were about to drop on you at any second.
‘’Would you date me?’’
You stared at him completely blanky, certain you mishearded. There was no question in his tone. No hesitation. Just calm certainty, like he had already considered the options and selected the obvious one. You blinked again and looked around you, wondering if that was in fact a daydream and not reality. Maybe you casted a spell of illusion without realizing it?
The spell stirred to life. ‘’I don't know,’’ you finally muttered. ‘’You just can’t ask me that out of nowhere!’’
His eyes sharpened, resting his chin on his hand. ‘’I just did. Let’s date.’’
‘’Niki,’’ you sighed, sending him a warning glance when he smirked at your tone. ‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’
‘’Why not?’’
The spell tugged your tongue begging for honesty, warm and insistent, and the silence prolonged until you found how to stretch the truth. You inhaled softly, trying to collect the right words.
‘’You look like the kind of problem I'm not really qualified for or sure I will be able to manage. Like… advanced detached emotional skills I don’t possess or want to entertain.’’
He didn’t flinch, or left, or smirked anymore. He considered your words leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, studying you like he was deciding how to make sense of what you said.
Niki leaned forward then, forearms on the table like he was about to touch you in any second. The distance between you and him was slowly shrinking, but you felt like the walls were falling down onto your head.
‘’How can you know that? We don’t know each other that well,’’ he explained patiently.
That was fair and he had a point. You hated that. You nodded and exhaled, unable to lie. ‘’That’s true.’’
He waited, sensing how you were trying to expand your answer into something that made sense but it wasn't sharp and cruel. Niki’s focus didn’t waver.
‘’I don’t know you that well,’’ you recognized, ‘’I am simply overlaying the information I have based on observational data in social interactions to form an opinion of you.’’
One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘’Observational data. Meaning you’ve been observing me.’’
‘’I mean, not on purpose or significance,’’ you explained further. ‘’And that’s not the main takeaway.’’
‘’Tell me,’’ he encouraged you, leaning even closer. ‘’What kind of problem do I look like to you? Use your data to enlighten me.’’
“You look,” you said carefully, stretching the sentence as far as it would go, “like someone who is used to getting attention without asking for it. And who doesn’t have to work very hard to keep it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “And?”
“And,” you continued, because the spell would not let you escape halfway, “I don’t enjoy competing with other females. Especially not recreationally and emotionally. I like stable sentimental involvements.”
Niki snorted, entertained by you, clearly. ‘’I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’
You laughed, between surprise and incredulity, it slipped so naturally out of you that you couldn't stop it. ‘’How would you know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’’
He arched his brow. ‘’How would you know that?’’
You narrowed your eyes, taking in his challenging tone. ‘’There’s usually a different girl every weekend,” you said, far too matter-of-factly. “Statistically speaking, long-term attachment does not appear to be your preferred pattern. It’s very notable that you’re rarely alone and there's no fixed tendency on your type either.’’
But Niki didn’t look offended or insulted, or even caught, he was intrigued. ‘’Have you been keeping track?’’
Your spine straightened. ‘’Not actively. It’s more a knowledge from a passive environmental awareness situation, like… occasionally overhearing comments in the women's restroom from time to time.’’
“Environmental awareness,” he repeated. ‘’So, gossip in the women’s bathroom. That formed your opinion of me?’’
“Well, it's like noticing changes in the weather or bird migration patterns, I guess. I’m just exposing the data I gathered.’’
Niki slowly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. ‘’You’re comparing me to migratory bird patterns? That’s your angle here?’’
“I compare your social habits to recurring seasonal behavior,” you corrected quickly. ‘’Don’t spin this on me.’’
‘’So you think I’d be a bad boyfriend.’’
“I think,” you corrected, choosing each word with painful care, “that you give the impression of someone who enjoys options,’’ you said, honestly falling with surprising weight. And maybe a touch of vulnerability. ‘’Not the type of male to do stable emotional interactions.’’
For a moment, he didn’t deny it. “And that bothers you?”
“It doesn’t bother me in a personal capacity right now,” you responded, then sighed when the curse nudged you again. “But it would complicate things if we get hypothetically involved together.’’
The corner of Niki’s mouth curved upward, slower this time. “So you’re considering being hypothetically involved with me.”
“I am considering the hypothetical scenario in which I evaluate the feasibility of such involvement,” you clarified, aware of how ridiculous you sounded.
His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. ‘’Mmm, I see. But you didn’t say you won’t date me, you say you didn’t know. Explain that, then.’’
You stared at him, blinking slowly, pretending you didn’t move your fingers away from his.
‘’I said exactly that I wouldn't know how to handle the problem you represent, theoretically.’’
‘’I’d let you,’’ he simply answered. ‘’Just say yes.’’
The tension between you shifted—less teasing now, more charged.
‘’Let’s test your theory.’’
‘’My theory?’’
Niki played with one of your rings. ‘’Date me,’’ he proposed, ‘’find out if I’m actually a problem. Get to know me, do your research with your own data. What do you think?’’
Your heart flipped, lost connection with your brain and poured with automatic honesty. “I am… not opposed to gathering additional data under controlled circumstances to reassess my preliminary assumptions.”
‘’I like you,’’ Niki simplified, caressing your knuckles. ‘’And I wanna know you more.’’
That simple declaration sent your heart into failure, and your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I find you objectively unfair,” you said, forcing steadiness into your tone. “Your face structure combined with your confidence level creates unnecessary distractions.’’
His eyes darkened slightly at that, satisfaction flickering across his features. “So that’s a yes.”
‘’It’s not a no,’’ you sighed, a little lost in the conversation. Keeping track of the truth was already hard, but doing it under Niki’s eyes and intentions was too hard.
‘’Saturday at the frat,’’ he straightened, victory settling over him like a final move in a game only he knew they were playing. ‘’Come to the party. We’ll be alone and nobody will bother us.’’
‘’But—’’
But before you could say anything else, Niki stood up and walked around the table until she was standing in front of you, leaning in until your breaths mingled and you closed your mouth. He stroked your cheek and lifted your face, holding your chin, studying you closely with a knowing look.
‘’I know you're going to try to run away,’’ he said, eyes flickering to your lips. ‘’I know you talk the way you do because you're trying to prolong the truth. I know you want this because you're not really pushing me away,’’ he murmured, his thumb rubbing your lower lip absently. ‘’You look at me the way I look at you, and it's driving me crazy, baby.’’
You were out of words. Niki’s gaze returned to your eyes, satisfied at the effect he had on you. He stood up, full of triumph and smiled at you, he actually fully smiled, and you just stared at Niki like you were seeing the sun for the first time.
‘’We’re dating now,’’ he mumbled, giving you one last look. ‘’And if I don't see you there, I'll come looking for you. Choose wisely,’’ he advised, already stepping back.
And that's how Niki left, leaving you stunned and recalculating in a corner of the library, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed.
And somehow, in a way you didn't quite understand, the day ended with you officially dating Nishimura Riki.
The fraternity house was already shaking by the time you went through the door. It wasn't surprising, because everyone wanted to be there. Nobody in their right mind would miss the chance to get close to one of the guys, to mingle with them, to get their attention. The chances of fun and craziness were too high; everyone knew about the reputation of that frat's parties.
The air was thick with the sweet and sour aroma of alcohol, juice mixed with vodka and beer, bottles and glasses piling up everywhere. The music was so loud it pounded in your chest, the flashing lights made your footsteps blurry, and people were everywhere talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. It was the kind of party everyone would tear apart piece by piece the next day and gossip about everything that happened, because it was the kind of party where something was always happening.
You knew that your best friend was probably entangled with Jungwon in some corner of the party. You avoided touching any drop of alcohol, because adding that to a spell powered by truth was the worst idea in the world, even though that what you wanted most at that moment was a drink.
You felt as if you had willingly walked into the lion's den, and well, you had. There didn't seem to be any safe zone; your eyes were constantly scanning for Niki to appear. This was because of the collection of accurate data, you lied to yourself. That's why you dressed so daringly. A short skirt that showed off your legs, loose hair, overly glossy lips, a long-sleeved top with a neckline that dropped just enough to show your collarbones.
It was absolutely not because of him. And then, you felt it.
It was a shift in the air, a tiny recognition of something about to happen. The weight of somebody’s attention, the feeling of being watched. You turned your face over your shoulder and locked eyes with Niki across the room, near the stairs, where he was watching you intently.
He was surrounded by friends and other people you didn't know. When his eyes noticed you, it was as if his expression changed completely, fading into something focused and determined, satisfied. His eyes traveled over you slowly, unhurriedly, like a caress; taking in your skirt, your legs, your bare shoulders, the soft, exposed skin. You breath caught under his intense gaze, instinct kicking in from feeling like a prey.
You turned around and blended into the crowd with ease, trying to control the mild panic and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew he was still there, keeping a close eye on you, and that running was a terrible idea. Because Niki loved a chase. You knew you were delaying the inevitable, buying more time than you had, testing limits just because you could.
You wondered if he was still following you. Wouldn't he get distracted? Wouldn't he get bored and rather pick another girl? Would he get annoyed?
At some point you gave up and your fingers circled a plastic cup with something sweet and strong that warmed your throat and made you immediately regret it because of how good it tasted, how easy it was to drink it. You didn't know exactly where in the house you were, but it wasn't the heart of the party, it wasn't packed with people, and the music wasn't as loud.
A hand wrapped around your wrist, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His thumb caressed the spot where your pulse quickened, his chest pressed against your back just enough for his breath to brush against your hair.
His mouth brushed against your ear, sending hundreds of shivers down your neck. ‘’Still running from me?’’
You barely turned your face, as his grip loosened from your wrist to your waist, where both hands squeezed it tightly, as if he feared you might escape. ‘’I was strategically relocating.’’
Niki laughed shortly, the sound against your ear. ‘’You saw me and tried to escape.’’
The spell cursed through your mouth before you could register it. ‘’Yes.’’
His body pressed closer to yours, making you hold your breath. ‘’Why?’’
You swallowed, searching for the right words, absentmindedly licking your lips. ‘’I wanted to know if you would follow me,’’ you admitted.
He shifted, turning your body carefully so you could face him fully. Niki’s hands were still on your waist, his touch more relaxed, but not less possessive. Up close, his eyes seemed darker, wilder, dilated under the flickering lights.
“You wore this on purpose,” he said, gaze dipping briefly to your collarbones before returning to her face. ‘’For me.’’
‘’I wore it because it's socially required to wear clothes at public events.’’
His thumbs caressed and pressed the skin of your hip, shaking his head. ‘’Not good enough. Try again and be honest.’’
The spell pushed you, taking control. ‘’I wore it because I knew you’d be here,’’ you responded before you could wrap the thought into something safer and confusing. ‘’And I wanted you to look.’’
His jaw tightened, not in anger but in restraint. ‘’You’re starting a dangerous game,’’ he warned you, voice warm and husky. ‘’Careful.’’
You shook your head, staring at him. ‘’I’m not playing,’’ you frowned, spilling truthfully.
One of Niki’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him, deliberated. The air shifted around you, your hands resting on his chest and not moving him away, too blinded by his eyes to care if anyone in the crowd saw you.
“You’re driving me insane,” he admitted, barely audible.
“You like it,” you replied, and the tremor beneath the honesty was too evident.
His gaze flicked to your mouth. “For the record,” Niki said, “I’m about to kiss you.”
Your heart bounced, melted, reformed, and continued bouncing against your ribs. Maybe it was the spell, the drink you had, or maybe you just didn't want to fight against honesty anymore, but you smiled a little.
‘’If you don't I might, Nishimura,’’ you lightly threaten him.
The small distance that existed vanished like a whisper, slowly, the tension that had been built up for a long time slowly letting go, something bigger entered. He kissed you as if he had waited too long to do so and didn't want to waste another second.
It wasn't desperate or clumsy, but decisive, as if he knew exactly where and how to strike. You melted into a kiss almost immediately, letting him do as he pleased with you. He made his way into your mouth and explored it slowly, savoring the strawberry and vodka from before and your own taste. Both of your breaths caught in your throats as neither of you let go, too immersed in the kiss for breathing to be a priority.
Your hands tangled in the honey-blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your nails slowly sliding down his skin to his neck, making him hiss into the kiss, his hands touching you more freely, exploring, daring to slip inside your skirt.
You had no idea how, but between a kiss and a breath, more kisses and muffled moans against each other's mouths, at some point your back hit a door. Niki opened it, pulled you both into a room, and cornered you against the door again, closing it with a click you barely registered. His mouth went down to yours again, one hand on your throat and the other on your jaw, as if that way he could hold you down to devour your soul in peace.
When both had to separate again because their lungs couldn't take any more, you two were a bit of a mess. Niki's full lips were swollen from kisses, barely colored by your gloss, his hair a little disheveled, eyes shining with barely contained desire. You weren't looking much better either, your skirt twisted and wrinkled from how many times Niki had grabbed and crumpled it, your cheeks flushed, and your lip marked by Niki's bite.
Niki kissed you again, but this time more gently, first your lips, then the corner of your mouth, your throat, the line of your exposed collarbones. He turned you both gently, walking into the room while continuing to kiss and gently suck on your skin, making you sigh and hold onto him, until you laid on a bed and a little bit of sense got to your fuzzy brain.
Only then you fully looked at your surroundings.
The light was dim, with a lamp in the corner casting a warm glow. Sneakers were arranged against the wall, some everyday shoes and some basketball shoes. Hanging from a hook near the closet was a jacket with a number and Niki's last name embroidered on the back.
You tilted your neck to get a better look and Niki interpreted it as you were giving him more space, smiling against your neck and continuing the trail of slow, wet kisses, making himself room between your legs.
You blinked, still finding details to look at. ‘’This is your room,’’ you said.
Niki stopped briefly, looked at you and then placed a kiss on your lips. ‘’Welcome.’’
‘’This feels like important information,’’ you arched a brow, curious.
‘’We’re busy,’’ he replied simply, leaning again to press another kiss to your mouth. Your pulse quickened, and you let him distract you with his mouth, wrapping your legs not so timidly around his waist. His lips trailed down the spine of your throat, biting the sensitive spots that made you dig your fingers into his shoulders, breathless.
Your eyes opened for a second, but it was enough to notice something at the other end of the room. It was a medium-sized cabinet hanging against the wall, made of wood and glass, a display case. Inside, carefully arranged under warm strip lighting were small collectible figures— you knew them too well. Cute, round-headed, soft features, expressive.
Hirono.
Not one. Not two. Several. Arranged too neatly to be random, they were all different, but aligned according to the collection they belonged to. It was a curated exhibition.
The stunned gasp you let out was too loud and made Niki froze for a second, looking up from your neck. ‘’What?’’
You couldn't control the little laugh that bubbled up from you, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and delight. ‘’You have Hirono figures!’’
Something too interesting happened. Niki blinked, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. For the first time he seemed hesitant, as if he had been caught up in a confusing crime, but at the same time, something else flashed across his face... a touch of shyness.
He cleared his throat. ‘’What?’’
You twisted slightly in his hold to point at the display case, smiling. ‘’They’re in a diorama, aren’t they? You arranged them by series. The right ones are from the Mime set and the middle ones are,’’ you squinting your eyes, leaning in, ‘’Little Mischief. Right?’’
Niki stared at you, eyes glowing. ‘’You know them?’’ He asked slowly.
‘’Of course,’’ you looked at him incredulously. ‘’I collect them too.’’
He stepped back a little to get a better look at you, holding himself above you. ‘’You’re lying.’’
‘’I can’t lie,’’ you replied automatically, too focused on the figures to notice the slip. ‘’They even look like you, Nishimura.’’
His eyebrows shot up and he snorted. ‘’They do not.’’
‘’They do,’’ you insisted with a laugh. ‘’Look at them! Their eyes and little nose. Moody, slightly frowning, probably judging everyone internally.’’
He stared at you for a moment, as if debating whether he should be offended or not. ‘’I do not look like a Hirono figure.’’
‘’The resemblance it’s very accurate,’’ you defended your theory.
He looked back at the figures and then at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. No one noticed those figures when they entered his room. Not the guys on the team or his friends; maybe Jungwon took a picture of them once but didn't ask any further questions about it. Definitely not the girls who came and went and whose names he didn't bother to remember afterward.
But you did, without a second thought, without trying to impress him. “You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about them,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.
The confession floated between the two of you, as soft as the muffled music that could be heard from below. You felt your face slowly lose its smile, your expression becoming gentler.
‘’They're arranged as if you cared about them, as if you'd thought it carefully. Of course I noticed.’’
He closed the small space and kissed you once again, while his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. ‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’
‘’You’re the one who dragged me here.’’
‘’You talking about my collection distracted me more than necessary.’’
You smiled a little. ‘’They’re cute.’’
He shook his head, stealing another kiss. ‘’You’re cuter.’’
The spell sparkled but this time you didn’t feel it like a threat or a trap, just letting it take its course. ‘’You look unfairly attractive when you’re flustered,” you observed.
‘’I’m not flustered.’’
‘’Liar,’’ you scoffed.
Niki huffed a quiet laugh and kissed you again, slowly. His hands slipped back under your skirt, and you didn't stop him, letting his palms cover and caress your thighs as he devoured your mouth like someone who had all the time in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let each kiss melt you more and more, until the migratory patterns of birds no longer mattered to you, nor did the spell, letting Niki convince you with every touch that he wasn't a problem you could easily run away from.
Maybe it was because your lungs had their daily dose of suffering when they made you run ten laps around the field, or maybe the concussion from days ago was a delayed effect, but you were just too dizzy.
Niki's body pushed you further against the wall, as if the way you were pressed together wasn't enough and he needed more. It wasn't a soft kiss, but the kind of kisses Niki gave where you were convinced he wanted to steal the air from your lungs and replace it with him.
The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push, his warm hand cradling your jaw while the other one was inside your shorts, long fingers buried deeply in your dripping cunt. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, in that way he knew it would melt you too quickly. It did.
When he pulled back you were too disoriented to remember where you were; hidden from stares under the stands in broad daylight, feeling like two highschoolers furiously making out before getting caught. Your heart was pounding as if you had made ten more laps, moans stuck in your throat trying to keep them at bay, but the way Niki was fingering you was merciless.
‘’Come watch my training,’’ he murmured against your ear, lips kissing the sport under it. His fingers found the spot inside you that made you whimper, stroking it over and over. ‘’I want to see you there, sitting all pretty and mine. Where I can look at you.’’
He had tried to convince you for several days, and you had to admit the man had a certain charm that made you hesitate. Maybe it was the amazing orgasms. Once you had almost agreed, but when a girl you didn't know greeted you and asked what you did to get Niki and if it was true that he had a huge cock like his friends, you panicked a little and abandoned the idea. The spell was coming to an end and you weren't going to give in.
‘’If you don’t,’’ he added, voice dripping into something dangerous and playful at the same time, ‘’I won’t kiss you again. Or worse.’’
You blinked at him, cunt clenching around his fingers, cheeks flushed. ‘’O-or worse?’’
Niki hummed and nodded, fucking you faster until you gasped against his lips and he swallowed every moan of yours while you cum, holding you as your thighs trembled and crushed his hand between your legs.
He deliberately brushed his fingers against your clit one last time as he withdrew his hand and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices while continuing to look at you. Niki didn’t say anything else, just kissed you, so fondly and threatening at the same time, and walked away towards the field like nothing had happened. Wearing an eating-shit smirk, whistling softly to himself.
You stared at him, recalculating your entire existence, just as you had from the moment Niki decided to be a part of your life weeks ago.
You told yourself that maybe it was the afterglow of a good orgasm, or maybe you just had nothing better to do, or perhaps a part of you really wanted to watch Niki training, all sweaty and focused. The day felt like it was about to explode into a storm at any moment, the sky gray and covered with thick, threatening clouds waiting for the perfect opportunity. There was hardly anyone watching the boys, just a few girls a few steps up in the stands— Minju was there.
Buttercup as well.
Minju had grown fond of her chickens and had bought accessories to take them everywhere. Her most recent purchase was a backpack with a hard, clear plastic cover that was actually for walking cats, but the label didn't specify that it couldn't be used for chickens.
She was leaning forward, with lovestruck eyes and a silly, dreamy expression, watching Jungwon run. Inside the plaster carrier Buttercup was dozing off, relaxed and round. Your best friend noticed your hesitation and smiled at you, tapping the spot next to her with an expression that said, "you better sit down or I'm capable of tackling you to the ground if you take one step back."
You sat.
The world didn’t combust instantly. Minju beamed and turned her attention back to the field. You gradually relaxed and leaned forward as well, resting your chin on your hand as you openly watched Niki. He had just finished a drill and was talking to Heeseung (who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but running there, clearly struggling) (he was the last victim to be convinced to join the open class), when his eyes flickered up to the stands and landed on you.
You swore you saw his pupils dilating. Something in his expression changed and his smile was slow. Darker, satisfied, making your stomach flip and your pussy throb. But it didn't stop there. Niki was focused on training, of course, but every now and then he'd glance at you, as if making sure you were still there. You met his gaze each time, even smiling slightly and enjoying the way it seemed to affect him.
You'd discovered that this was a two-way street, and that Niki, the unattainable and serious Niki, was capable of getting flustered. Like when he asked you which Hironos you collected and if he could see them, and which one was your favorite. Or the time you just kissed his neck and brushed his hair back without thinking about it too much, and Niki blinked and then melted against you.
The training session ended and the boys scattered everywhere, some going for water, others lying on the ground to stretch, but not Niki. He walked straight to you, determined eyes that held you still in your place, your pulse spiking with anticipation.
He kissed you in front of everybody, hands cradling your face.
Minju gasped, you swore Buttercup made a similar sound, other peoples gasps reached your ears as well, but honestly it could have been a trick of your mind. Nothing existed around you but you and Niki.
He pulled back enough to grin at you, eyes soft and bright with a touch of mischief. ‘’Hi, baby.’’
You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. ‘’Uh… Hi.’’
‘’Ready to go?’’
You nodded, still a little hazy and flustered. He took your hand, pulled you up, grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and got you out of there in less than two minutes. He also ignored Jay throwing kisses at him while leaving.
Niki decided to break the silence first, your hand in his gently swaying, intertwined. ‘’There’s a party tonight at Jake’s,’’ he started, stealing a glance at you. ‘’Jay’s pretending we don't notice, but he wants to get a girl's attention.’’
You arched a brow, interested. ‘’Is he trying to set a trap there or what?’’
‘’That’s what I thought,’’ he huffed a laugh, drawing you closer to him. ‘’He’s been weird lately. Restless. Anyway, Jake wants us to keep an eye on the party. He know how things can get.’’
You gently bumped your shoulder against his, trying not to smile and failing. ‘’Is this your way of asking me to come with you?’’
‘’This is an opportunity for you to continue collecting new data to establish your patterns. Or have I already convinced you that I'm not a problem?’’
‘’Hmm. You are... doing an acceptable job in proving your case considering my prior judgment based on social environmental observation. Maybe you'll give me back my sunglasses too, Nishimura?’’
‘’They will remain my hostage until you accept that I was right and that I can be a good boyfriend.’’
You didn't correct him and Niki noticed.
Jake's house was exactly the chaos you imagined it to be, maybe a little smaller and more contained than the frat parties, but no less alive and vibrant for it. Before you could go inside and find Niki, something small and black, furry, jumped out from the side and meowed at you. The cat blinked slowly at you, and you tilted your head, studying it, feeling an energy emanating from it that stopped you before you could pet its head. You chuckled softly in disbelief, glancing at the cat and then back at Jake's house as if you were mentally running through the odds.
‘’I can’t believe it,’’ you mumbled, staring at the knowing eyes of the cat.
‘’Welcome, dear,’’ the cat purred. ‘’I’m Minhyung and you're the one with the truth spell, aren't you?’’
‘’Unfortunately.’’
The cat meowed and laughed, shaking his head. You had to admit, it was too cute and fluffy to even care that it was probably an ancient soul, so of course you petted his ears softly.
‘’Aish, that punishment was too much. Anyway, your boy’s inside. It’s a house full of witches tonight,’’ Minhyung observed, tilting his head so he could get more pets to his ears and neck.
You entered the house, greeted by loud pulsing music and drunken laughter. You recognized some faces among the dancing crowd, the dim light and the smell of liquor, like Jake taking a girl upstairs and Jungwon and Minju huddled in a corner devouring each other's faces. You slowly made your way through the party, not quite knowing where you were going or where to find Niki, your body trembling with anticipation. It was impossible not to.
In the short time you and he had spent together, Niki had done an incredibly good job training your body. Maybe it was the slow making out sessions in bed, or the way he buried his face between your legs like an starved man, or the intense way he looked at you sometimes, as if he were thinking about throwing you to the ground and fucking you until you couldn't take any more.
You just wanted to find him, sit him down on the nearest surface you could find, and ride him while you kissed him. And maybe then watch something while spooning.
Your steps led you to the almost deserted backyard and you pursed your lips, examining your surroundings without much success, when a hand encircled your wrist and you were cornered against the wall.
Niki placed one hand beside your head and the other settled comfortably on your waist. His eyes drifted to your lips, slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking about how to kiss you.
‘’You took your sweet time,’’ he said, tilting your chin up. ‘’I was wondering if maybe you backed out.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’I said I would come. Why, Nishimura? Would you have missed me?’’
‘’Yes.’’
His thumb brushed your hip and you felt it everywhere, staring at his full lips while he was closing the distance and—
Your phone started ringing with the most annoying alarm ever.
‘’Wait—wait— let me turn it off—’’
Niki exhaled though his nose, amused. ‘’Seriously?’’
You frowned a little. ‘’I don't even remember setting an ala—’’
You glanced at the screen, blinking completely shocked like you quite didn’t understand what was written on it.
FULL LUNAR CYCLE COMPLETED!!!
You gasped loud, dramatic, so loud that startled Niki.
He looked at you urgently. ‘’What?’’
You stared at the words like it was some divine intervention. You let out a shriek and jumped on your place, laughing.
‘’Oh my God!— OH MY GOD!’’
You threw your arms around Niki’s neck so suddenly that he catched you firmly to stop both of you from falling over. You were screaming and laughing and Niki laughed too, more startled and confused than anything, automatically wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.
‘’It’s over! I can't believe it! I did it!’’ You laughed again, a little hysterical. ‘’It’s over, it’s over!’’
He blinked down at you, the pure face of confusion. ‘’What is?’’
‘’I survived the whole lunar cycle! It’s over! I’m free!’’
You were practically bouncing in his arms, pulling back only to grab his face and grin at him like you just won millions.
‘’A month,’’ you started, smiling too wide. ‘’An entire lunar cycle! made it!’’
Niki stared at you, arching a brow. ‘’Lunar cycle?’’ He repeated slowly. ‘’...Is this about your period or something?’’
You didn’t even hear him, skipping away from him and spinning around the yard with your arms in the air. ‘’I can shut up! I can lie! I have options!’’
He watched you like you officially lost your mind.
You approached him again and took his hands, jumping with a smile. ‘’Do you have any idea how hard is to live without lying even once?’’
Niki’s eyebrow shoots up. ‘’You haven’t been lying this whole time?’’
You beamed at him. ‘’I haven’t!’’
He squinted at you, nodding. ‘’That… explains a lot.’’
‘’I’m free,’’ you whispered dramatically. ‘’It’s over.’’
Niki stared at you for a whole moment and then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a smug smirk or his teasing grin. A soft, pretty, full smile. Warm and completely smitten by you.
You were still dancing in tiny, excited circles close to him when Niki reached out, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body in one smooth motion.
‘’I have no idea what’s happening,’’ he admitted quietly, brushing his nose with yours. ‘’But you look too adorable to care.’’
He kissed you, deeply, sighing into the kiss like he just found the place where he belonged. Niki held you against him, hands firm and possessive, like he was anchoring you to him. The party noises blurred into something in the back of your mind and you melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt.
When he finally separated from your lips, a thread of saliva joined them both, which he slowly licked from your mouth. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands wandering further down until he grabbed your ass.
‘’So,’’ he murmured, staring at your eyes, ‘’does this mean you’re going to start lying to me now?’’
You smiled, slow and seductive, stealing a short kiss from him. ‘’That,’’ you whispered sweetly, ‘’depends.’’
His eyes darkened. ‘’On what?’’
You tilted your head, pretending to think about it while biting your lip. Niki’s gaze followed the movement.
‘’On how good you’re gonna fuck me tonight.’’
Niki promised himself that Jake would never find out, despite all their years of friendship, that he used his parents' empty room to have sex with you in the middle of a party. But it was so fucking worth it.
Maybe you had bitten off more than you could swallow because Niki took your challenge too seriously and you were paying for it with orgasms that didn't let you string a single thought together, your body simply reacting to his will. His mouth was closed over your nipples, alternating between sucking one and then the other until they were red and tender as you moaned and your vision blurred with a second orgasm incoming, his fingers pushed inside your soaked wet pussy.
‘’That’s it,’’ he mumbled quietly around your nipple, sucking it again while you arched and moaned. ‘’Just take it, baby. Cum again for me, let me stretch this pretty pussy for my cock.’’
You gasped from overstimulation, listening to the wet noises your pussy made each time Niki thrusted his fingers inside fast and hard, clinging to his hair and pushing it towards your tits, Niki growled and sucked your nipples roughly, swirling his tongue. You came with a muffled scream and whimpered when Niki didn’t stop, your pussy tightening around his fingers as if you didn't want to let them go.
He chuckled darkly, staring at you completely fascinated at the state you were. Panting, teary, marked everywhere by his mouth; red hickeys blooming all over your neck down your chest, to the pretty and soft skin of your breasts, nipples swollen from having sucked them for so long. So prettily destroyed by him, and it was just the beginning.
‘’Fuck,’’ you whispered, a trembling mess, tears failing from pleasure. You sobbed a short laugh. ‘’You’re such a menace, Nishimura.’’
Niki straightened with a proud smirk and began working his belt, your eyes immediately fixed on the tent in his pants. You licked your lips and replaced his hands, opening his pants and pulling down his boxers until his hard cock sprang out, hard and veiny. Too big.
‘’No way.’’
‘’What?’’
‘’It’s… so big,’’ you breathed in short gasps, encircling his cock with both hands and pumping it slowly, making him moan. You looked at it from under your eyelashes, rubbing the tip with your thumb, spreading the precum leaking. You were a girl open to accepting challenges, but this worried you a little. ‘’I don’t think it’ll fit, Niki.’’
Niki simply smiled smugly, his dark eyes filled with desire. He flipped you onto the bed, making you yelp because of how sudden and abrupt it was. Your pussy fluttered and a new gush of wetness soaked you, feeling his hands wandering through your body, gripping and squeezing your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass.
‘’It won’t fit,’’ you repeated shakily, even as you let Niki position you however he wanted. Face pushed down, ass up, your back arched so prettily that made him grunt and spank you. You whimpered and you turned your head, trying to look at him. ‘’Are you listening to me?’’
‘’Of course I’m listening,’’ he said, positioning himself behind you and caressing your ass with his cock, gently rubbing against your skin. He slipped his cock between your folds and began to rub it lazily back and forth making you feel how hard it was, how big it was. You dripped all over him with a moan each time the head of his cock grazed your throbbing clit. ‘’Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit just fine. You’re ready for me, you trust me, right?’’
‘’Y-yeah,’’ you moaned, feeling the tip of his cock lining up to your hole, barely pushing. Niki grabbed your hips, held you down onto the bed and slowly guided his cock inside you. ‘’I do.’’
The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, forcing its way in little by little and stretching you completely. You gasped and opened your legs wider as he pushed his cock inch by inch, making you whimper at its thickness. Fuck. You had never felt so full, so stretched out and open, a loud moan leaving without you could control yourself.
‘’Relax for me, pretty girl,’’ he said quietly, still keeping the slow but unforgiving pace. You tried not to tense up, but everything was both too much and too little, gently sniffing against the bed as your pussy tightened around Niki's cock. ‘’Just like that, taking me so well.’’
Niki hissed softly, feeling your cunt wrapping so tight his cock was the hottest thing he ever saw; how your pretty, wet hole creamed his length.
‘’You’re doing so well, baby,’’ he whispered, hands holding you in place, big hands caressing your waist, your ass. ‘’Opening your pretty pussy for me, letting me fill you. You can feel it, don’t you? How deep it goes?’’
You nodded, drool dripping into the pillow as coherent thoughts left your head and all you could feel was his cock inside you, making you clench so hard around him it made him moan. Niki's thrusts were slow and deep, and you swore it made you feel him all the way to your stomach. He was buried too deep inside you, each push of his thick cock stretching you further until the pleasure was too much.
His pace quickened, his cock sliding in more easily because of how wet you were and how he had opened you up. ‘’Look at you,’’ he sneered, giving your ass a firm squeeze. ‘’Taking my cock so well, greedy pussy’s sucking me in,’’ he moaned, low and dirty. ‘’Fucking take it like a good girl.’’
Your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled back in your head as he began to fuck you faster, pounding you hard from behind. You cried from pleasure into the mattress, your pussy tightened and dripped around him, milking him with each thrust that went so far you were sure his tip was grazing your cervix. Niki was fucking you so hard that the bed moved, hitting the wall softly and you could’t do anything but to take it, a moaning mess.
‘’Not so mouthy now, right?’’ He scoffed, giving you another spank, making you whimper and squeeze his cock harder. ‘’That’s what I fucking thought,’’ he chuckled, burying himself into your cunt faster, with a low groan.
‘’Niki,’’ you moaned, barely able to form a sentence, not feeling anything but his thick cock and his ruthless pace, the way he was filling you. ‘’Please— I’m gonn—’’
‘’Ah, ah, not until I say so,’’ he warned you, laughing when you whined and sobbed when another spank landed on your ass. ‘’Not until you fucking say this pussy is mine. C’mon, baby, don’t keep me waiting. Say it.’’
‘’I-it’s—,’’ you moaned again, cunt stretched out and throbbing around him, every thrust sending you over the edge. He hit your g-spot over and over, making you tremble. ‘’It’s yours—’’
‘’That’s right,’’ he mumbled, slamming into your harder, deeper and desesperate; sweat dripping from his temple. ‘’Say I’m not a fucking problem.’’
‘’Niki!’’ You sobbed softly, hardly holding back from shattering. He just hummed darkly, almost amused. You shook your head quickly and moaned again, too gone to even care to lie, your pussy throbbing around his cock, needy and desperate. ‘’You’re not a problem—’’
‘’Cum for me, baby, milk my fucking cock,’’ he ordered, voice rough and husky going straight to your core. The pleasure was so intense that once you reached the peak, it simply destroyed you, leaving you trembling and broken. You were too full, overstimulated, squeezing his cock as your climax coursed through you, leaving you a whimpering mess. ‘’I’m filling this pretty hole until it overflows,’’ he promised, voice used and hoarse. ‘’Beg for it.’’
You looked at Niki from the pillow, eyelashes with unshed tears and a completely spaced out expression from being fucked too good, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. You blinked slowly and licked your lips, milking his cock with the spasms of your cunt.
‘’Don’t pull out,’’ you gasped softly, reaching for him. Niki didn’t doubt it for a second, holding your hand while slamming into your pussy almost brutally. ‘’I want it inside—please—fill me up,’’ you begged with a broken moan. ‘’Mark my pussy with you cum—’’
Niki cursed under his breath, railing you almost at a punishing pace, using your hole until you were both moaning with raw desperation. You never felt anything so intense before and your body couldn't handle it, making you come for the fourth time with a scream as Niki buried himself deep inside you, coming with a hoarse moan.
You collapse onto the bed, your knees giving away, your whole body trembling and sensitive. Every part of you was throbbing, used and spent. Niki spilled his load inside your cunt and you moaned softly at the feeling, flooding your womb with hot ropes of cum, making you feel so full. His body covered yours and you could feel his racing heart in your back, staying inside you as you both tried to catch your breath.
You laid there, enjoying his weight against you, the sensation of his cock filling you, and his hot cum slowly escaping from your hole. Niki moved a little and you moaned, tensing up a little, but he gently silenced you, slowly kissing your neck until you relaxed again.
‘’Shhh, it’s fine,’’ he said quietly, coaxing you with more soft kisses. ‘’You’re okay?’’
You nodded and sobbed a little, still holding onto his hand. Your mind felt… flying somewhere. A wave of need filling you that you didn't understand, only knowing that you wanted his warmth surrounding you. ‘’Don’t leave.’’
‘’I won’t,’’ he reassured you, slipping out of your cunt carefully. You hissed because of the sensitivity and Niki kissed your shoulder, silently apologizing. ‘’C’mere.’’
Niki settled on his side and pulled you close to his chest, studying your face while drying the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb unhurriedly, fondly. You snuggled into his chest and sighed, too drunk on orgasms to even think, just needing him closer. Niki kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, arms wrapping securely around you, making you completely content and warm. Heart fluttering happily, but that was another thing.
‘’So? You’re gonna start lying to me?’’
You chuckled tiredly, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed. ‘’No if you keep the good work, Nishimura.’’
S u m m a r y : Jungwon runs a quiet flower shop named Eden’s Garden, where business is slow, and life is ordinary—until a crash in the greenhouse after closing leads him to a wounded flower fairy with torn wings and nowhere to go.
P a i r i n g : florist! Jungwon x fairy! fem reader
W o r d c o u n t : 7,8K
W a r n i n g s : fairy! reader, fluff, slow burn
divider credit : @uzmacchiato
Nothing Jungwon loved more than flowers. Ever since he was young, he had dreamed of owning a little flower shop of his own. Nothing too fancy nor shabby, just a warm place with color and life. After graduating with a degree in agriculture, he decided to turn his dream into a reality. His parents had been dismissive at first, doubtful that flowers alone could build a future, but after seeing how tirelessly their son worked for it, they finally chose to support him.
Most people noticed Eden’s Garden by its flowers long before they noticed the man who tended them. Tucked between an old bakery and a tailor shop at the corner of a quiet street, the little florist was easy to miss. The flower shop originally was a greenhouse owned by an old man, then Jungwon decided to buy it and turned it into what Eden’s Garden is now.
Jungwon stood behind the counter with his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, fingers moving with practiced ease as he arranged a bouquet for the old lady waiting patiently across from him. She had come in every Friday for the past three months, always asking for something ‘pretty enough to make an old man smile’.
Today, he chose pale pink carnations, cream roses, and small sprays of baby’s breath, tying them together with soft brown paper and a ribbon the color of fresh milk. He adjusted the stem once, then twice, tilting his head as he examined the balance of it.
“Your husband likes warm colors more,” he murmured, gently replacing one white rose with a peach one.
The old lady chuckled. “You remember better than I do.”
Jungwon only smiled, shy and quiet, before offering the finished bouquet to her with both hands.
The bell above the door chimed softly as morning sunlight spilled across the shop floor, catching in the glass jars and petals around him. For a moment, with flowers in his hands and laughter filling the room, Jungwon looked exactly where he belonged.
.
.
.
.
The bell above the door jingled so violently that Jungwon barely had time to look up before someone stumbled inside. It was Doctor Jake from the hospital across the street. Still in his navy scrubs, his glasses a bit tilted on the side, hair a mess like he had run all the way here. He looked as though he had just escaped a medical emergency.
“Jungwon,” he gasped, hands on his knees. “I need flowers.”
Jungwon set down the ribbon in his hand. “Good morning, Doctor.”
“My relationship is in critical condition.”
Jungwon only hummed softly as he tossed the ribbon scraps into the nearby bin.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is serious,” Jake said, straightening up. “She said she needs space.”
Jungwon glanced at him. “And what did you do?”
“I gave her space.”
A pause.
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
“No, I mean what did you do to make her say that?”
Jungwon let out a quiet sigh, already walking toward the flower cooler.
“Yesterday?” he asked over his shoulder. Jake’s silence was answer enough.
“Mm.” Jungwon opened the glass door and scanned the rows of fresh blooms. “You came here instead of writing your will. Interesting choice.”
“Can you focus?” Jake groaned. “I’m trying to save my future.”
“I’m tough.” Jungwon reached for a bundle of tulips. “You’re the one panicking in my store before ten in the morning.”
Jake dragged a hand down his face. “I had a night shift.”
Another quiet sigh slipped past Jungwon’s lips. As if Jake had never worked a night shift before. Difficult as it must be, exhaustion was hardly an excuse for forgetting something like that.
“You’ve had night shift before,” Jungwon said flatly, selecting a few cream roses next. “Yet somehow this is the first time you’ve sprinted in here looking divorced.”
“I’m not divorced.”
“Not yet.”
Jake stared at him. “You’re unbelievably unsupportive for someone helping me.”
Jungwon merely smiled to himself as he gathered cream roses, pale tulips, and sprigs of baby’s breath into his arms.
“No red roses,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because red roses say I panicked and stopped at the nearest flower shop.”
Jake frowned. “That is exactly what happened.”
Jungwon paused for a moment, then looked at him with mild disbelief. For someone trusted to make life-or-death decisions at a hospital, Jake could be remarkably foolish in matters of romance.
“Well,” Jungwon said dryly, returning to his bouquet, “good thing you came to a professional.”
Jungwon gathered the stems into one hand and began trimming them with sharp, efficient snips, his expression calm even as disbelief simmered beneath it. Honestly, he could not understand why this had somehow become part of his job. He had opened a flower shop because he loves flowers, not to clean up after an irresponsible boyfriend with poor memory and worse planning. Yet here he was, at nine in the morning, barely sipping his coffee in peace, repairing damage caused by a grown man.
Jake hovered nearby, watching every moment like an anxious intern.
“Can you make it look expensive?” he asked.
“Can you try looking sincere?”
Jake winced. “Right. Sorry.”
With another quiet sigh, Jungwon returned to his work, layering tulips beside cream roses and soft greenery. Somewhere along the years, he had become less of a florist and more of a crisis manager for careless men in love.
“I should start charging emotional hazard fees,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
After the bouquet finished, Jake rushed out as dramatically as he had arrived. Bouquet clutched to his chest and phone already in hand, nearly colliding with the doorframe on his way out. The bell above the entrance jingled wildly behind him before settling back into silence.
“Flower shop owner,” he continued under his breath, adjusting a crooked vase. “Part-time relationship counselor. Full-time cleaner of other people’s messes.” The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
Jungwon dusted stray leaves from the counter and reached for the next stack of wrapping paper, irritation still lingering beneath his calm expression.
.
.
.
.
Jungwon expected many things when he stayed past closing. Last-minute customers were unfortunately one of them.
The bell above the door rang just as he was about to flip the sign to 'closed,' and a young man in a wrinkled suit hurried inside with a guilty expression on his face, a look Jungwon knew far too well by now.
“Please,” the stranger said, breathless. “Do you still have tulips?”
Jungwon glanced at the clock. Two minutes past eight. Of course.
“I do,” he replied evenly, already turning back toward the cooler. “Who did you disappoint?”
The man blinked. “My wife.”
“Hm.” Jungwon selected a bundle of pink tulips. “Honesty. Rare.”
“It’s our date night,” the man admitted. “I got stuck at work.”
Jungwon wrapped the flowers neatly in kraft paper, fingers swift and practiced despite the annoyance tugging at his patience. He hated rushing. Hated the way people treated flowers like emergency repairs for problems they had neglected all week.
Still, the bouquet came out lovely. It always did.
“That’ll be twenty-three thousand,” he said.
The man paid, bowed gratefully, and hurried out with promises to do better. Jungwon doubted it.
Once the door shut behind him, silence finally settled over Eden’s Garden. Jungwon exhaled through his nose, locked the front door, and turned the sign to closed with more satisfaction than necessary. He dimmed the front light one by one, gathered ribbon scraps from the counter, and then headed toward the back to check the greenhouse before leaving.
He expected many things when he heard the sudden crash from behind the glass doors. Stray cats, fallen pots, another loose windowpane. What he did not expect was a girl lying among overturned orchids, breathing hard, with torn wings trembling behind her like broken glass.
Jungwon stopped where he stood.
For a moment, his mind refused to make sense of what he was seeing. The greenhouse lights cast a warm glow over the shattered pots and scattered soil, over the pale shape of a girl curled carefully on the floor—and over the pair of delicate wings folded weakly behind her. They shimmered faintly, dusted in silver, the edges cracked and bent as though made from glass.
A fairy.
The thought came absurdly, impossibly clear.
He had heard stories as a child of spirits hiding in old forests and winged beings blessing the garden in spring. He had long since grown out of believing them. Yet there was no other word for the creature struggling to sit upright among his orchids.
You noticed him then.
Your eyes widened, and for a second, you looked more startled than he felt. Slowly, carefully, you lowered your gaze and bowed your head despite the pain tightening your face.
“I’m terribly sorry,” you said softly. Your voice was light as wind through leaves. “I didn’t mean to damage your flowers.”
Jungwon only stared.
You glanced at the broken pots beside you and seemed to shrink further in embarrassment.
“I tried to land more gracefully,” you admitted in a small voice. “It did not go as planned.”
Still, Jungwon said nothing. You looked back up at him, hesitant now.
“Are humans always this quiet when surprised?”
That finally snapped him out of it. Jungwon blinked once, then twice.
“No,” he said slowly. “Usually we scream first.”
A faint, apologetic smile touched your lips before you winced and reached for your wing. Only then did Jungwon move forward, kneeling beside you as disbelief gave way to concern.
“You’re hurt,” he murmured.
“A little,” you said, though the tremble in your voice suggested otherwise. “I’m sorry for troubling you.”
Jungwon glanced around at the ruined orchids, the feathers scattered like moonlight, and the fairy trying to apologize while barely able to sit upright. Somehow, this was not how he imagined ending his night.
.
.
.
.
Jungwon returned a moment later with a small first-aid kit tucked under one arm and a clean towel draped over the other. He had also, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, brought a cushion from the front of the shop.
You were still where he had left you, sitting carefully among the overturned pots with your injured wing drawn close. Your expression brightened a little when you saw him return, though pain still lingered around your eyes.
“I wasn’t sure you would come back,” you admitted softly.
Jungwon set the cushion down in front of you. “It’s my greenhouse,” he said. “Hard to abandon it.”
Then, after a pause, he added, “You too, I guess.”
A shy smile touched your lips. He helped you shift onto the cushion, movement cautious and surprisingly gentle for someone who looked perpetually unimpressed by the world. Once you were settled, he knelt behind you to inspect the damage more closely.
“Tell me if this hurts.”
“It already hurts,” you said honestly. “But I’ll let you know if it becomes dramatic.”
A quiet huff of laughter escaped him before he could stop it.
Using warm water and a soft cloth, Jungwon carefully cleaned the dirt from the fractured edges of your wing. Up close, the structure was delicate and intricate, each translucent feather threaded with a faint silver vein that pulsed like moonlight. He handled it with the same patience he used when pruning fragile blooms.
You shivered once when his fingers brushed a sensitive spot.
“Sorry,” he murmured immediately.
“It’s all right,” you said, voice smaller now. “You’re very gentle.”
Something unreadable crossed his face. He focused harder on wrapping a strip of gauze around the split near the base. When he finished, he leaned back on his heels to study his work.
“There. Not perfect, but it should keep it stable for tonight.”
You turned your head enough to look at him, wonder softening your features. “Humans know how to mend wings?”
“We don’t,” Jungwon said. “I’m improvising.”
“That may be even more impressive.”
He looked away first. Then his gaze flicked back to you, lingering on how pale you’d gone.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, as though the question had surprised even him.
“Hungry?”
“You crashed through my greenhouse,” he said flatly. “I assume that takes energy.”
A tiny laugh slipped from you. “Yes,” you confessed. “Very much so.”
Jungwon rose to his feet.
“Stay there. Don’t touch anything expensive.”
As he headed toward the shop kitchen, you watched him go with a smile that felt strangely warm in the quiet greenhouse.
Jungwon returned carrying what looked like a tray assembled through reluctant thoughtfulness. A small saucer no bigger than his palm held a few berries, torn petals of edible flowers, and a single cube of honeycomb. Beside it sat a thimble-sized cup of water and half of a steamed bun from the baker next door.
You blinked at the offering, then at him.
“You prepared this?”
“I guessed,” he said, setting it carefully on the potting table. “You’re smaller than most of my customers.”
A soft laugh escaped you. “That’s true.”
He dragged a stool over and sat across from you, arms folded.
“Eat.”
You climbed a little closer to the tray, wings tucked carefully behind you, and picked up one berry with both hands. The fruit looked oversized against your palms. After one bite, your eyes widened with delight.
“This is wonderful.”
“It’s a blueberry.”
“It’s a perfect blueberry,” you corrected gently. “Sweet, cool, and sun-warmed.”
Jungwon watched as you nibbled another bite with the concentration of someone tasting treasure. Then you reached for the honeycomb. The moment the golden sweetness touched your tongue, you let out the tiniest sigh of happiness. He stared.
“Is honey always this good?” you asked.
“Yes,” Jungwon said slowly. “Have you never had it before?”
“Not from human shops.” You took another careful bite. “Everything here tastes heavier. Richer. It lingers.”
He did not know what that meant, but nodded as though he did. You sampled the bun next, tearing off a piece no larger than a petal.
“Warm bread,” you whispered, visibly moved.
“It’s from next door.”
“Then your neighboring kingdom is also blessed.”
Jungwon looked away to hide the smile threatening his mouth. When you reached for the tiny cup of water made out of a bottle cap, your injured wing twitched painfully. You winced. He was beside you before thinking, steadying the cup so it would not tip. Your fingers brushed his. You both paused.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
“It’s just water.”
“And yet,” you murmured, looking up at him with bright eyes, “you keep saving me with simple things.”
Jungwon straightened too quickly and returned to fixing overturned pots. Behind him, he could still hear your small, delighted hums over berries and bread. Somehow, in the middle of a ruined greenhouse and a very long night, the sound made the place feel warmer than it had all day.
.
.
.
.
The next morning arrived quietly, washed in pale gold sunlight that filtered through the glass panes of the greenhouse. Jungwon unlocked the back door with a yawn, balancing a tray of watering tools in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the other. He had almost convinced himself that the events of last night were some elaborate exhaustion-induced dream. An injured fairy in his greenhouse sounded far less believable in daylight.
Then he stepped inside. And there you were. Fast asleep on the makeshift bed he had arranged from folded blankets, spare cushions, and an old linen cloth usually used for wrapping pots. You had curled into yourself near the row of hydrangeas, one tiny hand tucked beneath your cheek. Your wings, carefully bandaged by his own clumsy hands, were folded close behind you, catching the morning light in soft silver hues.
Jungwon stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he simply stared. In sleep, you looked even smaller than he remembered. A few loose petals had gathered around your bed during the night, as though the flowers had crept closer to watch over you.
He had spent years trying to keep this greenhouse alive, and somehow, overnight, it had decided to adopt a fairy. The floor creaked beneath his shoe. Your nose scrunched first. Then your lashes fluttered open slowly, heavy with sleep. For a second, you only blinked up at him in confusion before memory returned.
“Oh,” you murmured, voice soft and rough with sleep. “Good morning.”
Jungwon looked away too quickly, clearing his throat.
“You’re drooling.”
You sat up at once, horrified. “I am?”
“No.”
You stared. A beat passed before he took a sip of coffee, expression unreadable.
“That was mean,” you said quietly.
“It was funny,” Jungwon replied, already moving toward the watering cans so you wouldn’t see the corner of his mouth lift.
Jungwon busied himself with the watering cans, pretending he had not just lied to an injured fairy before breakfast. Behind him, he heard the rustle of blankets and the soft shift of wings as you carefully sat straighter on the makeshift bed.
For a few quiet moments, the greenhouse was filled only with the sound of running water and morning birds beyond the glass. Then, your voice drifted over, gentle and curious.
“What is it that you do for a living?”
Jungwon glanced back. You were watching him with open interest, knees tucked beneath the blanket, hair still mussed from sleep. He frowned slightly. “You mean right now?”
“In general,” you said, smiling a little. “Humans seem to spend much of their time doing things for a living.”
He considered that. “I own this place.” He gestured around the greenhouse. “The flower shop out front, too. I arrange bouquets, sell plants, keep everything alive.”
Your eyes widened with genuine admiration. “You care for flowers every day?”
“That’s the job.”
“Thats sounds lovely.”
“It’s mostly dirt, invoices, and people who remember anniversaries too late.”
You laughed softly, the sound bright enough to make him pause mid-pour.
“I think it suits you,” you said. “You have gentle hands.”
Jungwon nearly overwatered a fern. He set the can down with unnecessary care.
“Mm.”
Then, because he needed the subject away from himself immediately, he turned back to you.
“What about you?” he asked. “Why did the accident happen?”
Your smile faded. Fingers curled lightly into the blanket over your lap. For a moment, you looked down at your bandaged wing.
“My home was destroyed,” you said quietly.
Jungwon stilled.
You glanced toward the glass roof, eyes distant now. “It was a garden. Full of blooming flowers. Vines, ponds, trees older than memory.” A small breath left you. “It’s gone now.”
He said nothing, sensing there was little to say.
“I had nowhere to return to,” you continued softly. “So I wandered, looking for another place where I might stay.”
Your fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Then a hunting creature found me.”
Jungwon frowned. “What kind of creature?”
You hesitated. “Small. Round face. Sharp eyes. Very smug.”
He blinked once. “A cat?”
You looked offended. “It was vicious.”
Jungwon had to look away to hide the smile threatening his mouth.
“It chased me through the alleyways,” you said with wounded dignity. “I flew faster than I should have. Then I saw this greenhouse full of flowers and thought I could hide here.”
His eyes moved slowly over the broken pots, spilled soil, and bent orchid stand.
“You then flew directly into my shelves.”
“I lost control,” you murmured. “At the last moment.”
“You crashed through three pots.”
“Two and a half.”
Jungwon let out a quiet breath that was almost laughter.
Despite the absurdity of it, something in your voice lingered with him—the way you spoke of a ruined home, of wandering alone, of choosing his greenhouse because it was full of flowers.
He reached for another watering can, tone calmer when he spoke again.
“Well,” he said, not looking at you, “until your wing heals… You can stay here.”
For a moment, the greenhouse went completely still. Even the faint rustle of leaves seemed to pause. You looked at him as though you were not certain you had heard correctly.
“…I may stay?”
Jungwon kept his attention fixed on the row of ferns in front of him. “Temporarily.”
Your voice turned smaller, softer. “Here?”
“Until your wing heals,” he repeated.
For a heartbeat, you simply stared at him. Then your eyes began to shine in a way that caught him entirely off guard.
“It’s not a place invitation, it’s a spare corner in a greenhouse.”
But you were already pushing yourself carefully to your feet, clutching the blanket around your shoulders.
“This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a very long time.”
The sincerity in your voice made him glance over despite himself. You looked genuinely overwhelmed by something he considered practical at best.
“Thank you, Jungwon.”
His name sounded different in your mouth. Soft, careful, almost precious. Jungwon forgot, briefly, what he had been doing. You bowed your head over his hands, though it was something worthy of reverence, then looked up at him with such open gratitude that he had to clear his throat and look away.
“You’re making this weird,” he said quietly.
A tiny laugh escaped you, bright as wind chimes. He risked another glance and immediately regretted it. You were smiling at him like he had handed you the world instead of an unused corner and some blankets. Ridiculous. And, annoyingly, kind of cute.
.
.
.
.
Later that morning, once the front sign had been turned to open, Jungwon guided you into the narrow space behind a tall shelf of potted hydrangeas near the doorway between the shop and greenhouse. From there, hidden between leaves and ribbons, you had a clear view of the counter.
“This is your spot,” he said. “Stay quiet, stay hidden, and don’t reveal yourself to strangers.”
You nodded solemnly. “I shall be invisible.”
“You are currently sparkling.”
You looked down in alarm and quickly tucked your wings closer. Jungwon sighed and went to unlock the front door. The bell chimed only minutes later. An elderly woman entered first, leaning on a cane with careful steps. Before she could even speak, Jungwon had already moved around the counter.
“Good morning, Mrs. Han,” he said, taking the basket from her hand. “The daisies lasted longer this week?”
Her face brightened. “You remembered.”
“You complained about them twice,” he said mildly.
You watched, wide-eyed, as he selected fresh stems and adjusted them to a height easier for her to carry. He even tied the ribbon loosely so arthritic fingers could undo it without trouble. When she left smiling, you pressed both hands to your mouth. He knew her flowers. He knew her hands.
The bell rang again. This time, a nervous student came in asking for ‘something pretty, but cheap’.
Jungwon did not laugh. He simply asked, “For apology or confession?”
The boy flushed crimson. “Confession.”
“Then yellow tulips. They’re hopeful without being arrogant.”
You nearly gasped aloud. He could read hearts from a flower request alone.
Throughout the morning, customers came and went. A mother with a crying toddler received a free carnation to distract the child. A tired office worker was offered water before discussing the colors of the bouquet. A young woman is uncertain about caring for succulents left with written instructions and Jungwon’s promise that she could return if she killed them accidentally.
Each time, he remained calm, steady, a little dry in humor—but attentive in ways so small most people probably missed them. He noticed trembling hands, tired eyes, wedding rings, and ink stains, as well as sadness hidden beneath smiles. And he responded gently every time.
From behind the hydrangeas, you could only stare. When the shop finally emptied for a moment, Jungwon began reorganizing ribbon at the counter. You slipped out from hiding before remembering you were supposed to stay hidden.
“You’re astonishing,” you blurted.
He looked up slowly. “That sounds suspicious.”
“You care for them the way you care for flowers.”
Jungwon blinked once. “I sell them flowers.”
“No,” you said, stepping closer. “You make them feel seen.”
The ribbon in his hand stilled. For once, he had nothing dry or clever to say. You smiled at him with shining admiration. Jungwon looked down at the ribbons again, ears faintly pink.
“Get back behind the hydrangeas before someone walks in.”
.
.
.
.
That afternoon slowed into a gentle lull. Sunlight poured through the front windows in warm strips, turning the shop golden and quiet. No customers came for nearly half an hour, leaving only the soft hum of the refrigerator cooler and the distant sound of traffic outside.
Jungwon used the silence to sort a shipment of fresh stems at the worktable near the greenhouse door. Roses, lisianthus, eucalyptus, peonies–ordinary things, familiar things. Easy to understand.
You, meanwhile, were not.
He glanced over to find you perched on the edge of a wooden crate, legs swinging idly as you studied a sunflower that was bigger and taller than you. Your injured wing was tucked carefully behind you, bandages neat from where he had changed them earlier. The other wing caught the light each time it moved, scattering tiny flecks of shimmer across the floor.
You reached out with both hands and cupped the sunflower’s face with reverence.
“It follows the sun,” you whispered, delighted. “How loyal.”
Jungwon stared for a moment too long before looking back down at the stems in his hands.
“It’s called heliotropism,” he said.
You turned immediately. “You know the language of flowers scientifically and emotionally. That feels unfair.”
He nearly cut the eucalyptus crooked. A few minutes later, he looked up again. You had discovered the ribbon drawer. Lengths of satin and organza were spread around you like treasure while you held a spool of green ribbon above your head.
“This one matches your aura,” you announced.
“I don’t have an aura.”
“Everyone has an aura.” You squinted at him thoughtfully. “Yours is moss after rain.”
Jungwon had no idea what that meant. Yet somehow, hearing it made his chest feel strange. He went back to trimming stems. Then came a soft gasp. He looked up sharply.
You were standing beside a vase of unopened lilies, hands clasped under your chin. Before his eyes, the tight buds slowly loosened, petals unfolding one by one as if waking from sleep.
Jungwon straightened. “Did you do that?”
You blinked at him. “A little.”
“That’s possible?”
“You talk to flowers with water and patience,” you said simply. “I talk to them differently.”
He walked closer without meaning to, gaze fixed on the lilies now fully open and fragrant. All his life, flowers had been work. Beautiful work, yes–but still predictable in their own ways. Soil, sunlight, pruning, seasons. Cause and effect.
But you stood among them like something from a story, smiling shyly because you thought opening lilies was ordinary. Jungwon looked at your face, then your bandaged wing, then the petals blooming around you.
Ridiculous. Impossible. Entirely inconvenient. And he couldn’t stop looking.
You tilted your head. “Why are humans always so quiet when surprised?”
He blinked, caught.
“…Because sometimes,” he said slowly, “we don’t know what to say.”
Your smile softened. For the rest of the afternoon, Jungwon found himself glancing up every few minutes—just to make sure you were still there.
.
.
.
.
Days slipped into one another so quietly that Jungwon did not notice when caring for you became part of his routine.
At first, he told himself it was temporary. You were an injured guest, nothing more. A strange responsibility that had fallen into his greenhouse like broken weather. He was only helping until your wing healed.
Then, somehow, mornings began with looking for you first.
He would unlock the greenhouse and find you asleep in a nest of blankets, petals gathered around your hair, or sitting cross-legged by the window, whispering to seedlings until they stood a little taller. Sometimes you would already be awake, waiting for him with a bright, “Good morning, Jungwon,” spoken as though his arrival was the best part of your day.
He never admitted how much he liked hearing it.
You learned the rhythm of the shop quickly. When a customer came, you hid in the back room or behind the taller plants, peeking through leaves with scandalous curiosity. When the store emptied, you emerged to ask endless questions.
Why did humans apologize with flowers?
Why did some people buy roses only after making mistakes?
Why did Jungwon frown when concentrating, but smile at lilies?
He had no answer for the last one.
You followed him everywhere your wing allowed. If he watered the orchids, you carried the spray bottle two-handed behind him. If he trimmed stems, you sorted discarded leaves into neat little piles. If he rearranged displays, you offered opinions no one asked for.
“That vase is insecure,” you declared once.
“It’s ceramic.”
“It knows what it did.”
Jungwon laughed so suddenly that he startled himself. That happened more often now. You had a way of filling quiet spaces without making them loud. The greenhouse, once peaceful in a lonely sort of way, now felt warm with your presence. There was always the soft rustle of wings, the hum of your voice, the occasional gasp of delight over something ordinary. Bread. Rain. Fresh peonies. The fact that pencils could be sharpened.
You made the world seem newer than he remembered it being. And you notice him in ways others did not.
You left flowers beside his register ‘because they matched his mood’. You reminded him to eat when lunch hours grew busy. You scolded him gently when he worked too late. You thanked him every single night for letting you stay, as though he had not already lost count of how many times he would say yes.
One afternoon, while tying ribbons for an order, Jungwon realized he was smiling before you had even entered the room. He had heard your footsteps in the hall and smiled automatically. The realization unsettled him. He set the ribbon down and stared at nothing for a long moment. Then you appeared in the doorway carrying a strawberry twice the size of your face.
“Look what I found,” you announced proudly.
Jungwon looked at you, ridiculous and radiant in the late sunlight, and felt the strange tightness in his chest again.
“Wash it first,” he said.
You beamed as though he had said something tender.
Maybe, Jungwon thought as he watched you hurry to the sink, he was growing used to having a fairy around. Maybe that was all it was. But when you laughed from the kitchen a second later, bright and familiar, even he knew he was lying to himself.
.
.
.
.
It happened on an afternoon so ordinary that Jungwon almost missed how impossible it was.
Rain tapped softly against the greenhouse glass, customers were scarce, and the shop smelled of damp earth and fresh eucalyptus. Jungwon was in the back room sorting inventory sheets while muttering about missing ribbon spools. You had been strangely quiet for nearly twenty minutes. That alone was suspicious.
He looked up from the papers. “What are you doing?”
No answer. Jungwon frowned and pushed back his chair. “If you’re using magic on the stock again, I’m charging rent.”
Still nothing.
He followed the faint rustling sound toward the greenhouse, stepping around buckets and crates until he reached the row of climbing roses near your makeshift bed. Then he stopped so abruptly that the clipboard nearly slipped from his hand. You were standing in the middle of the aisle. Not perched on a crate. Not small enough to fit in his palm-sized blankets. Standing. Human-sized.
Your head nearly reached his shoulder now, wings spread carefully behind you in a softened shimmer. The loose shirt he had left folded nearby hung off one shoulder, its sleeves too long for his arms, the hem brushing the tops of his thighs. Bare legs, tousled hair, startled eyes. You looked just as shocked to see him as he was to see you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Jungwon’s brain, usually dependable and practical, offered nothing useful.
“...What,” he said finally, “is this?”
You clutched the oversized shirt tighter. “I can explain.”
“I would love that.”
Your gaze dropped to the floor. “Fairies can shift forms.”
“You could do this the whole time?”
“No!” you said quickly. “Not properly. It requires strength, and my wing has been damaged.”
You flexed your fingers uncertainly, as if surprised by their length. “I only just regained enough magic to hold it.”
Jungwon stared. This explained many things. None of them helped.
“You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that for days I’ve been making you tiny fruit plates when you could one day become…” He gestured helplessly at all of you. “...this?”
You bit your lip. “The fruit plates were very sweet.”
His eyes caught on the way the borrowed shirt slipped lower on your shoulder. He looked away so fast it almost hurt.
“And you chose now to mention this because?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You’ve succeeded.”
A pause.
“Are you upset?” you asked softly.
Jungwon looked back then. You stood there, nervous and hopeful, bare feet against his greenhouse floor, wrapped in one of his shirt like it belonged to you. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled.
“No,” he said after too long. His voice came out rougher than intended. “Just… unprepared.”
Your expression brightened instantly. “Then you’re not angry?”
“I didn’t say that.”
You laughed, warm and relieved, taking one step toward him. The movement made your still-healing wing wobble. Jungwon was beside you before thinking, hand catching your waist to steady you. Both of you froze. His palm burned through the thin fabric. Yours caught lightly at his wrist. Up close, you smelled like rainwater and flowers. Jungwon cleared his throat and stepped back at once.
“Sit down,” he said. “Before you break something else.”
You smiled in a way that made his pulse deeply uncooperative. You only nodded. He turned sharply and walked back toward the stockroom. Behind him, he heard your soft laughter echo through the greenhouse. He did not return for five full minutes.
.
.
.
.
The discovery of your human-sized form changed surprisingly little. Jungwon had expected complications. More blankets, larger meals, perhaps an entirely new category of headaches. Instead, by the next morning, he opened the greenhouse to find you exactly as usual—small again, curled atop a folded towel beside the basil pots, one wing draped over your face to block the sunlight. He stared down at you.
“You can become human-sized,” he said. “And yet you choose to sleep in a herb tray.”
Your wing twitched. Then you peeked out at him with one sleepy eye.
“It smells nice.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I like being light. I like fitting into warm places. I like hearing flowers from close by.”
That was such a fairy sentence that he did not know how to respond. So instead, he handed you the lid of his coffee cup, now emptied and rinsed, filled with fresh water.
“Drink this before you start saying stranger things.”
You accept it happily.
You followed Jungwon through the shop perched on his shoulder like an inquisitive ornament, asking questions from sunrise to closing.
“Why do humans brush their teeth every morning if they become dirty again?”
“Because that’s how cleaning works.”
“Why do people stare at glowing rectangles while ignoring flowers?”
“Phones.”
“That did not answer the question.”
You rode in his apron pocket while he restocked ribbon, peering over the edge like a suspicious manager. You sat cross-legged on the register while he counted change, watching coins stack with fascination. You once spent twenty minutes observing the receipt printer as if it were a mystical beast.
“It screams paper,” you whispered in awe.
“It prints receipts.”
When business was slow, you demanded lessons on ‘human daily rituals’. Jungwon showed you how to make tea. You insisted the kettle was too aggressive. He demonstrated sweeping. You called brooms ‘floor combs’.
He tried explaining taxes once. You stared at him in silence before declaring, ‘That cannot be real’.
“What do fairies even do all day?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You keep interrogating humans. I’m asking back.”
You considered it seriously.
“We greet flowers in the morning,” you said. “We collect dew. We nap in warm petals. We sing to roots when they are sad.”
Jungwon stared. “Roots get sad?”
“Sometimes.”
“What else?”
“We chase dragonflies. We braid grass. We gossip.”
“With who?”
“The bees, mostly.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Of course.”
“What do humans do for fun?”
The question came while Jungwon was trimming wilted leaves from a row of daisies near closing time. He did not look up.
“Depends on the human.”
You sat cross-legged on the counter, chin in your hands, wings flicking lazily behind you. “What do you do for fun?”
“I enjoy silence.”
“That cannot be the whole answer.”
“It’s a strong one.”
You frowned at him. “No festivals? No dances? No moonlit flower gatherings?”
“We have bills,” Jungwon said dryly.
You gasped softly, scandalized. “That is tragic.”
He continued clipping stems, pretending not to notice the way you were now staring at him with obvious pity.
“I think,” you declared, “you have forgotten how to enjoy life.”
“I think,” Jungwon replied, “you’ve been alive in my greenhouse too long.”
When the last customer left, he locked the front door, flipped the sign to closed, and began counting the register. Behind him, you sighed dramatically every few seconds. He lasted three minutes.
You perked up at once. “What?”
“You wanted to know what humans do for fun.” He grabbed his coat from the hook. “Come on.”
Your wings fluttered so fast they blurred. “We are going on an adventure?”
“We are walking three blocks.”
“That is still an adventure.”
Ten minutes later, you were tucked safely inside the deep pocket of his coat, only your head peeking out as he walked down the quiet evening street. The city glowed in warm shop lights and passing headlights, rainwater still shining on the pavement from earlier. You stared at everything.
“The world sparkles at night,” you whispered.
“It’s puddles.”
“It’s magic puddles.”
He took you to the convenience store first.
You nearly fainted at the snack aisle.
“So many colors,” you breathed. “So many shapes. Why is that bread smiling?”
“It’s a mascot.”
“It knows something.”
Jungwon bought you a small honey candy after five full minutes of you pressing your face to the packaging displays. Outside, he unwrapped it and handed it over.
You held it like a jewel. “For me?”
“You were becoming a public spectacle.”
You licked the candy once and gasped. “Humans are geniuses.”
He looked away to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.
Next, he took you through the small night market near the station. Steam rose from food stalls. Music drifted from somewhere unseen. People laughed, bargained, and hurried past. From his pocket, you watched it all with shining eyes.
“So this is fun,” you said softly.
“This is crowds and overpriced snacks.”
“This,” you insisted, “is life happening everywhere at once.”
Jungwon glanced down at you. Your face was lit by lantern glow, wonder written plainly across it. Something in his chest shifted again. later , on the walk home, you grew quieter, sleepy from excitement. You leaned against the inside of his pocket, clutching the candy wrapper like treasure.
“Jungwon?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you for showing me human fun.”
He kept his gaze on the road ahead.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was to me.”
A pause.
Then, softer—already half asleep:
“You make ordinary things feel safe.”
Jungwon’s steps slowed for just a second. When he reached Eden’s Garden, you were asleep in his pocket, warm and trusting. He stood outside the shop door longer than necessary before unlocking it, strangely unwilling to disturb you.
.
.
.
.
A week later, Jungwon noticed it before you did.
You were hovering. Only an inch above the greenhouse floor, wobbling dangerously near a bucket of fertilizer. Jungwon set down the watering can at once. “Get down.”
“I’m flying,” you corrected, voice full of triumph.
You drifted sideways, clipped a hanging fern, and landed in a pot of basil.
“A temporary setback,” you said from the leaves. But he had already crossed the room, crouching beside you with an expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” You sat up, leaves in your hair, grinning so brightly it almost annoyed him. “Did you see?”
He had.
More than that, he had seen the way your wings moved now without trembling, the silver fractures nearly gone, the old stiffness replaced by clean, smooth light. The bandages he had changed day after day were no longer needed.
Jungwon reached out before thinking, fingertips brushing the edge of your wing. It was whole. You went still at the touch.
“They healed,” he murmured.
Your smile softened. “Because you cared for them.”
“I wrapped gauze badly and fed you fruit.”
“You stayed.”
The simple answer left him strangely quiet. You stepped out of the basil pot and spread your wings carefully. Morning light poured through the greenhouse glass, catching every translucent panel until they shimmered like water.
“May I try again?” you asked.
He should have said no, told you to rest, to wait, to be careful. Instead, Jungwon only nodded once. You bent your knees, then lifted. This time, there was no wobble. No crash. No panicked grab for nearby shelves. You rose smoothly into the warm air, higher and higher until you circled above the hanging ivy with a laugh so bright it filled the entire greenhouse.
Jungwon stood motionless below, head tilted back. You were beautiful like this. Weightless. Made for the sky in a way the earth could never keep. The realization hit harder than expected. You dipped lower, spinning once before landing lightly in front of him, cheeks flushed with joy.
“I did it!”
He looked at your shining face, then at the wings now strong enough to carry you anywhere.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You did.”
You stepped closer, excitement fading as you noticed something in his expression.
“Jungwon?”
He turned away first, reaching for the watering can he no longer needed.
“Don’t break anything on your victory lap.”
But the greenhouse suddenly felt too small, and far too empty.
.
.
.
.
The morning your wings fully healed, the greenhouse felt inextricably bright.
You had risen laughing into the air at sunrise, circling the rafters with effortless grace before landing in a spill of golden light. There was no tremble now, no hesitation, no pain. Only freedom.
Jungwon had smiled. Just not for very long. For the rest of the day, he buried himself in work. He rearranged bouquets that did not need to be rearranged, polished shelves already clean, and spent ten full minutes glaring at the ribbon spool as though it had offended him personally. You noticed, of course. You always did.
When closing time came, you found him in the greenhouse stacking empty pots with unnecessary focus.
“My wings are better,” you said softly.
“So I’ve heard.”
You stood there for a moment, hands clasped behind your back.
“I think… I should go soon.”
The pot in his hands nearly slipped. He set it down carefully before answering.
“Probably.”
Your smile dimmed. “Probably?”
“You wanted to travel.” He kept his eyes on the shelf. “Find somewhere new. Bigger than this place.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Then you nodded once. “I see.”
He did not look at you. That night, Jungwon barely slept. The next morning, he opened the shop to find your makeshift bed neatly folded. The tiny cup you liked to drink from had been washed and left upside down to dry. The ribbon drawer was organized by color.
You were gone.
For a full minute, Jungwon simply stood there. The greenhouse was quiet again. Too quiet. No humming. No questions. No soft voice asking why humans enjoyed bitter bean water. His chest tightened painfully. He lasted seven minutes.
Then he was out the door.
He found you on the rooftop of the building across the street, standing at the ledge where the morning wind tugged at your hair. In your human-sized form, your wings gleamed behind you, strong and radiant beneath the sky.
You turned when you heard him.
“I forgot to say goodbye properly,” you said.
Jungwon was slightly out of breath, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.
“Don’t go.”
The words came rough, immediate, and far too honest. Your eyes widened. He swallowed once. “I know your wings are healed. I know you can leave whenever you want.” He looked away briefly, jaw tight. “But I don’t want you to.”
The wind moved softly between you. Jungwon forced himself to continue.
“This place was quiet before you came.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Too quiet. Now every corner reminds me of you. The basil tray. My pocket. The fact that I apparently buy honey candy now.”
A watery smile touched your lips. He stepped closer.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he said quietly. “But somewhere between fixing your wing and arguing about taxes, you became…”
He exhaled.
“…home.”
Your eyes filled at once.
“Jungwon…”
“If you still want to travel, then go,” he said, voice gentler now. “If you want the sky, I won’t stop you.”
“But if you’d like to stay…” He met your gaze fully. “Stay with me.”
You crossed the space between you so quickly that he barely had time to brace before your arms wrapped around him. This time, human-sized and warm and laughing through tears.
“I was waiting,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I was waiting for you to ask.”
Jungwon held you tightly, face buried in your hair.
“You are impossible,” he muttered.
“And staying,” you replied.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft in a way he no longer bothered hiding.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you there beneath the open sky, gentle and certain, while your wings shimmered in the morning light.
.
.
.
.
Months later, customers often whispered that Eden’s Garden bloomed more beautifully than any florist in the city. Flowers opened overnight. Wilted stems revived by morning. The whole place seemed touched by luck. Jungwon, tying ribbons behind the counter, only sighed when tiny laughter came from the tulips.
“I said no magic on inventory.”
“No promises,” came your cheerful voice.
And Eden’s Garden, at last, had become home to you.
Summary: You work at a cafe near the rink, and Logan starts coming in every single day ordering a ridiculously complicated drink just to talk to you. The problem? He’s too nervous to actually ask for your number.
The bell above the door of The Daily Grind chimed at exactly 4:15 PM. It was a sound you had memorized over the last month, a predictable anchor in your otherwise chaotic shift.
You didn't even need to look up from the espresso machine to know who was walking in. You already knew the rhythm of his heavy stride, the faint scent of winter air and expensive cologne that always trailed behind him, and the telltale rustle of a Briar University hockey puffer jacket.
John Logan had arrived.
Only today, the usual single pair of heavy footsteps sounded like a marching band.When you finally looked up, wiping your hands on your barista apron, Logan wasn’t alone. He was flanked on either side by two guys you instantly recognized from campus flyers and sports columns. On his left stood Garrett Graham, the team’s star captain, looking entirely too amused for a Thursday afternoon. On his right was Dean Di Laurentis, wearing a smirk that suggested he had just successfully orchestrated a minor corporate takeover.
Logan, caught firmly in the middle, looked like a man being marched to a firing squad. His jaw was set, his shoulders were tense, and his ears were burning a bright, telltale crimson.
"Afternoon," Logan managed, leaning his forearms against the high wooden counter. He tried to deploy his usual smile—the one that looked effortless on sports magazine covers—but it twitched nervously at the corner.
"Hi, Logan," you said, reaching for a clean plastic cup and a sharpie. "Brought backup today?"
Before Logan could answer, Dean leaned over the counter, propping his chin in his hand with a theatrical sigh. "Backup? No, sweetheart. We’re on a rescue mission. We're staging an intervention because we can't take it anymore."
"Ignore them," Logan hissed, his voice dropping an octave as he glared at his teammates. "They’re bored. Garrett’s girlfriend kicked him out of the house so she could study, and Dean... well, Dean doesn't have a soul."
"Hey, I have a soul," Dean countered smoothly. "It’s just finely tuned to the frequency of second-hand embarrassment. And right now, the frequency is deafening."
Garrett let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms and looking between you and Logan. "Look, we're just here to speed up the process. We have a game tomorrow, and our star defenseman is losing sleep over a coffee menu."
You blinked, looking from Garrett’s amused grin to Dean’s smug expression, and finally to Logan, who looked like he wanted the floorboards of the cafe to open up and swallow him whole. "Losing sleep over coffee?"
"Don't listen to a word they say," Logan desperately tried to pivot, tapping his fingers against the counter in a frantic rhythm. "Let's just do the usual. Please."
"Ah, yes. The usual," you teased, raising your marker. You read off the monstrosity from memory, a routine you had built over the last three weeks. "A quad-shot, iced, half-calf caramel macchiato. Sub oat milk, two pumps of vanilla, one pump of hazelnut, extra whipped cream, a light drizzle of chocolate syrup on top, and—"
"A dash of cinnamon," Dean interrupted, mocking Logan’s deep tone perfectly. "Gotta have the cinnamon. It really ties the identity crisis together."
"You're a dead man," Logan muttered to Dean."I’m a visionary, Logan. There’s a difference," Dean shot back, unbothered.
Garrett leaned over the counter, completely bypassing the polite small talk. "Do you know why he orders that, by the way? Because he thinks if he orders something normal, like a drip coffee, he’ll only get to talk to you for thirty seconds. So he created a drink that requires a chemistry degree and five minutes of labor just to stall."
"Garrett, shut up," Logan growled, his face now matching the color of a cherry syrup bottle behind the counter.
"No, no, let him speak," you said, leaning your hands on the counter, a slow, delighted smile spreading across your face. "I've been wondering why a giant college athlete keeps ordering sweet battery acid every single day."
"Battery acid! See, I told you!" Dean laughed, clapping Garrett on the shoulder. "The kid has been poisoning himself for three weeks. He goes back to the hockey house, chugs a gallon of water, and complains about heartburn for two hours. All because he’s completely whipped."
"I am not whipped," Logan protested, though the lack of conviction in his voice was hilarious.
"Bro, you have a massive, embarrassing crush," Garrett blurted out, completely stripping away whatever dignity Logan had left. "You’ve had one since the first day you walked in here. You talk about the way Y/N writes your name on the cup. You talk about how she laugh at your terrible jokes. You are completely terrified and too nervous to just ask for her number."
"He literally practiced what he was going to say in the mirror this morning," Dean added helpfully. "And then he choked the second he walked through the door."
The cafe was relatively quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the low music playing over the speakers, which made the sudden silence after Dean’s revelation feel incredibly loud.
Logan froze. The star hockey player, who routinely took hits from two-hundred-pound defensemen without flinching, looked entirely defenseless. He closed his eyes, let out a long, defeated breath, and dropped his forehead against the wooden counter with a dull thud.
"I hate both of you," Logan muffled into the wood. "I’m moving out. I’m finding new roommates. I’m joining a different team."
"You love us. We’re fixing your life," Dean said cheerfully. He tapped Logan on the shoulder. "Alright, our work here is done. G, let’s go. Give the kids some privacy."
"Good luck, Logan," Garrett laughed, giving you a polite nod before turning toward the exit. "Don't let him order the cinnamon anymore. It’s embarrassing."
With a final wave from Dean, the two of them strode out of the cafe, the bell chiming brightly behind them. Through the large glass window, you could see them high-fiving on the sidewalk before disappearing down the street.You stood behind the counter, staring at Logan, who was still face-down against the wood.
"They're gone," you said softly, fighting back the urge to laugh out of pure endearment.
Slowly, Logan lifted his head. His dark hair was slightly messy from his hands running through it, and his cheeks were dusted with a prominent pink flush. He looked incredibly human, completely stripped of the untouchable athlete persona he carried around campus.
"Please tell me you have a men-in-black memory-erasing device back there," he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.
"Can't say I do," you smiled, leaning forward on your elbows. "So... a mirror, huh? What was the speech supposed to be?"
Logan let out a breathless, self-deprecating laugh, looking down at his shoes before finally gathering the courage to look you in the eye. "It was stupid. It was supposed to be something smooth. Like, 'Hey, I think you're really cool and I'd love to take you out sometime when you're not trapped behind a cash register.' But every time I stand in front of you, my brain just resets to factory settings."
Your heart did a sudden, strange flip in your chest. "You really spent seven dollars a day on a drink that destroys your stomach just to talk to me?"
"Hey, it was a tactical play," Logan said, a sheepish, incredibly charming smile finally returning to his face. "Granted, a terrible one. My stomach has been begging for mercy for a month. But you're really easy to talk to. And you have this way of looking at me like I'm just... a regular guy, not just a jersey number. I didn't want to mess it up by coming on too strong."
"Logan, you're a giant hockey player. You could have just asked," you said softly, the boldness of your own voice surprising you. "It’s completely free. And much easier on your digestive system."
Logan blinked, a slow realization dawning on him. "Wait. Does that mean... you wouldn't have said no?"
"I would have said yes three weeks ago," you admitted, grabbing a clean cup and a marker. Instead of writing a drink order, you quickly scribbled your name and ten digits across the plastic. "But watching your friends absolutely roast you was definitely worth the delay."You slid the cup across the counter.Logan looked down at the numbers, a massive, triumphant grin breaking across his face. He picked up the cup like it was the Stanley Cup itself, the relief radiating off him in waves.
"I am never telling Garrett or Dean about this," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, confident intensity that made your breath catch. "They will hold this victory over my head for the rest of my life."
"Your secret is safe with me," you laughed, turning around to pull a fresh shot of espresso. "Now, let me make you something that won't give you heartburn. On the house."
"A plain black coffee?" Logan asked hopefully.
"Let's start with a normal vanilla latte," you countered, smiling over your shoulder. "Baby steps, Logan."
"Works for me," he said, leaning against the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. This time, the nervous twitch in his hand was entirely gone.
---
Next Off Campus Fic - Shield (Dean Di Laurentis x Reader)
Didn't really plan anything about off campus after Shield, so the choice is yours
𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: where you decide to prank logan by pretending to be excited for a date he never planned. unfortunately, your boyfriend's response to being pranked is to take you on the most thoughtful, romantic date of your life.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.8k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pure fluff, established relationship, prank gone wrong (or right?), logan being aggressively boyfriend-shaped, excessive sweetness, reader trying and failing to outsmart her boyfriend, garrett graham being a surprisingly useful best friend, bookstore dates, flowers, lots of hand-holding, kissing, logan remembering every little thing about reader, weaponized thoughtfulness, excessive use of "babe", use of she/her pronouns, reader is explicitly referred to as "girl", emotional damage via acts of service, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
𝐀/𝐍: alt title: john "whatever my girlfriend wants, she gets" logan. dedicated to the wonderful anon who brought to my attention that using the small font on here made fics hard to read—thank you for helping me get better <3
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎: so high school by taylor swift.
18+; mdni.
The plan had seemed significantly funnier about three hours ago.
The idea started with Hannah—which, in hindsight, should've been your first warning sign.
"Hear me out," she'd said, abandoning her Philosophy textbook entirely to lean across the table toward you and Allie. "You should tell Logan you're excited for the date he planned."
You had frowned. "What date?"
"Exactly."
Across from you, Allie had immediately burst out laughing. For a long moment, you simply stared at the two of them, confused. Then, the realization dawned on you. "Oh, that's evil."
Hannah leaned back in her chair, looking mighty pleased with herself. "Why, thank you."
Now, as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, half your closet scattered across the room, you were beginning to realize that there was a very real possibility that Logan would simply smile and nod. The man was impossible to prank—partly because he was so observant, partly because he was so annoyingly nice.
You lifted your favourite dress to your chest, studying it with a critical eye, just as the bedroom door creaked open.
Speak of the devil.
Logan stepped inside, hair still damp around the ends from his shower after practice. He was dressed in a Bruins t-shirt and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Your eyes met his brown ones, the corner of his mouth tipped upward into that gorgeous smile.
You watched his face as gaze shifted from your face to the mess covering the bed and half of the floor space of the room, then landed right back to you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. His smile widened at the sight of you with that dress. "What happened in here, babe?"
Game time, you thought to yourself, turning to him. "Oh good, you're here."
"Yeah?" confusion flickered across his face as you held up the dress, raising your eyebrows at him in question.
"What do you think of this?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.
Logan dropped his duffel back beside the bedside table, kicking off his shoes. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "You know I love you in everything, babe. But yeah, that dress always looks incredible on you."
You smiled, turning back to the mirror. In the reflection, you could see the mattress dip beneath his weight as Logan perched on the edge of the bed, still studying you with that smile on his face.
You met his stare in the mirror, your mind playing the opening notes of your master plan. "God, I'm so excited for tomorrow."
Logan blinked. "What's tomorrow?"
You almost laughed—almost. But you were determined not to break character, so instead, you forced your face into a look of utter confusion. "What do you mean, what's tomorrow? Its the date you planned for us."
A long pause stretched out between the two of you. Then, Logan's brow creased into a tiny frown. "The... date. Right."
The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly calm, which immediately threw you off, because other than the little crease on his brow, there was no evidence of panic, or confusion—not even concern. You narrowed your eyes.
Interesting.
Logan reached for the TV remote, casually crossing his legs as he leaned back. Your suspicion deepened, because there was no way he was this calm, this collected. There was no date. No reservation, no plans, nothing.
You would've known. He would've told you... unless. A horrible possibility entered your mind, because John Logan was the kindest, most thoughtful man ever, and more importantly, he knew how much you loved surprises. So maybe, just maybe... he'd actually planned something, and you'd accidentally stumbled right into it?
The thought almost made your confidence waver, until you caught the look on his face. His eyes were fixed on the TV, but you knew the expression in his eyes. You'd seen it before—during games, while the two of you studied for finals, before presentations. John Logan was thinking.
You bit back your smile, trying not to completely ruin your own prank, especially as Logan, in the most faux-casual voice you'd ever heard, asked: "So, babe, what're you most excited about?"
Oh, he was fishing—you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out exactly what you were talking about. The realization nearly made you giddy, even as you fought to keep a straight face, shrugging. "Oh, you know what I'm most excited about."
"No, I don't know." The innocence in his voice was almost convincing—almost.
"No?" you asked, fighting to keep a straight face. The two of you stared at each other for a minute, and then—then, Logan's face split into a smile. A beautiful, Logan smile.
Suddenly, your faith in the plan working out wavered, because somehow, against all logic, it suddenly felt like he wasn't the one being set up—you were.
The second the bedroom door snapped shut behind him, Logan knew he was fucked.
Not because there was definitely a date, but because there might be. Which was, somehow, infinitely worse.
"You're pacing, man."
Logan looked up from where he'd been wearing a path into the carpet of his friend's bedroom. Garrett was sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched Logan with growing amusement.
Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Garret raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at Logan's feet.
Right. He was, in fact, pacing.
Garrett sat up. "Come on, man. What's wrong."
Logan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not he should keep the thoughts plaguing his mind to himself... then immediately abandoned that plan—because Garrett was his best friend, and he was rapidly losing his mind. "She says she's really excited for our date tomorrow."
Garrett blinked. "Is there a reason she should not be?"
"I don't even know if there's a date tomorrow," Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"What the fuck?" Garrett ran a hand over his face. "How could you not know?"
Logan shrugged. "There's a possibility she might be messing with me."
Garrett nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Or," Logan sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the foot of Garrett's bed. "I forgot."
"You forgot a date?" Garrett burst out laughing, and for a moment, Logan genuinely looked around the room for something to throw at his head.
"This isn't funny."
Garrett only laughed harder. "Sorry, man. It kinda is, though."
Logan burrowed his face into the mattress, groaning. "She's picking out dresses and shit, dude."
"Huh."
Logan lifted his head. "What?"
"No idea," Garrett shrugged. "But... if she's trying to prank you, that's hilarious."
Logan narrowed his eyes at Garrett, but his grin only widened. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "Okay, worst-case scenario: you forgot a date with your girlfriend."
Logan winced. "Jesus."
Garrett leaned forward. "No, listen. This is simple. You just need to take her on the greatest date of all time."
Logan blinked. "What?"
"Yeah, man. It's the only way. You gotta plan the date to end all dates."
"Come on, man. This is serious."
"I'm being serious." Garret sat up, his brow furrowing, deep in thought. "Think about it."
Logan usually hated when Garrett said that—because it meant that his friend was about to make an annoyingly good point. And it stood true this time too. Because either way, regardless of whether he was being pranked, or if he'd actually fucked up and forgotten, his girl deserved a date. Heck, his girl deserved everything. "Fuck."
Garrett leaned, back against the headboard, smug smile on his face. "Exactly."
If there really was a date he'd somehow forgotten, this fixed the problem. And if there wasn't—well, he still got to spend a day with you. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Garrett smirked. "There's that face again."
"What face?"
"The one you make whenever she's involved."
Logan rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Garrett ignored him, grabbing Logan's phone. "Okay, let's plan the greatest date ever."
An hour later, what had somehow started as a joke had somehow turned into a full-scale operation.
Logan's notebook was open between the two of them, Garrett's laptop balanced on the edge of the bed.
"What's her favorite restaurant?" Garrett asked, frowning at the listings on the screen.
"The sushi place downtown."
The keys on Garrett's keyboard clacked as he wrote it down. "Favorite dessert?"
"Cheesecake from the bakery near campus."
"Favorite flowers?"
Logan didn't even take a moment. "Pink lillies."
Garrett paused, slowly turning his head to look at Logan. "Dude, you answered that way too quickly."
Logan frowned. "I know my girlfriend."
"You know your girlfriend's favorite flower. I don't even know my favorite flower."
Logan couldn't help but let out a laugh at the genuinely offended look on Garrett's face, because it made sense. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, and he wasn't about to let anything—anything—get in the way of making you happy, not even himself.
He could already feel the tension he'd been carrying since leaving the bedroom easing slightly, because now, he had a plan.
Actually, he had several plans—dinner, dessert, a walk afterward, maybe the bookstore you'd been talking about for months. Things that might not look like grand, extravagant gestures on the outside, but things he knew you'd love anyway. Things he knew would make you smile.
He could feel Garrett's watchful eyes on him and the realization settled warmly in his chest. "You know she's probably fucking with you, right?"
Logan could feel his face splitting into a slow, soft smile, "I know."
Garrett froze, the room enveloped in silence for a moment. Then: "What do you mean, you know? You spent an hour freaking out."
"I wasn't freaking out."
"You absolutely were."
Logan ignored him—because the truth was, he'd known almost immediately. The second you said it, the second he'd seen that look in your eyes—the one you got whenever you were trying not to laugh, he knew.
But that wasn't the point, it was never going to be. Because whether there had been a date or not, now there was. If his girlfriend wanted to spend a entire day together, Logan wasn't going to complain.
Garrett groaned. "Oh, my God."
"What?
"You're so disgustingly in love with her."
Logan considered arguing but instead, he just smiled. "Yeah, man. I am."
For once, Garrett didn't make fun of him for it.
By the time Logan picked you up the next evening, you were beginning to regret everything.
Not because the prank wasn't funny—it was downright hilarious. Or at least, it had been, right until a gorgeous bouquet of pink lillies had appeared on your bedside table with a note in Logan's handwriting.
Fuck, you loved them. They were your favorite flower.
The note read, Pick you up at 8. Wear the blue dress.
Now, standing in front of your mirror, smoothing down the skirt of the blue dress you loved so much, you were beginning to suspect that somewhere along the way, things had gotten out of hand.
A knock sounded from the other side of the door, making your stomach flutter. It was ridiculous—you'd been dating Logan for three years, and yet, as you opened the door, you immediately forgot every coherent thought you'd ever had.
Logan stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans, navy button-down rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, his brown eyes softening the second they found you— like they always did. Every. Single. Time.
No matter how many years passed, they always softened. "Hi, babe."
A smile spread across your face automatically. "Hi."
For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Logan's gaze landed on the vase of flowers sitting on your bedside table. "You got the flowers I sent you?"
Your heart squeezed. "They're beautiful, Logan."
"I know."
You blinked, and Logan immediately cringed. "Oh, fuck. That sounded terrible.""
A laugh escaped you. "It really did."
He groaned. "I meant you're beautiful."
Your laugh grew louder, and Logan pressed his forehead against the doorframe, hiding his face and the shy, pink flush that was creeping up his cheeks. "I somehow made it worse."
"You absolutely did."
His answering grin was sheepish, beautiful. You slipped your hand into his, softly closing the door behind you. "Ready?"
Logan squeezed your fingers. "Always."
The date was perfect.
Not because of where he took you— though the restaurant was lovely. The bookstore afterward was also lovely. And the bakery where he insisted on buying three different desserts "for research purposes" was lovely.
Not because of any of it. The date was perfect because every stop felt intentional, like Logan had built the entire evening out of tiny pieces of you.
At dinner, he'd ordered an appetizer while you ducked into the restroom right after the two of you arrived, because he knew you always got hungry while looking at menus. At the bookstore, he somehow remembered the title of a novel you'd mentioned wanting to read six months ago. At the bakery, he'd walked directly to your favorite cheesecake without even glancing at the display.
By the time the two of you found yourselves walking along the Charles River, the city lights glittering across the water, you were fairly certain you'd accidentally created the best date of your life.
The realization was mildly infuriating.
Logan glanced at you. "What?"
"What do you mean, what?" you frowned.
"You've got your thinking face on."
You rolled your eyes. "I do not."
Logan laughed, the sound settling warmly in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, your hand fit perfectly in his. The city hummed around you—comfortable, easy.
Eventually Logan guided you toward a quiet bench overlooking the water. You sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing his. You could smell his cologne, could feel your heart beginning to stutter like it always did around him.
"You know," you said, carefully. "I had a really good time tonight."
Logan smiled. "I'm glad, babe. I did too."
You sighed, because you could feel the guilt winning. "I have to tell you something."
Immediately, Logan looked concerned. Your stomach twisted at the look on his face. God, he was too nice. "I kinda feel bad."
His eyebrows lifted. "About?"
You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the water. "The date thing."
"What about it?"
"Okay," you sucked in a deep breath. "I made it up. There wasn't actually a date."
The silence stretched out between the two of you—unbearable, suffocating, until you couldn't take it anymore. A groan escaped your lips. "Oh, my God, please stop looking at me like that."
Logan laughed. You froze, because it wasn't a surprised laugh, or even a confused one. No, he sounded... amused?
Slowly, you turned toward him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling.
Your eyes narrowed. "John Logan."
His grin widened. "Yeah, babe?"
"Oh, fuck off." The pieces clicked together all at once—the confidence, the calmness, the complete lack of panic. Your jaw slacked. "You knew."
Logan laughed. "I knew."
You stared at him, horrified, offended and impressed. Mostly offended. "When did you know?"
"The moment you said it."
Your mouth fully fell open this time. "You fucking liar."
Logan's shoulders shook with laughter. "You were picking out dresses, way too excited."
"I was acting," you gasped.
"Babe, come on." The words carried approximately zero belief.
You slapped his arm, and Logan caught your wrist immediately, still laughing. "You are unbelievable. You let me think I was winning!"
His grin softened. "You looked so excited." The words came out quietly, simply, like they explained everything.
And maybe, they did.
Logan continued, like it was obvious, like anyone else would've done the same thing. "You were excited, and I like taking you on dates."
You chest tightened. "So you planned all of this?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
The answer left his lips immediately, without hesitation, without uncertainty. "Because I love you."
The words settled softly between the two of you, warm and certain.
You groaned. "Fuck off, Logan. You can't be cute when I'm being mean and trying to prank you."
Logan chuckled, leaning forward, his forehead brushing yours. "You're not mean. You're perfect. And, you're so, so impressed by the fact that I pulled this off."
"I'm not," you scoffed, but you both knew you were lying.
His grin widened knowingly. You hated it—and you hated it even more when he kissed you, slow and sweet, smiling against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair.
When he finally pulled away, your heart was somewhere around your ankles. "You know what?"
"What?"
You jammed a finger in his chest. "This still counts as me pranking you."
Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench—and somehow, that felt like victory enough.
warnings · fluff · sfw · best friend's little sister · brother's blessing · mutual pining · first kiss · garrett graham is hilarious and a good brother
word count · ~1.85k
format · part one of two - i had two requests that aligned perfectly so this will be a two parter to fit both requests x
✧ ───────── ✦ ───────── ✧
My brother’s house is loud as per usual, which is to say I can hear it from the driveway.
By the time I let myself in, Logan has Tucker in a headlock over the last slice of pizza, Dean is refereeing from the couch with a beer he is using as a gavel, and my brother is standing on a kitchen chair for reasons that I’m absolutely sure make zero sense. This is the natural state of their house. Four enormous men with the collective impulse control of an untrained hyperactive puppy.
“There she is!” Garrett bellows when he spots me, arms thrown wide, nearly going off the chair. “My favourite sister.”
“I’m your only sister.”
“Still counts.”
I love it here, is the embarrassing truth. I love my brother and his idiot friends. I have been coming around since Garrett moved in, and somewhere along the way the house stopped being only his and started being a place I belong too.
And then there is Logan.
He has let Tucker go, and is crossing the kitchen toward me already, and the thing about Logan, the thing I have spent a humiliating number of months pretending I do not notice, is that he changes when I’m around. Out there with the guys he is all chirping and bad decisions, the loudest person in any room he is standing in. With me he goes quiet. Careful. Like someone reached over and turned his dial down.
“Hey, you,” he says, taking the bag off my shoulder before I can stop him, like he always does. “Sit down before you fall down, you look wiped. I’ll get you a drink. The seltzer, not whatever Dean’s brewing in that cooler.”
“You remembered I don’t touch the cooler stuff.”
“Obviously.” He says it like it is the most normal thing in the world. “Sit. I’ll grab it.”
Behind him, Dean makes a noise into his beer. Garrett, still up on the chair, has gone still, watching our interaction.
I pretend not to notice, trying not to draw any further attention.
I figured Logan is nice to me because I am Garrett’s sister, this is how I keep my heart in my chest where it belongs. He is nice to me the way you are nice to your best friend’s family, careful the way you are careful with something that belongs to someone you love. The way he takes my bag the second I walk in. The way he steps in when some guy at a party gets too close, just appears at my side until the guy decides he has somewhere else to be. The way he watches my drink for me, swaps it for water two rounds before I would think to, gets me home safe every single time. The way he walks me to my car, remembers I don’t like cilantro and that I get cold easily and that my second-round interview was on Thursday. All of it is just Logan being Logan. He is like that. Ask anyone.
The flaw in this theory, which is hard to ignore, is that Logan does not do any of that for anyone else. Logan would let Tucker get checked through the boards and post it to the group chat. Logan once watched Dean look for his keys for forty minutes and said nothing, knowing the entire time they were in his own pocket. But me? For me he watches the room like keeping me safe is a job somebody assigned him.
Allie drops down next to me on the back steps later, where I have gone to get away from the noise for a minute.
“So how long,” she says, “are you two going to keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You’re going to make me say it.” She sighs. “You and Logan. The thing.” She gestures vaguely at the house, at the universe. “He looks at you like you hung the moon, you know that?”
“He’s nice to everyone.”
“He is so not nice to everyone. He made Tucker cry last week when they were playing a stupid game.” Allie picks at the label on her drink. “He’s different with you. We all see it. Garrett sees it.”
That last part sits wrong in my stomach.
“Garrett,” I repeat.
“Babe. Your brother is not as oblivious as he acts.”
That is a problem. A big problem. Because even if, hypothetically, in a universe I do not let myself live in, Logan looked at me the way Allie says he does, it would not matter. Logan is Garrett’s best friend. Logan is his teammate, his roommate, the person Garrett trusts to have his back on the ice. And I am Garrett’s little sister. There is a code about this. Everyone knows the code. You do not touch your best friend’s sister, and you do not blow up your brother’s friendships over a crush.
It is later when I go back inside for my jacket and hear my name. Not called across a room. Said under his breath, in the kitchen, in my brother’s voice, and I stop in the hallway with my coat in hand.
“...think I haven’t noticed?” Garrett is saying.
I should leave. But I’m curious, so I stay.
“Noticed what,” Logan says, and even his voice is different, wary, none of the easy swagger in it.
“Come on, man.” The clink of a bottle being set on the counter. “You’re the loudest, most annoying person I have ever met, which is saying something because we know Dean. But she walks in and you just. I don’t even know how to say it. You go quiet. You’re so soft towards her.”
“I’m nice to everyone.”
“Logan, be real.”
Silence. I am barely breathing.
“How long,” Garrett says, and his voice has changed too now, gone serious in the way it almost never does.
Logan doesn’t answer right away. When he does it is so quiet I have to strain for it.
“Since the barbecue. Last summer.” A breath. “Maybe before. I haven’t done anything about it, Garrett, I swear to God. I would never. She’s your sister. I know what that means. I’m not going to be the guy who blows up the team and the house, just, I haven’t said a word to her. I won’t. I just needed you to know it was never a game with her. I just like her.”
My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs it hurts.
There is a long silence. I picture my brother’s face. I have seen Garrett angry and I have seen Garrett protective and I do not know which one is about to come out of his mouth.
“You really like her,” Garrett says.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. “Yeah. I really do.”
Another silence. Then my brother, who stood on a kitchen chair for no reason three hours ago, who I once watched eat a crayon on a dare, says something that rearranges my entire understanding of him.
“Then stop moping around my kitchen and do something about it.”
“What?” Logan sounds like the floor moved under him.
“Watching the two of you not look at each other is exhausting. It’s like a nature documentary nobody bothered to narrate.”
“You’re. Wait. You’re okay with it?”
“No. I am deeply not okay with it. You’re going to date my baby sister and that is genuinely disgusting.” He blows out a breath. “But I’ve watched you be gone for her months and not do thing about it because you didn’t want to disrespect me. That’s the reason I’m giving you the go ahead. You waited. You’re the only guy I’d ever trust with her.” His voice drops. “So don’t make me regret it. I mean it. You hurt her, I end you, and no one would ever find your body. Now go away, this got too sincere and I hate it.”
Here I am in the hallway, holding my coat, having heard all of it. Every word. Since the barbecue. I would never. It was never a game with her.
I have a choice. I could leave. I could go home and lie awake and overthink this for a week and find a way to talk myself out of it, the way I talk myself out of everything.
I walk into the kitchen instead.
They both freeze. Garrett looks at me, then at Logan, then at the ceiling.
“How much of that did you hear,” Garrett says.
“Since the barbecue,” I say, looking at Logan.
Logan makes a sound like he’s in pain.
“Okay. I’m leaving.” Garrett is already moving. “You’re both adults, I have seen nothing, I will be upstairs with a pillow over my head. If anything happens in this kitchen I am moving out.” He points at Logan on his way past. “Months, man. Took you long enough.” Then, quieter, to me, his hand squeezing my shoulder, the big brother in it impossible to miss, “He’s a good one, squirt. For the record.” And he is gone.
And then it is just me and Logan alone in the kitchen.
“Hi,” he says.
“You got rid of that guy at the spring party,” I say. “The one who wouldn’t take a hint.”
He huffs, caught out. “He had his hand on your waist and you looked ready to deck him. I just got there first.”
“That was months before the barbecue.”
He goes quiet. “Yeah,” he admits, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It was before the barbecue. It was before a lot of things. God. Sorry, ignore me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long it’s all coming out wrong.”
“Logan.”
“Yeah.”
“Come here.”
He crosses the kitchen the way he crossed it earlier, except slower now, like he is afraid I will change my mind, and stops close enough that I have to tip my head back to look at him. Up close he is not loud at all. Up close he is the softest I have ever seen him, all that noise switched off, just his eyes on my face and his hand coming up careful to my jaw like he is still asking.
“Can I,” he starts.
“Yes.”
He kisses me, slow and certain and a little bit shaking, and it is worth every month I spent pretending I did not want exactly this. He kisses me like he has been holding it since summer, because he has, and when he pulls back he rests his forehead against mine and laughs, soft and disbelieving.
“Your brother is going to make my life hell,” he murmurs.
“Worth it?”
“Are you kidding?” He kisses me again, quick, like he can’t not. “He just handed me the one thing I wanted most, he can do his worst. Most definitely worth it.”
From upstairs, muffled through the walls, Garrett yells, “NO HAVING SEX IN THE HOUSE WITH MY SISTER, LOGAN.”
I laugh against Logan’s mouth. He is smiling too much to kiss me properly.
warnings · fluff · sfw · best friend's little sister · brother's blessing · mutual pining · first kiss · garrett graham is hilarious and a good brother
word count · ~1.85k
format · part one of two - i had two requests that aligned perfectly so this will be a two parter to fit both requests x
✧ ───────── ✦ ───────── ✧
My brother’s house is loud as per usual, which is to say I can hear it from the driveway.
By the time I let myself in, Logan has Tucker in a headlock over the last slice of pizza, Dean is refereeing from the couch with a beer he is using as a gavel, and my brother is standing on a kitchen chair for reasons that I’m absolutely sure make zero sense. This is the natural state of their house. Four enormous men with the collective impulse control of an untrained hyperactive puppy.
“There she is!” Garrett bellows when he spots me, arms thrown wide, nearly going off the chair. “My favourite sister.”
“I’m your only sister.”
“Still counts.”
I love it here, is the embarrassing truth. I love my brother and his idiot friends. I have been coming around since Garrett moved in, and somewhere along the way the house stopped being only his and started being a place I belong too.
And then there is Logan.
He has let Tucker go, and is crossing the kitchen toward me already, and the thing about Logan, the thing I have spent a humiliating number of months pretending I do not notice, is that he changes when I’m around. Out there with the guys he is all chirping and bad decisions, the loudest person in any room he is standing in. With me he goes quiet. Careful. Like someone reached over and turned his dial down.
“Hey, you,” he says, taking the bag off my shoulder before I can stop him, like he always does. “Sit down before you fall down, you look wiped. I’ll get you a drink. The seltzer, not whatever Dean’s brewing in that cooler.”
“You remembered I don’t touch the cooler stuff.”
“Obviously.” He says it like it is the most normal thing in the world. “Sit. I’ll grab it.”
Behind him, Dean makes a noise into his beer. Garrett, still up on the chair, has gone still, watching our interaction.
I pretend not to notice, trying not to draw any further attention.
I figured Logan is nice to me because I am Garrett’s sister, this is how I keep my heart in my chest where it belongs. He is nice to me the way you are nice to your best friend’s family, careful the way you are careful with something that belongs to someone you love. The way he takes my bag the second I walk in. The way he steps in when some guy at a party gets too close, just appears at my side until the guy decides he has somewhere else to be. The way he watches my drink for me, swaps it for water two rounds before I would think to, gets me home safe every single time. The way he walks me to my car, remembers I don’t like cilantro and that I get cold easily and that my second-round interview was on Thursday. All of it is just Logan being Logan. He is like that. Ask anyone.
The flaw in this theory, which is hard to ignore, is that Logan does not do any of that for anyone else. Logan would let Tucker get checked through the boards and post it to the group chat. Logan once watched Dean look for his keys for forty minutes and said nothing, knowing the entire time they were in his own pocket. But me? For me he watches the room like keeping me safe is a job somebody assigned him.
Allie drops down next to me on the back steps later, where I have gone to get away from the noise for a minute.
“So how long,” she says, “are you two going to keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You’re going to make me say it.” She sighs. “You and Logan. The thing.” She gestures vaguely at the house, at the universe. “He looks at you like you hung the moon, you know that?”
“He’s nice to everyone.”
“He is so not nice to everyone. He made Tucker cry last week when they were playing a stupid game.” Allie picks at the label on her drink. “He’s different with you. We all see it. Garrett sees it.”
That last part sits wrong in my stomach.
“Garrett,” I repeat.
“Babe. Your brother is not as oblivious as he acts.”
That is a problem. A big problem. Because even if, hypothetically, in a universe I do not let myself live in, Logan looked at me the way Allie says he does, it would not matter. Logan is Garrett’s best friend. Logan is his teammate, his roommate, the person Garrett trusts to have his back on the ice. And I am Garrett’s little sister. There is a code about this. Everyone knows the code. You do not touch your best friend’s sister, and you do not blow up your brother’s friendships over a crush.
It is later when I go back inside for my jacket and hear my name. Not called across a room. Said under his breath, in the kitchen, in my brother’s voice, and I stop in the hallway with my coat in hand.
“...think I haven’t noticed?” Garrett is saying.
I should leave. But I’m curious, so I stay.
“Noticed what,” Logan says, and even his voice is different, wary, none of the easy swagger in it.
“Come on, man.” The clink of a bottle being set on the counter. “You’re the loudest, most annoying person I have ever met, which is saying something because we know Dean. But she walks in and you just. I don’t even know how to say it. You go quiet. You’re so soft towards her.”
“I’m nice to everyone.”
“Logan, be real.”
Silence. I am barely breathing.
“How long,” Garrett says, and his voice has changed too now, gone serious in the way it almost never does.
Logan doesn’t answer right away. When he does it is so quiet I have to strain for it.
“Since the barbecue. Last summer.” A breath. “Maybe before. I haven’t done anything about it, Garrett, I swear to God. I would never. She’s your sister. I know what that means. I’m not going to be the guy who blows up the team and the house, just, I haven’t said a word to her. I won’t. I just needed you to know it was never a game with her. I just like her.”
My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs it hurts.
There is a long silence. I picture my brother’s face. I have seen Garrett angry and I have seen Garrett protective and I do not know which one is about to come out of his mouth.
“You really like her,” Garrett says.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. “Yeah. I really do.”
Another silence. Then my brother, who stood on a kitchen chair for no reason three hours ago, who I once watched eat a crayon on a dare, says something that rearranges my entire understanding of him.
“Then stop moping around my kitchen and do something about it.”
“What?” Logan sounds like the floor moved under him.
“Watching the two of you not look at each other is exhausting. It’s like a nature documentary nobody bothered to narrate.”
“You’re. Wait. You’re okay with it?”
“No. I am deeply not okay with it. You’re going to date my baby sister and that is genuinely disgusting.” He blows out a breath. “But I’ve watched you be gone for her months and not do thing about it because you didn’t want to disrespect me. That’s the reason I’m giving you the go ahead. You waited. You’re the only guy I’d ever trust with her.” His voice drops. “So don’t make me regret it. I mean it. You hurt her, I end you, and no one would ever find your body. Now go away, this got too sincere and I hate it.”
Here I am in the hallway, holding my coat, having heard all of it. Every word. Since the barbecue. I would never. It was never a game with her.
I have a choice. I could leave. I could go home and lie awake and overthink this for a week and find a way to talk myself out of it, the way I talk myself out of everything.
I walk into the kitchen instead.
They both freeze. Garrett looks at me, then at Logan, then at the ceiling.
“How much of that did you hear,” Garrett says.
“Since the barbecue,” I say, looking at Logan.
Logan makes a sound like he’s in pain.
“Okay. I’m leaving.” Garrett is already moving. “You’re both adults, I have seen nothing, I will be upstairs with a pillow over my head. If anything happens in this kitchen I am moving out.” He points at Logan on his way past. “Months, man. Took you long enough.” Then, quieter, to me, his hand squeezing my shoulder, the big brother in it impossible to miss, “He’s a good one, squirt. For the record.” And he is gone.
And then it is just me and Logan alone in the kitchen.
“Hi,” he says.
“You got rid of that guy at the spring party,” I say. “The one who wouldn’t take a hint.”
He huffs, caught out. “He had his hand on your waist and you looked ready to deck him. I just got there first.”
“That was months before the barbecue.”
He goes quiet. “Yeah,” he admits, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It was before the barbecue. It was before a lot of things. God. Sorry, ignore me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long it’s all coming out wrong.”
“Logan.”
“Yeah.”
“Come here.”
He crosses the kitchen the way he crossed it earlier, except slower now, like he is afraid I will change my mind, and stops close enough that I have to tip my head back to look at him. Up close he is not loud at all. Up close he is the softest I have ever seen him, all that noise switched off, just his eyes on my face and his hand coming up careful to my jaw like he is still asking.
“Can I,” he starts.
“Yes.”
He kisses me, slow and certain and a little bit shaking, and it is worth every month I spent pretending I did not want exactly this. He kisses me like he has been holding it since summer, because he has, and when he pulls back he rests his forehead against mine and laughs, soft and disbelieving.
“Your brother is going to make my life hell,” he murmurs.
“Worth it?”
“Are you kidding?” He kisses me again, quick, like he can’t not. “He just handed me the one thing I wanted most, he can do his worst. Most definitely worth it.”
From upstairs, muffled through the walls, Garrett yells, “NO HAVING SEX IN THE HOUSE WITH MY SISTER, LOGAN.”
I laugh against Logan’s mouth. He is smiling too much to kiss me properly.
a/n: you asked and i delivered - here is part 2 to this fic !!! i'm so excited about the hype that y'all have been giving to part 1 and hope that the rest of the series will meet your guys' standards. fyi i am in the middle of moving houses right now, so the next few chapters might be slower to be posted but i will get to them as fast as i can! i hope you enjoy this chapter and are excited about the ones to come!!
word count: 7.7k
synopsis: yours and john's schedules finally align so you can go get coffee together and get to know each other better. but it isn't a date...right?
~~~
His cologne enveloped you as soon as you opened the front door to find him standing on the other side of the threshold. He was wearing a pale blue button-up under a Carhartt jacket, his silver chain poking out of the space left by the top two buttons that were undone. His hair was as fluffy as you’d always seen it, tempting you to run your hands through it to see if it was really as soft as you expected.
And his smile.
It was shyer than you’d seen it before, but it was still the same as the one that had been engraved in your mind since you’d met him almost three weeks ago.
“Hi,” you greeted him, unable to contain the grin that spread across your face.
“Hey,” he replied. “You look great.”
“Thanks, so do you.” You stepped back, opening the door wider for him to enter the house instead of just standing on the front porch. “I rushed down and forgot my bag, but I’ll be right back,” you explained, shutting the door behind him.
“Take your time, I can wait.” You gave him another smile before turning and hurrying up the stairs. You almost rammed your shoulder into your doorway, but managed to dodge it just in time. You grabbed your bag of choice that was already packed with all the essentials you might need, spritzed yourself with your favourite perfume, and shoved your feet into your shoes. You stopped momentarily to check your hair and makeup in your vanity mirror. You fluffed your hair and gritted your teeth to check for any lipstick residue before standing up straight and forcing yourself to take three deep breaths.
It’s just coffee, you told yourself, feeling your shoulders relax. It might not even count as a date.
Neither you or John had outwardly labelled it as a date, which you found somewhat reassuring. A date was a lot of pressure. Just getting coffee was easy.
You opened your eyes, meeting them in the mirror and let your natural smile appear on your features. Despite having just fluffed your hair, you tucked it behind your ears, nervously fixing it down over your shoulders.
You could do this.
You didn’t even know why you were so nervous. Even if it was a date, it wasn’t the first one you’d ever been on. You had gone on a handful in your previous two years at Briar, with only two ever leading to a second date. Neither of which led past a fourth date. Which you were fine with. Those guys hadn’t been the ones for you. Sure, they’d been nice to look at across a candlelit dinner or on the mini golf course, but none of them had been especially interesting. None of them had really had anything to offer personality wise. You couldn’t land a single joke or even a teasing quip without feeling as if you had hurt their feelings, or even without being lectured on why your joke hadn’t landed.
Meanwhile, John had laughed at all your jokes and taken your teasing in stride, even firing some of his own back. It was fun being around him, easy.
You wanted to be around him.
The week and a half since you two had last seen each other in person would have passed by so much slower had you two not been texting practically nonstop. He had been busy with hockey and work, while you had been occupied with school and work, yet somehow you two had managed to arrange a day and time that worked for both of you all on the same day that he had asked if you would be willing to go for coffee with him. Your fingers had never flown across a keyboard as fast as when you’d read that text from him. Since then there was rarely a time where you weren’t texting John or thinking about your last text exchange with him. You were hopelessly crushing, but too scared to admit it.
Too scared to even admit that you were currently about to go on a first date with him because that would make it real.
As you reached the middle of the staircase you were horrified to find your roommates in the entryway talking to John.
“What’s going on?” You asked, stepping onto the staircase’s landing. The three of them had all turned to look at you, John with an almost mesmerized look in his eyes, which your friends immediately noticed, exchanging a look between the two of them.
“Oh, we were just getting to know John here,” your roommate said with a smirk.
“Were you now?” You glanced nervously between them all, your roommates grins doing nothing to help you out.
“Nothing bad. We were just asking about his intentions with you, his political views, thoughts on women’s rights, thoughts on hockey culture- y’know all the normal stuff.”
“Oh yeah just the stuff that comes up in everyday conversation,” you deadpanned, the teasing from your roommates actually helping to calm your nerves. “You ready?” You fully faced John, meeting him face to face. He had a small smile on his face, which your roommates would later tell you had never left his face in the entire time that he had been in your presence.
“So long as you are,” he replied. You nodded and began to reach for the door handle, but he beat you to it, opening the door so you could walk through first. “It was really nice meeting you guys,” he said to your roommates who were waving flirtatiously at you when you turned back to watch the exchange.
“You too, John boy!”
“Hands to yourself!” You could feel the blood in your cheeks as he latched the door shut behind you, matching your steps down your porch steps.
“I would say I’m sorry about them, but I’m really not,” you said as you walked down the short path to his truck which was parked exactly where it had been two and a half weeks ago when he’d originally come to take a look at your car.
“No, they’re awesome, I love that,” John replied. “I can tell you’re really comfortable with them.”
“Yeah, they’re my best friends in the world, they’re the best.”
“That’s great.” You two exchanged smiles, before John took a few steps ahead of you to get to the passenger side door first to open it for you. You thanked him as you climbed in and once you were settled he closed the door behind you. As you turned to pull your seatbelt over you, you caught your roommates watching you from the front living room window. You shook your head at them in mock disappointment as they only laughed and waved their phones to let you know that they had been recording and taking pictures since you two had left the front door. You looked away as John pulled his door open and climbed into his seat.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good,” he said, clicking his seatbelt into place and handing his phone out to you. “Do you want aux?” You gasped at the chance to see what his music taste was and excitedly took his phone, feeling a spark as your fingers lightly brushed. His phone was already unlocked and open to Spotify, allowing you to easily navigate to his playlists and saved albums. He watched you with a small smile for a few moments before putting the truck in drive and pulling onto the street, but not before leaning forward and giving your roommates a wave through the window. You looked up at this exchange and laughed at your friends' reactions in the window.
Going back to his phone, you scanned the names of playlists and album covers. Most of the playlists seemed to be workout and hype mixes, leaving you to wonder how many of these playlists one person could need before you remembered your five different studying playlists for your different moods. Most of the albums were rap and hip hop and artists you didn’t listen to or had never even heard of. You found one playlist titled ‘Jules’ influence’ which was filled with a random mix of songs from indie artists, some of which you had heard of.
“So, is it horrible?” John asked, causing you to look up from his phone and at him. You must’ve looked confused because he followed up. “My music taste. Jules always says I need to work on it.”
“It could be worse,” you replied, teasingly. “Could also be a lot better, though.” John laughed, a warm feeling developing in your chest at the sound. You continued to scroll, feeling as if you might find a hidden gem in the depths of his Spotify account. And you did when you found a playlist of Bruno Mars’ entire discography.
“I knew there had to be something redeeming in here,” you said before pressing shuffle play. You sighed as Locked out of Heaven began playing through the speakers. John looked over at you with an amused smile as you nodded your head to the beat.
“Big Bruno Mars fan?” John asked.
“Says the one with a whole playlist of just his music,” you teased. “This is my favourite song of his though.” John leaned forward and turned the volume up a few notches, causing you to grin at him.
About fifteen minutes later you rolled into town, lucky enough to find a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop that your roommate had recommended you guys check out. Before you even had your seatbelt undone, John had undone his and rushed around the truck to get your door for you, a gesture you giggled at and thanked him for.
The ease of finding a parking spot turned out to be completely out of luck because when John had opened the cafe door for you, you found the small space to be almost completely packed, with the line ending only two feet away from the door. Once the line had crept slightly forward, John was able to fully join you in the line, your back pressed almost completely to his front, catching you off guard at the proximity.
“Do you know what you’re getting?” His lips practically brushed your ear as he leaned down so you could hear him, the blood rushing to your cheeks once again. You shook your head no, unable to even spot a glimpse of the menu. A few moments later, John’s phone appeared in front of you, displaying a picture of the menu. You looked back at him over your shoulder, a grateful smile on your lips for the gesture. You did your best to focus on what the menu listed instead of the fact that he was so close you could feel his body heat radiating off of him. It was either him or the sheer warmth of being in the cramped coffee shop.
“Can I get a small iced caramel mocha, please?” you asked the barista once it was your turn to order almost twenty minutes later. After you had decided on your orders, you and John had made up a game of deciding the personalities and lifestyles of the other patrons in the shop as a way to pass the time. While they had originally started off as plausible possibilities they became more humorous and outlandish as your wait grew.
“And can I get a small iced cinnamon mocha, please?” John ordered after you. He beat you again by having his card ready before you could even unzip your bag to find yours. After the barista confirmed your orders you fixed John with an annoyed look which he met with a smile.
That damn smile of his.
“Y’know I am capable of doing things myself, right?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, but I’m here. So why should you?” You could only shake your head, trying to hide your growing smile. After another few minutes of designating the customers around you with fake backstories your drinks were ready. You both thanked the barista before turning and scanning the shop. Noticing that there were absolutely zero free chairs and tables you agreed to head outside.
“I can finally breathe again,” you sighed as you stepped back into the fresh air, John holding the door open for you.
“You ready to give these a try?” John asked, gesturing to the drinks you both held.
“Let’s do it.” At the same time you both took sips of your respective drinks. Yours was not good. But, seeing as John had paid for it, and not wanting to come off as too picky, you tried to mask your disgust with a pleased expression. “Hmm.”
“How is it?” John asked, studying the drink in his hand.
“It’s…decent.”
“Really? ‘Cause mine’s disgusting.” You almost choke on your sip at John’s reaction, a laugh trying to fight its way out of you.
“I was trying to be nice!” you groaned. “But yeah, this is awful.” You both can’t help the laughs that escape you at the ridiculousness of having just waited half an hour for those horrible drinks.
“Here,” John says, gesturing for you to hand him your cup. “I think I know how I can make these better.” You hand your plastic cup over and watch as he walks a few steps away and proceeds to throw both practically full cups in the garbage can. “I hate wasting food, but there’s no way either of us are drinking those anymore.”
“Completely understandable in this case.” He walked back over to you, stopping a couple steps away with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.
“So, I know I asked you to go for coffee, but seeing as that didn’t go the best, did you wanna take a walk around town instead?”
“I’d love to.” The two of you fell into step beside each other, John taking the side closest to the street, which you’re sure to remember to tell your friends about later on.
“How’s your car been the past couple weeks?” He asked.
“Really good!” you replied. “No smoke, no noises that shouldn’t be there. She’s back and better than ever.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“How’s hockey been?”
“Good. We’ve won our last couple games, which is always nice.”
“Yeah, I bet,” you laugh. “You been scoring a lot?”
“Not as much as I want.”
“It’ll happen. Watch you’ll start a hot streak next game, I can feel it.” John laughed, his chest warm at the faith you had in him.
“We gotta get you out to a game. Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.” You felt your cheeks warm at the implication that you could be good for his game, knowing how seriously hockey players took their superstitions.
“If it keeps the Hawks winning then sign me up,” you joked before stopping mid-step. “Have you ever been in there?” you asked. John came to a halt and turned to look at the thrift shop you were pointing to.
“Can’t say I have.”
“They have the coolest stuff all the time. It’s the best thrift I’ve ever been to.” You had no intention of actually going in and just wanted to share the remark, but John noticed the gleam in your eyes and suggested going in. “We don’t have to, I was just saying.”
“No, no, you said they have the coolest stuff, so I wanna see,” John teased you with a smirk. You could feel the challenge in the air between you two and decided to take him on.
“Alright. Follow me.”
John got the door for you once again and you couldn’t help the smile on your face that came from the gesture and being back in one of your favourite stores. The shop was small, practically a hole in the wall, and was stuffed wall-to-wall with racks of clothes and tables of trinkets. The familiar smell was comforting as you took a deep breath.
“This place smells like my grandma’s house,” John remarked behind you.
“That’s the best part!” you exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll show you my favourite part of the shop.” You took off down the main aisle of the place, headed towards the back. You turned down an aisle that was crammed full of colourful knitted blankets, following it all the way down to a shelf against the wall. The shelf itself was slanted, appearing as if it could collapse at any moment, with the amount of things stuffed onto it only adding to this appearance. You grinned as you reached it, turning to John and framing the shelf with jazz hands.
“Wow, it’s…a shelf.”
You fixed him with an exasperated look, which quickly reverted back to a grin. “It’s not just a shelf, it’s a wonderland of trinkets and accessories.”
“I’m sure it is.” John reached towards the shelf and plucked a tiny figurine of a cow wearing a party hat from it. He inspected it for no more than five seconds before looking at you with a quirked brow. It took a lot of your willpower to not kiss him right there and then.
“You’re telling me that’s not adorable?”
“No, no, it is. I’m thinking you might’ve hyped it up a bit too much though.” He placed the figurine gently back in its spot and looked back at you.
“Well, you haven’t seen much just yet.”
You spent the next half an hour showing John around the store, ten of those minutes being completely spent on the trinket shelf, trying to convince him to purchase something from it, deciding on the party cow. When he finally agreed, he insisted on finding you your own shelf trinket to purchase. Eventually, he found a matching cow figurine to his, this one with a green party hat instead of pink. He clutched the both of them in his hand while you moved your tour along to a different part of the shop.
You showed him the graphic t-shirt racks, many of which he agreed were very cool and was the section he took the most interest in. His second favourite was the table near the front of the store that held many different accessories, including hats, scarves, gloves, and bags. Upon arriving at the table, John spotted a fluffy frog hat, which he placed carefully over his hair, causing you to laugh uncontrollably.
“Wait! Stay there, I need a picture,” you managed to get out through your laughs, pulling out your phone to take said picture. At first he faked an annoyed look before a smile broke out on his lips, causing your laughing to begin once again. Once you got the picture, John took the hat off his head and placed it gently on top of yours.
“Now hang on,” he instructed, pulling out his own phone to snap a picture. You gave him a variety of facial expressions and poses, turning the simple photo into a photoshoot of sorts. John only smiled through them all, enjoying the sight in front of him. Once you deemed he had gotten enough pictures of you in the frog hat, the two of you made it your mission to find the silliest item for the other person to wear or hold up for a picture. The game quickly turned competitive.
You found John a pair of extremely short gym shorts that resembled early 2000s velour tracksuits.
He found you a silk robe covered in a dollar sign print.
You found a pair of pink leopard cowboy boots.
He found a sweater that seemed to list the dates of a singular person’s six different wedding ceremonies.
You found a mug that read ‘Honey, I’m sorry for sleeping with your great-aunt. Please take me back!”
He found a blanket that had Danny Devito’s face printed all over it.
After almost an hour of this game, you decided to continue on with the day. John quickly paid for both of the cow figurines before you both headed outside.
“Pink or green?” He asked, holding a figurine in each palm.
“Green, please.” You plucked the figurine from his outreached hand, but not before snapping a picture of him holding the both of them. “Aw, they’re like our little children.” You internally cringed, horrified that you had just implied that these practically microscopic cows were your shared children. This wasn’t even a date and you had basically said that you were already thinking about having kids.
You might as well have just walked into traffic right then and there.
However, if John had thought your remark was weird, he didn’t say so and simply pulled out his phone.
“Let’s take a family picture then.” He held his phone out wide in front of the both of you. You shook yourself out of your self critical fog and turned your body in towards him, proudly displaying your new trinket in the palm of your hand. The sides of yours and John’s hands brushed as you both posed, your internal dialogue turning from self deprecating to a mess of giggling and blushing. “So, where to next?”
You glanced around the streets, scanning for anything interesting that there might be to do.
“We could just keep walking? See if we come across anything worthwhile.”
“Sounds great,” John agreed, falling into step beside you once again. You were in the middle of discussing the items you had found in the thrift store when John stopped, gesturing to the store you’d wound up in front of. “Hey, isn’t this where you work?”
You glanced up at the sign, realizing that you had, in fact, walked right in front of the bookstore that you’d worked at since your freshmen year at Briar. “Oh yeah, it is.”
“Do you wanna go in?”
“What? Oh no. We don’t have to. I’m there all the time already, they’re sick of me.”
“Yeah, but you probably don’t really get the chance to look around all that much, right?”
“Right…” you hesitated, not wanting to make the day all about you. But he did have a point.
“Alright, then let’s go in.” He grabbed the door handle and as soon as he swung it open the smell of hundreds of books, most of which were used, envelopped you in a warm hug. You sighed, taking in the beautiful sight of stacks and stacks and tables of books waiting for you to explore them; despite you being the one who most likely shelved at least a third of them. While you and your roommates had the house that you loved, this shop truly was your home away from home. Despite spending a good chunk of your time here every week, you would’ve been content with having to move in full-time.
“Welcome in!” a voice called from the register to the left of you. Your boss, Lucinda, sat at her usual perch behind the front desk with her usual grin.
“Hi, Lucy,” you greeted her, feeling shy all of a sudden as John stepped in behind you.
“You’re not working today, dear, what brings you in?”
“Uh, my friend, John, suggested we come in just to look around.” Lucy didn’t miss the slight twitch in John’s smile at you calling him a friend, something you missed due to him standing behind you.
“Hi, I’m John,” he introduced himself, sticking out his hand for Lucinda to shake, which she gladly did with a laugh.
“Lucinda,” the bookstore owner greeted back. “Well, you two enjoy yourselves, and if you need anything, I’ll be right here. Though, of course, you already know where everything is, dear.”
“Thanks, Lucy.” You turned to face John who gestured for you to lead the way. You’re different in the bookstore than you were in the thrift shop. While in there you were loudly confident, thrilled to be showing John around, in here you were more quietly sure of yourself–wandering the shelves slowly, taking in every book spine your eyes fell upon. While this was your place of work, it was also your solitude. You rarely ever ventured to any of Briar’s libraries to study because you had this place and Lucinda was always willing to let you in to study for as long as you needed.
You followed the natural flow of the store’s fixtures, from the tables at the front displaying new and popular reads, to the back where the nonfiction books and magazines were held. When a book looked particularly interesting you would pick it up and read the synopsis, gauging whether it should be added to your TBR or not. Not being much of a reader himself, John followed behind you, listening as you read synopses or excitedly recounted the plot points of your favourite books when you came across them. The way your face lit up upon finding an old favourite of yours would make his heart stutter and the tips of his ears go warm. Needless to say he was in no way bored while following you around. In fact, he could’ve done it forever if you let him.
“Hey, what time is it?” you asked after placing a book back in its slot on the shelf.
“Three thirty.”
“What?” you wheeled around, your eyes practically bulging out of your head.
“Yeah, why?” John asked, slightly amused.
“We’ve been in here for an hour!”
“What’s wrong with that?” John asked through a laugh, clearly not understanding what you were so hysterical about.
“We were supposed to spend today together, not just with you following me around at my job!”
“Hey, it’s okay!” John reassured you, his hand gently squeezing your bicep as you tried hard not to completely freak out at having completely overtaken the day. “I was the one who told you we should come in here. I had a feeling what I was getting into when I did. So, it’s cool, okay?” He watched you intently as you sighed deeply, his doe-like eyes fixated on yours. You nodded, feeling calmer from his reassurance that you hadn’t completely ruined what might’ve been your first date together.
“Okay, sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” he gave you a smile to make sure you knew that it truly wasn’t as serious as you thought. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Yes and you get to pick what we do next. No more letting me control everything.”
“Well I think that’s only fair,” he deadpanned before allowing a smile to spread over his lips at your slight pout from the teasing. You said bye to Lucinda as you exited the store, the older woman telling John to come back whenever he wanted which made him laugh.
“So where to, Johnny boy?” you asked, as you continued your side-by-side walk further into town.
“You ever been to the lake just outside of town?” You shook your head, only just remembering that the lake existed. “Follow me then.” He guided you down the sidewalk, taking a few shortcuts down residential streets, before arriving at the east edge of town which overlooked the small lake that was overshadowed by tall willow trees. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, but was yet to bring about any chill to the air. John led you down to a bench a little ways from the water, dusting the seat off with his jacket sleeve. He gestured for you to sit, which you did, taking a seat beside him, less than a foot of space between you two. You both sat facing towards the water, the wind on the surface of the water and in the tree branches and the wildlife being the only sounds to break the silence.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“Every once in a while,” John replied, looking out over the water. “When we were younger my mom would bring me and my siblings here if it was nice out.”
“Are you close with your mom?” Something shifted in the guy’s face at the mention of his mom. Not darkness, but something haunting.
“Not really. She’s been in and out of rehab so much that I never really know where or how I’ll find her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how her brain works.” He said it so casually that you almost believed that he believed it himself. And even though you’ve only known the guy for less than a month, you had a feeling that he wasn’t being the most honest. “Or at least that’s what all the doctors have told us.”
“That’s still hard, though. Especially with having to help take care of Jules.” He turned to look at you then, his eyes scanning your face.
“Did I tell you that?”
“Yeah,” you laughed. “When you picked me up from class after you fixed my car.” John then groaned, his hands coming to cover his face.
“Some first impression I made then, huh?” You laughed, folding one leg in on the bench so you could turn your body to face him.
“Well, I think that was actually your second impression. Unless you count all the texting from that week and how you repeatedly accused me of being a Rangers fan!”
“Hey, I’ve apologized since, haven’t I?” He asked, now turning his body to face you.
“Yeah, I guess today counts as an apology,” you responded in a quieter tone than before. His eyes roamed your face and you somehow failed to notice how they lingered on your lips for a second longer than anywhere else.
“Do you have a favourite spot you go to? On or off campus?”
“We were just at my favourite spot,” you responded, referring to the bookstore.
“Huh, explains why you took so long.” You reached forward and shoved John’s shoulder jokingly. He groaned in fake pain, clutching his shoulder as you laughed.
“Hey, I apologized! I genuinely thought it had only been like twenty minutes.”
“Nah, I’m just kidding,” he said, sitting up properly again, a small smile on his face. “It was fun seeing you in your element. I just didn’t think anyone could spend that long looking at books without getting bored.”
“Well, what was one of the first things you learned about me?”
“That you’re an English major.”
“Right on, Johnny.” He looked down at his hands with a smile, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.
“What do you plan on doing with that after you graduate?” he asked.
“Grad school,” you sighed, a common reaction you had whenever the thought of your future came about. “Maybe a PhD to see how long I can fend off the work force, then hopefully teach at the college level.”
“Got it all figured out, huh?”
“For the most part. Hopefully.”
“Are your parents supportive?”
“Oh, they’re the best,” you smiled at the thought of your parents. How they had constantly pushed you to do what you wanted to do, not what anyone else thought was best. Your heart clenched at not having seen them in what felt like forever. “They just want me to be whoever I want.”
“That’s great. I’m glad you have that,” John said, sounding genuinely happy that you had that support system.
“Thanks. I’m just so scared of disappointing them, y’know? They’ve worked so hard my whole life and it’s like…what if I end up not being worth all that trouble?” You caught yourself off guard by admitting this. You had never really voiced these concerns out loud, but for some reason when you were around John the words just fell right out.
“Hey, if they really love you and care for you then it won’t matter what you do in the future,” he said, earnestly. His eyes bore into yours, almost as if he was trying to push the thought into your head. “You’ll still be their daughter. And for what it’s worth, I know you’re gonna do something great with your life. I don’t think you’d allow yourself to do or be anything less than great.” You laughed, your heart clenching at his words and how genuine they sounded coming from him. Any regrets you’d had about voicing your concerns had flown right out the window.
“Thanks for saying that.” He nodded his head, a small smile on his lips. “What about you? What are you gonna do with your business degree, Johnny?”
“Who even knows,” he groaned, eliciting a small laugh from you. “It’s, hopefully, just a backup.”
“For?”
“If I don’t make it to the NHL.”
“You have doubts that you will?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“You say that like you’ve seen me play.”
“I’ve seen a clip or two,” you shrugged. “Mostly from Jules’ account.”
“I just really want to prove myself. But that’s hard when you play on a line with Phil Graham’s son.” There was a small hint of irritation in his voice, which you could understand. You knew that Garrett Graham was John’s best friend, but also, possibly, his biggest competition for a chance at getting to the NHL. Garrett had already been drafted to the Boston Bruins, but that only meant that there were now even more eyes on him and less on John.
“Hey, you’re your own person. You don’t have to exist or live in anyone else’s shadow other than your own,” you tried to reassure him like he had done for you. “And the NHL? Easy. You’ll be playing for the Oilers as soon as you graduate,” you ended, cheekily.
“Is that a threat?”
“You could play for a lot worse teams than Edmonton.”
“Ugh, like Vegas.” You both cringed which led to laughter from the both of you.
“Have you ever told anyone that stuff?” you asked after your laughter had lapsed into silence for a few moments. “About making it to the show?” John whistled at your choice of words.
“Damn, you’re talking like one of the guys calling it the show," he laughed. "I’ve really only talked about it with Jules. You’re the only other person I’ve told.” Blood flows to your cheeks again, either from the chill that had begun to waft off the water, or from being one of the only people that knew about John’s secret feelings.
“Not even Garrett?” John sighed and shook his head.
“It’s hard when he’s already been drafted and I’m stuck waiting for a chance.” You mulled his words over in your mind.
“Do you believe in things being meant to be?” John hesitated, seeming to now mull your words over. You didn’t notice how his eyes lingered on you as he thought of the words to say.
“I might.”
“Well, think of getting picked as being meant to be. Maybe it just hasn’t been the right time or the right team. If it’s meant to be it’ll happen when it’s supposed to. Not before.” You met his eyes then, which had already been trained on your face. A moment passed where it felt like only the two of you existed, purely understanding each other, with nothing else around.
“All that Shakespeare’s made you wise, English major,” John broke the silence with a smile.
“And looking at spreadsheets all day has made you lose perspective, business major,” you joked back.
“I gotta keep you around then. Make sure I don’t lose sight of it all.” The way John looked at you then made your breath catch in your throat. Your mind seemed to go blank, other than being filled with how he was looking at you right then and how it made you feel. Maybe this was a date.
“Keep playing your cards right and we’ll see, Johnny,” you scoffed, forcing yourself to look away and back at the water, hoping he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating.
“”Keep,” huh? So I’ve been doing good so far.”
“Well saving me money goes a long way in my book if that feeds your ego.”
“Duly noted.” You looked back at him with a smile. One that he wished he could’ve taken a mental picture of so he’d never forget it.
“Oh, look at the sunset!” You exclaimed, pointing out over the lake where the autumn sky had begun to show streaks of purple, pink, and orange, a reflection of which showing on the surface of the water. John noticed how the bright colours highlighted your hair and formed almost a halo around you. While your back was turned he pulled out his phone and snapped a couple pictures of you, wanting to keep these for memory. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yeah, it is.” John remarked, his eyes focused on you instead of the sky.
Once the sun had fallen behind the trees lining the lake, John had asked if you wanted to go back to the truck before it got too cold. You agreed, taking the hand he offered to help you up off the bench. After brushing yourself off, you looked up at John to find him looking at you with a smile on his face. You returned it before quickly turning and yelling “race ya!” and taking off back towards the direction you’d come from.
John gave out a startled yell before you heard his feet pounding on the ground behind you. You laughed as your heart beat wildly in your chest, your breath coming out in fast pants as you continued to outpace the hockey player. Despite not knowing the neighbourhood the best, you managed to find your way back to the main road in town and pushed yourself the final yards to John’s truck in front of the coffee shop which you had left what felt like ages ago.
You raised your arms in victory, turning to face the athlete as he came to a stop behind you, panting. You let out a cheer as he hunched over his knees, gulping in breaths of air.
“How the fuck did you get so fast?” John panted out, causing you to laugh.
“I did track and field in high school,” you explained, your hands on your hips as you took in deep breaths. “And I sometimes run the track at Briar.”
“What the fuck. I might pass out.” You laughed at the poor guy’s state, having to stop yourself from tousling his hair as he remained hunched over.
“What, that wasn’t just like a shift on the ice for you?”
“No, that was so much worse.” You couldn’t help the grin that was on your face as he stood up, the flip of his hair making your heart stutter for a second. His cheeks were red from the exertion and the wind hitting him in the face while he ran. Your eyes went from his to how his silver chain fell against his heaving chest and back to his eyes. “That was cruel.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you could handle it, hockey player,” you teased. He looked at you with what might've been supposed to be stern eyes, but they softened as soon as they actually fell on you and the large grin you couldn’t wipe away.
“Next time, it won’t be so easy for you,” he declared, a finger in the air to emphasize his point.
"So I can expect to see you on the track tomorrow morning?”
“Not tomorrow,” he gulped out. “But whenever my legs and lungs recover, then yeah.” You giggled, finding the whole scenario especially funny. “Are you hungry?”
“All that running make you hungry?”
“If anything, my guts are actually inside out right now- thanks again. But we haven’t had anything to eat or drink since we tried that god awful coffee,” he explained, jutting his thumb towards the coffee shop behind you.
“I could eat,” you agreed, slightly cringing at the memory of the coffee from hours ago.
“Good, ‘cause I know a place.”
A two minute walk down Main street later and you wound up in front of a place advertising one dollar pizza slices, to which you scrunched your nose.
“This is the best pizza place within a one hundred mile radius,” John proudly announced.
“A dollar per slice? Is this some kind of payback for making you run?”
“While I will absolutely be getting back at you at some point," John declared, "their customers are college kids and they know how to cater to that.” The thought of how badly this could end for you crossed your mind, but you decided to be adventurous and shrugged.
“Alright, let’s do it.”
John swung the door open for you to enter and your stomach immediately gurgled at the smell of fresh pizza cooking. When you got to the register you ordered two slices of pepperoni and a Sprite and John ordered two slices of meat lovers and a Dr Pepper. He beat you to the machine once again, giving you a huge smile as you frowned at him. Your food was ready minutes later and John let you decide which booth to sit at. You picked the one closest to the window and John started to slide into the seat across from you when you asked him to sit beside you instead.
“I hate when people watch me eat,” you confessed, a blush covering your cheeks.
“No problem,” he responded unfazed, sliding in beside you with ease. Your arms brushed as you reached for your food at the same time, your breath catching slightly at the spark between you two as it happened. You took a bite out of your first slice and automatically understood what John had been talking about when he called it the best pizza place in the area. You scarfed down your first slice, not realizing just how hungry you had actually been.
“Was I right?” John asked when you were halfway through your second slice, already finished both of his. You pretended to think about it, not wanting to let him know just how right he’d been.
“You may have had some good points,” you said, your hand covering your mouth as you spoke. He let out a ‘yes’ while pumping his fist, causing you to laugh. He finished up his drink as you finished your pizza. Once you were both for sure done, he took both of your paper plates and threw them out. You stood as he did so, brushing any crumbs off yourself while his back was turned.
“Ready to go?” he asked. You nodded your head, allowing him to open the door for you again out into the cool October air.
He opened the passenger side door for you once back at the truck and closed it once you were securely in. He handed his phone over to you wordlessly, allowing you to choose the music once again for the drive back to your place. ‘Locked out of Heaven’ by Bruno Mars played as he pulled away from the curb.
“Thank you for today, I had a really good time,” you said after John parked in front of your house.
“Yeah, of course, I did too.”
“And I’m sorry, again, for spending an hour in the bookstore, that was really sweet of you to just let me look. I really never get to do that," you said sheepishly.
“Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me by spending an hour at the rink or the garage with me.” You laughed, not even thinking that that sounded all that bad. You figured now was your chance to ask what you had been wondering since he had originally asked you to hang out.
“I hope this doesn’t make this awkward, but, was today a date?” John’s face was solemn, scaring you into thinking that you had offended him in some way.
“I thought it was, yeah. But if you didn’t think so-”
“No, no, it’s not that!” you blurted out before he could finish. “I was hoping it was and just didn’t want to call it one in case I accidentally got my hopes up.” John gave a small smile at your confession.
“And, was it everything you wanted it to be?” he asked almost shyly.
“Even more so.” His smile grew then, causing your own to grow.
“Well, then we’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“I’d like that,” you agreed, already eager for what the next date would entail. “I should probably get inside though. Don’t want you up too late the night before practice.”
“Especially not after I was forced to run a marathon,” John joked, before quickly climbing out his door and running around to open yours for you. You thanked him again as he helped you down and onto the sidewalk, your hands lingering together for a couple seconds. “Speaking of hockey, actually, would you want to come to our next home game? It’s in a few days and you can bring your friends. I can get you guys free tickets.”
“I’d love to, thanks.” You reached the front porch before you knew it, climbing the steps and turning to face John. “And thank you again for today. I had a lot of fun with you.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem. I really like spending time with you too.” He then leaned in, your breath catching in your throat as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his cologne engulfing your senses. He pulled away slightly, only to whisper in your ear: “I would’ve kissed you properly if your friends weren’t watching from the window.” He then pulled away, standing at his proper height, with a matching grin to yours. You laughed, not even feeling as if the moment had been ruined, but like everything was falling into place. Like it was all meant to be.
“I should probably go and tell them everything they wanna hear,” you said, not actually wanting the night to end. He nodded, leaning in once again to kiss your other cheek.
“Didn’t want to leave the other cheek lonely,” he said with a grin before turning to head down the porch steps.
“Cheeseball,” you called after him. He turned back to face you still beaming. You watched him walk back to his truck with a matching smile on your face, not yet realizing just how much your face hurt from all the smiling and laughing you had been doing since he’d picked you up. You opened the front door, waving to John as he started up his truck and waved back at you. You closed the door behind you, waiting until you heard his truck roll away and for a few moments afterwards before walking the few steps to the living room doorway to find your friends waiting with their hands in their laps and huge smiles on their faces.
➷ summary: after plowing down john logan during one of your volleyball games, you catch the man’s eye. and, to be totally honest, he caught yours, too. but you know you can’t give in that easily; you’ve got to make him earn it, and during that process, you discover that through getting to know and understand john logan, you’ve unlocked a whole new chapter of your life that you didn’t even know was possible to exist.
pt.2 of plowed down
➷ word count: 5919
➷ warnings: cursing, little bit angsty during one part (just about family stuff, nothing to do with their relationship so don’t worry), you’re the main character (sure me, idc), definitely inaccurate volleyball references. also, i know that with ncaa championships, they’re typically like a few days after the semifinals BUT FOR THE PLOT, we’re gonna pretend it’s like two weeks after (again, sorry, just bear with me).
omg also guys thank you so fucking much for the love that i received on plowed down!!! like it was genuinely bonkers waking up to all those notifications, so thank you so much!!!!
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
You weren’t exactly sure what you had going on with John Logan.
It had been two weeks since you plowed the man down– two weeks since you made out against your apartment door, since you told him you didn’t do casual; that you didn’t do hook-ups.
Two weeks since the guy started practically worshipping the ground you walked on.
You aren’t sure what you did to warrant this; you had quite honestly been playing hard to get after making out with him. Partly because you were maybe a little bit embarrassed by how easily you gave into his charm, but also partly because you knew how guys like John Logan worked. They were athletes who had sex with different girls every few days, who were texting multiple girls at once. Guys like John Logan were players, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when they were honest about it.
But you didn’t like to engage with players more than once, because, again, casual didn’t work for you. It was just something you swore off on in your sophomore year of college because for you, flings and hook-ups came with too much emotional baggage.
It was your own fault, quite honestly.
To you, intimacy was much more than a quick fuck. It always meant more to you. It had to be with someone you trusted, someone you had gotten to know over a certain amount of time. You learned that through a messy situationship, which is what created your personal rules.
That is why you tried to let John Logan down the easy way. With a playful grin, you had whispered the words, “I don’t do hook-ups. Or casual.”
And John Logan had fucking grinned.
Like he understood– like he was on the same page, which you knew he wasn’t.
Or, at least, you thought you knew.
But apparently you didn’t, because after you had said those words, he backed off you, his fingers lingering on your hips. He had still been smiling as he looked at you with gentle eyes and nodded, “Okay. Nothing casual, no hooking up. I can do that.”
“What?”
You blurted out the question, and you’re positive your face revealed how fucking shocked and baffled you were, because John had laughed, the sound warming your chest in the scariest way for a man you had only known for a few hours. He was dangerous, and yet you still felt the urge to dip your fingers into his flames.
He shrugged, and then said, “I can do that.”
“Okay, no.”
“No?”
“No! Isn't it your thing, to like, hook up with girls at parties?”
“I haven’t done that for weeks now–”
“Oh, how tragic,” you drawl, but you’re still smiling despite yourself. You let your hands trail up his arms and to his shoulders. You give them a quick squeeze, and then nod, “Well, this was fun.”
Now he looks baffled.
“So we’re done?”
“I don’t do hook-ups.”
“I won’t either.”
“That’s a lot of commitment for a girl you just met.”
He sighs, and he looks down at you, as if he’s searching your eyes for something, anything– and, you don’t know how, but the motherfucker seems to find what he’s looking for, because he nods, grins, and says, “Can I get your number, then? You should get to know me before you decide to get rid of me completely.”
“We’re following each other on Instagram now.”
“This is different.”
You’re slightly shocked by his words, but you’re watching his face, and you can’t help the way your lips quirk up. But you don’t nod, and you don’t give in. You smile and watch as his eyes glimmer when you respond.
“You’ve gotta earn it, Logan.”
As you said those words, you figured he’d get bored of you within a couple days. Forget about you completely, be a failed sexual encounter in the back of his mind, who he would forget about in a few months time.
Yeah, that absolutely did not happen.
Not even two days later the man somehow found your practice schedule– you had deep suspicion Jade was his source– where he had waited outside for you to finish up, standing on the cold with not even an ounce of exasperation.
“... You waited for me to finish practice?” You question, your practice bag slung over your shoulder. You stared at John Logan, dumbfounded. He was standing outside of the Briar gymnasium where your practice was held, hands shoved in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket, a happy smile on his face.
“You said if I wanted your number, I’d need to earn it. Here I am, earning it.”
“You’re being serious?” You question, and you look back to your teammates, all of whom had stopped in their tracks, watching the scene with a mixture of expressions. Some shocked, some giddy. The only part of the expressions that stayed consistent was how everyone was smiling from ear to ear.
“Yes.”
You falter– stammer, quite honestly– and you feel like your head is about to explode, because you never expected that John Logan would take you to your word. You stand there for about thirty seconds, baffled into silence, when Louisa finally nudges you in the ribs, knocking your thoughts back into your head.
“I mean, a deal’s a deal,” you say after leaving the poor guy standing in silence for far longer than necessary. You don’t miss the way his face lights up, and you watch as he hurries over to you, digging out his phone from his pocket.
He unlocks it, passing you the phone, and you go to his contacts, creating your own.
You look back up at him, face held with faux seriousness, “What number should I be? Girl thirty-five? Thirty-six?”
“Number one works.”
You snort, “Number one? Be serious.”
“I am,” he says with a playful grin. “I’m not a total player. Anymore, at least.”
“Mhm,” you nod. “Well, you’re number fourty-seven in my phone, so–”
He snorts at that, a loud laugh escaping him, and his smile is still wide on his face as you hand him his phone back. He looks down at the screen, clicking onto your contact. You’ve written your name and put a little volleyball emoji next to it, which has him looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Just so I won’t get lost in your sea of girls,” you elaborate.
“It’s more like a plastic fair bag now, but okay.”
For whatever reason, that had you seeing hearts because holy shit he was funny. But you compose yourself enough to not tackle him to the floor with a frenzied kiss.
In fact, ever since that encounter, you’ve learned to compose yourself in many ways. Basically whenever you guys hang out. Because, despite wanting to kiss the ever-loving shit out of him every time you guys were together, you had composed yourself with major difficulty. In the two weeks he’d had your number– the two weeks that you guys had been doing random, stupid shit together– you had only made out with John Logan three times. And each time, it had only been making out. Nothing more.
As it turned out, John Logan really was a man of his word. He had no expectations for whatever the fuck was going on between you two. During the three times you two had made out, it had caught him by surprise each time. Not that he wasn’t into it; he was extremely into it. He just hadn’t been expecting any kissing.
You had been the one to initiate it each time, and he was there to happily oblige.
Which, unfortunately for you, only made him hotter.
Still, most of your hangouts would be what many would deem as boring. He’d pick you up from your practice most nights, and then you guys would get food; always your choice, even when you tried to make him choose. You’d sit in his car and talk about whatever– you had even gone on a rant one time on how a block of cheese was technically a loaf of milk, and the guy had nodded along with full seriousness as if you had just said the most logical thing he’d ever heard.
You’d also gone over to his house a few times, gotten to know the teammates that he lives with (his best friends). And their girlfriends, of course. As it turn outs, Allie and Hannah were fun as fuck. The number of times you guys had played Just Dance on the guys’ TV was astronomical for the limited amount of time you’d known the group; you had become fluent with the Rasputin dance. And, God, you didn’t even want to calculate the number of late nights you had stayed at the house, beating the absolute shit out of Tucker and Dean in Mario Kart with Allie.
You swore sometimes you had more fun with John’s friends than him.
You had even told John that to his face once; his response was to give you the most dramatic pout he could muster, which, in turn, caused you to make out with him for the third time. He was smiling after that.
Out of all your hangouts, though, most of them were dedicated to you doing something of importance while he just sat beside you and watched.
Such as right now.
You were in the Briar U library, flipping through one of your textbooks as you took notes for an upcoming midterm. You weren’t all that worried about it since the class was relatively easy, but you still wanted to study. Just in case.
You would’ve been nearly done with studying had a little leech not been bothering you the entire time.
You side-eyed Logan as he flipped through your stack of notecards, watching as he let out a bored breath of air. He then reached over, grabbing your pencil pouch, where he opened it, grabbing an orange sparkly pen from inside.
Instantly, you snatch it from his grip.
“Absolutely not.”
“What?” He asks, eyes wide in a playful manner. His boredom was swept away in a matter of seconds, and he straightened up, leaning closer to you.
“That’s my lucky pen, and I swear to everything if you took away its luck with your grubby hands–”
“Grubby?”
“– I will kill you.”
He smiles, something he can’t seem to stop doing around you, and sinks back into his chair. “Fine.”
“Good,” you say, returning to your notes. But not before you lift your eyes to look at him, where you mutter, “Just sit there and look pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Why else would I have kept you around?”
He laughs quietly, “So my looks are all I’m good for?”
“That and your friends.”
“Wow.”
This time it’s you who smiles and you can’t stop yourself as you lean over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
You’re quick to get back to the task at hand– studying– because if you don’t, you know you’ll see the dopey expression on John’s face. If you see that, you know that three make-out sessions will immediately turn into four. And you know that can’t happen in the middle of a fucking library where people are studying, so you distract yourself instantly, flipping back through the pages of your textbook.
It’s silent for a couple minutes as he watches you, completely content with where he’s at. But he sits up suddenly, seemingly remembering something, and then he says, “You should come over tonight.” His fingers were tapping against the wood of the table as he spoke, his eyes watching your hands as you paused on a page, a flash of confusion corrupting your expression. His eyes soften as a result, “Tucker said he’s trying out a new dish. You’d like it.”
“I can’t,” you respond without much thought, furrowing your brows as you flip back a few pages in your textbooks, and then in your notes. You’re trying to find a specific concept that you remember reading, but for some reason, you can’t find it anywhere; it’s the pure source of your confusion and it will stay that way until you find what you’re looking for. “The fuck?” You mumble, and then you look at John when he lets out a little snort, “Sorry– what’d you say?”
“You should come over,” he repeated, this time with a soft grin as he watched you. His eyes flickered over your face, scanning. It was something he always did when you spoke, like even the tiniest change in your facial expression was a portal to something holy.
“Oh, right,” you nod. You shake your head immediately after. “Can’t.”
“I heard.”
“Sorry,” you apologize, but your tone isn’t very sincere. Not as you flip a few more pages in your textbook, looking for the concept that seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. John doesn’t seem to care, his pretty smile still on full display.
“Why can’t you?”
“Late practice tonight,” you say, and then you turn to look at him, finally smiling at the softness in his eyes. “Y’know, for the championship in a couple days.”
“After, then. Come over. I’ll pick you up.”
“I won’t get out of practice until after 9. I’ve been sloppy with my saves these past few practices, and Coach Peters is really getting worried, so–”
“God, I love it when you talk volleyball to me,” he interrupts, to which you lose your smile and shoot him a harsh look because he knows what that does to you.
It was the reason for the other two times you had made out with him. And, fuck, it was about to be the fourth, because the man was unreasonably hot. You shake your head, deciding to scoot your chair away from his. Your self-restraint is quickly wavering, especially after you glance him over, allowing you to really absorb how good he looks in the sweatshirt he’s wearing. And, watching as you scoot away from him, he lets out a small sigh, scooting his chair closer. You give him a look, and he grins, scooting even closer, the side of his knee pressing against yours. Your eyes turn annoyed, and he innocently asks, “What?”
“You’re distracting me, and you know it,” you answer. “You do this on purpose.”
He hums, “So you’ll come over?”
“Yeah,” you say, as if it was the most obvious answer. When he smiles, you quickly add on, “only for the meal, though.”
“Obviously,” he nods with fake seriousness. “Why else would you?”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“No ideas are coming to mind.”
“Good. Because I’m just coming over to eat.”
“Yep.”
“So no kissing.”
“No kissing?” He whines, completely dramatic and not at all serious. You can see him fighting to keep the smile from his face, “Why not?”
“Keep it in your pants, Logan.”
“Oh, it hasn’t left my pants. My pants have remained perfectly intact, thank you.”
You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand before you piss off the librarian. You shake your head, and you look at him with a level of affection that is far stronger than it should be with how little time you have known the hockey boy.
“You’re insufferable,” you whisper with a big smile.
“I think you love it.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
You get out of practice at 9:34 p.m.
It’s later than you had been expecting, and you’re absolutely exhausted as you trudge over to John’s truck. You pull open the passenger side door, and he looks up from his phone with a soft smile as you toss your back to the floor, pulling yourself into your seat with a long sigh.
“You okay?”
“Sleepy,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes before turning your head to look over at him.
“You want me to take you back to your apartment?” He asks, his tone gentle as he watches you buckle your seatbelt. “You don’t need to come back to mine if you’re too tired. We can hang out another time–”
You shake your head, “No, I’m starving, and all I’ve been imagining for the past two hours is Tucker’s food.”
He laughs softly and nods, “Okay.”
When you finally get to the house that’s situated off campus, John cuts his engine, exits the vehicle, and walks around the front of his truck. He opens the passenger side door before you can even unbuckle, and you smile softly as he reaches over you, unbuckling the seatbelt for you.
“I could’ve done that myself, y’know?” You say, taking the hand that he held out for you. “I’m perfectly capable.”
He gave your hand a short squeeze as you hopped out of his truck, and he nodded, “I know. But you’re tired.”
Your eyes follow as he grabs your practice bag and slings it over his shoulder, using his foot to shut the passenger. His hand remains threaded with yours, and you him softly, “You’re playing gentleman tonight?”
“I’m always a gentleman. Get it straight.”
You laugh softly, giving him a slight nudge with your shoulder as you guys reach the front door. John opens it, and you walk in alongside him, instantly greeted with the delicious smell of whatever the hell Tucker cooked. Your stomach growled as a result, and your hand– still linked with John’s– squeezed his as you tugged him along to the kitchen, where his entire friend group was gathered, hanging out casually as they usually did.
Hannah notices you first, and she smiles softly, “How was practice?”
“Tiring,” you respond, finally releasing John’s hand. You slip into one of the island chairs next to Allie, and you thank Tucker quietly as he slips a bowl of fancy looking pasta in front of you. You grab your fork, twirl some pasta onto the prongs, and bite into it with a satisfied hum, “This is so fucking good, Tuck.”
He grins happily, “Logan said you would like it. It has parsley!”
“It’s delicious,” you nod, taking another bite. And as you do, you feel Logan come up behind you, his arms snaking around your front, his chin resting on the top of your head. You promptly ignore the warm feeling that flutters in your chest, eating more of the amazing pasta dish.
After finishing up the food, you and the rest of the group somehow migrate to the living room. You’re sitting on the couch beside Logan, tucked beneath his arm, your head resting against the crook of his shoulder as you watch Dean and Garrett play the worst game of silent charades that you had ever seen. Allie seemed borderline aggravated as she yelled out words that she thought aligned with the movements of the men only to then be pissed off because ‘Dean, what the fuck even was that?’.
You had to admit, it had been the funniest thing you’d witnessed in awhile.
And, you’re not sure when you fall asleep, all you know is that you’re woken sometime later in the evening by the soft touch of Logan, his eyes gentle as he carefully shifts you awake. You blink your eyes open, only to realize that all the others are heading to bed, and reach over Logan, grabbing his phone from his lap. You tap on the screen, checking the time; 12:17 a.m.
“Want me to drive you home?” He asks, using his thumb to swipe an eyelash from your cheek.
You groan in response.
“No?” He laughs, the hand that’s around your shoulders rubbing up and down your arm.
“Can I just stay here tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
He says the words immediately, and you’re caught entirely off guard as he stands from the couch, scooping you up in his arms with a scary amount of ease. Your eyes widen, arms scrambling to latch around his shoulders as you let out a quiet sound of panic, voice rushed as you breathe out, “John, what the fuck–”
“You’re tired.”
“Yeah, but I can still walk, you idiot. Oh my God, put me down–”
“We’re half way up the stairs and you want me to drop you?”
“If you drop me I’m never speaking to you again.”
He laughs again, this time filled with pure amusement as he continues scaling the stairs with you in his arms. Your arms stay hooked around his shoulders as he walks in the direction of his room, and carefully opens the door, stepping inside. Still, he doesn’t bother to put you down just yet. He holds you as he shuts the door behind him, his grip on you steady while he walks over to his desk, switching on the lamp.
When he finally sets you down, he plops you onto his mattress, not giving you much time before he’s draping himself over you with a satisfied sigh, and you can’t help the smallest giggle that leaves your chest, your hands pressing against his front.
“You’re crushing me.”
“Whoops.”
He makes no attempt to move, and again, you push against his shoulders, “You’re comfy, but I’m still in my volleyball clothes, and I want to change–” You stop suddenly, groaning with dismay.
Instantly, he pushes himself off you.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“I have no clothes to change into.”
“Just wear my stuff,” he says, pulling himself from you completely. He stands with a stretch, and you watch as the bottom of his sweatshirt rises just enough for you to see a sliver of his stomach. Fuck, you were going to go feral.
You clear your throat, and clap your hands once, “Then chop chop, hockey boy.”
It only takes him a few seconds to grab you something to wear; he comes up with a pair of plaid boxer shorts and a Briar hockey sweatshirt with the number 22 on the back. As you take the clothing, you raise your eyebrow, “No other sweatshirts?”
“Nope, that’s my only clean one. Sorry.”
And the man’s a fucking liar because behind him, where is closet is just partially open, you can see at least four more regular sweatshirts hanging, completely clean.
“Huh,” you mutter. “You must be blind.”
“That’s the only clean one,” he repeats. “So, better go ahead and change into it.”
You laugh, shaking your head. Standing, you clutch the clothing in your hands, and as you pass him, you press a soft kiss to his lips– which, holy shit, it’s the first time you’ve ever done that as if it were second nature– and you mumble, “You really are insufferable, Logan.”
He hums against your lips, his hand going to your jaw as he presses a couple more soft kisses to you. You can’t help but smile, and you lean back, gazing up at him. You don’t say anything, just run a hand through his hair, and your smile turns giddy as you pull back fully, your bottom lip tucking beneath your teeth as you try to bite back your grin.
You point to the bathroom that’s connected to his room, “I’m gonna go change.”
He nods with a happy smile, responding in that soft voice that you realized he only uses with you, “Okay.”
Once changed, you exit the bathroom, finding John already in his bed, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. You walk over to his bed, not saying a thing as you plop down on his mattress, stretching out across his mattress.
“Cozy?” He asks as he turns on his side to face you.
“Yeah. It’d be better if we were cuddling, though.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Not that I expect you to do that, though,” you say the words playfully. “I mean, I’ve never watched you play, but I assume you’re the same on and off the ice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re not good at taking the shot, if you get what I mean–”
“Shut up,” he laughs, and he grabs your arm, gently tugging you to him. You grin, getting situated against his body, one of your legs draped across his while your arm rests over his torso, your head settled comfortably on his chest with your ear pressed right over the beating of his heart.
And you stay like this for a while, just until you’re on the brink of falling asleep. But before you can slip into that peaceful state of bliss, a question you had been meaning to ask– a question you had been too nervous to ask– comes to mind.
You’re not able to stop yourself from asking it.
“You wanna come to the championship and watch me play?” You question from where your head is still tucked against his chest, your voice whispers into the fabric of his sweatshirt and against his skin that lies beneath it. “It’s a three hour drive away.”
You feel him let out a soft breath of air, his fingers dancing gently along the fabric of his sweatshirt that covers the dip of your back. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, coated with a layer of sleepiness, “I want to, and I tried to find tickets, but they’re all sold out. Even Allie tried to find some and she couldn’t, which means I’m shit out of luck.”
“I’ve got tickets,” you say. “My teammates and I each got six tickets. Thought you might want them. You and your friends can go. They’re good seats.”
You can practically feel the frown in John’s expression as he asks quietly, “You’re not gonna give them to your family?”
“No,” You swallow thickly and do your best to keep your eyes shut because you know John’s looking at you now. His fingers stopped trailing along your spine as a result of the change in your tone and your body language, and you sigh against him. Might as well get it out of the way. “I just– I did everything I could to get out of my house as a teenager. To get away from my parents and the rest of my family. I don’t really feel like giving them a straight ticket back into my life, y’know?”
He’s quiet for a second before he nods, speaking softly, “Yeah, I know. I get it.”
“I’ve never had anyone in any of the seats during my games,” you continue. “I just thought it would be kinda nice to have that for once. You don’t need to, though. I know it’s really last minute, and–”
“No, I’ll go,” John interrupts you before you can finish. “We all will. Me and the guys. And Hannah and Allie. The six of us will go.”
“You sure?”
He laughs softly, tiredly, and nods, “Yeah, baby, I’m sure.”
Oh my God, you were going to fucking implode. But you hold in the desperate need to squeal like a dumbass, and instead bite the inside of your cheek to fight against the wide grin that wants to break out on your face.
After composing yourself enough to not make a complete and utter fool of yourself, you nod, and tilt your head up, pressing the softest kiss to his jaw.
He smiles as a result, the smallest shade of pink flushing his cheeks.
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m excited.”
“Me too.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
John Logan was your goodluck charm.
The guy had to be, because this was the best fucking game you had ever played in your life. Sure, the first set wasn’t the best for Briar U, but that was okay given you guys were playing against Penn State. The team had won every single game so far this season, so, in short words, they were good as hell. They’d also won the NCAA Championship for the past five years, which was devastatingly nerve wracking knowing you were against the best team D1 volleyball currently had.
Still, tonight, you and your teammates came with a mission; you were going to win.
And, fuck, was it looking promising.
Despite Penn State winning the first set, Briar U had won the other two.
They weren’t wipeouts, but that didn’t matter, because you had won them.
That meant that if you and your teammates somehow managed to win this fourth set, you’d place Briar as the fucking NCAA Women’s Volleyball Champions for the first time in over ten years. It’d be an insane feat, and you had to fight from getting too excited about the possibility, especially because right now, it was looking very likely.
So far, you’ve saved every stray ball, hitting it back to your teammates or over the net with ease. As you played, your smile never left your face. Not even as you dove for the ball, saving it as you slid across the polished wood floor.
That didn’t mean Penn wasn’t doing good, though. Because they absolutely were.
They were playing with a fierceness of a team who wanted this win just as badly as you did; it felt like an even playing field, and while that could be fun, tonight it was terrifying.
Right now, the score was 22 to 23. The set was almost over, and it was in Briar’s favor. If you guys got two more points, you were winning the match. If you won, you’d be the first captain in over ten years to lead Briar to a volleyball victory and that’s exactly what you were planning on doing.
No way did you fight this hard only to lose.
You were hovering near the back of the court, watching as Jade surged forward, tapping the ball over to the right of the court. Instantly, your teammates rallied toward the ball, leaving the left side of the court completely unguarded, and your eyes lingered on the ball, watching as Louisa sprinted forward, feet fast as she jumped up, spiking it over the net.
The middle hitter on the Penn State team hurried forward, blocking the spike with a bump of her arms, and you watched as the ball practically hovered over the net.
Right to the spot that was unguarded.
You’re not sure how you moved as fast as you did– one second, you were at the back right of the court, and the next, you were flying in the upper left, body in the air as you threw yourself forward, your right hand bumping the ball back to your teammates just before it hit the ground on your side of the net.
Your body hit the floor with a thud, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because the moment you had successfully executed the move, your side of the room erupted in loud cheers. It shook the floor as you stood up, and you didn’t waste any time as you sprinted back to the center of the court.
Just in time, too, because the setter of Penn State sent a lethal spike in your direction, and you dropped to a knee, forearms out as the ball bounced from your skin and back over the net. Two saves in a matter of seconds, and you could literally see your coaches losing it from pure happiness in the corner.
You probably looked like a cocky motherfucker, your lips upturned in the smallest of smiles as you shuffled backward, and then dove sideways, saving yet another ball from being spiked into the ground.
And yeah, you were definitely right– John Logan was totally your lucky charm tonight because holy fuck, you were even impressing yourself.
More cheers sounded throughout your side of the room, increasing tenfold as Liliana jumped, spiking the ball down to the back corner of Penn State’s side, earning Briar U their 24th point of the fourth set.
It was an exhilarating sound, and you laughed with pure joy as you ran over to Liliana, the rest of the girls on your side of the court meeting halfway. You huddled with pure glee; one more point, and you guys were winning.
All you needed was one more point.
Leaving the huddle, you guys got back into your positions. You watched as Macey served the ball, starting what would hopefully be the final round of the night.
The Penn girls were quick to rally on the ball; they moved it over the net with ease, and you watched as Jade ran, hitting it back over the net. It went back and forth for a bit, the round intense. It felt like it was purely silent save for the cheers from supporters that erupted when either side had a good save or hit.
You watched as the libero for Penn bump the ball with her wrist, causing it to go over the net. And then you see as the entire team moves away, going near the back of the court, like they knew what the next play was going to be; a spike ball.
Except it wasn’t that at all.
No, it’s the complete opposite, because you’re in the exact spot that you’re meant to be in for this current play. You’re close enough that the ball clearly belongs to you at this moment, and you run up, arms carefully bumping the ball over the net.
It barely catches the top before it topples over to Penn State’s side.
The girls hadn’t been expecting it; they’re unable to move fast enough from where they had migrated to the back of the court with the expectation that Liliana or Louisa were going to spike the ball over the net, a move that had earned you guys many wins this season.
They hadn’t been expecting you to run up and hit the ball with your forearms in such a way that it only just made it over the net.
You watched as the volleyball hit the floor on Penn’s side.
Holy fuck.
You’d scored the winning point.
You can’t even process the fucking thing, because you’re instantly bombarded by your teammates– ones both on and off the court– as they swarm into a pile around you, the deafening cheers of the crowd blocking out the cheers from your own teammates who stood around you.
You guys are jumping up and down, and you’re not even sure when you stop, because one moment you’re celebrating with your teammates and coaches, and the next you’re following after your teammates, running towards the people who had come to watch you in the stands.
And you find him instantly.
John Logan is standing in the front row– because, yes, the seats were great– with his friends next to him, all of them grinning ear to ear as they cheered for you.
Your feet moved like they had a mind of their own; you’re sprinting to John like he’s the only thing you’re even capable of thinking about at the moment, and that’s because he is.
When you finally reach him, you practically leap into John’s arms, your hands threading around the back of his neck with a tight grip, and you have the widest smile on your face as you press your lips firmly against his.
He reciprocates the kiss instantly, hands clutching your waste as he leans down to match your lips.
It’s soft, not anything over the top, but fuck does it have you wanting more.
As you pull away, you stare up at John with an excited spark in your eye.
“So kissing’s a thing we do regularly now?” He asked, the happiest grin you’d ever seen on his face. “That’s okay now?”
“Yeah,” you nod, your grin matching his. “I’d say so.”
summary: When you confessed your love to the idiot on the hockey team and he rejected you like a coward… only to write you 22 letters later, ignore your silent treatment, and confess everything to you in the rain like he’s in a Nicholas Sparks movie. Because of course, talking like a normal person is too hard, but declaring eternal love while soaking wet is totally reasonable.
warnings: Prepare yourself for some angst with a happy ending, fueled by heavy pining and absolute emotional constipation. This story features miscommunication (but make it dramatic) and, yes, literal kisses in the rain. Expect Logan being a simp in denial, lots of crying in aprons and on shoulders, and friends who consistently give much better advice than the main characters actually listen to. Fair warning: you will experience severe secondhand embarrassment, endure excessive dramatic monologues, and encounter plenty of swearing along the way.
a/n: hey guys, I’m back! I hope you like it. You have no idea how fucking much I love kisses in the rain. Sending you a kiss — I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. xoxo
part one.
'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"
And your eyes look like comin' home
All I know is a simple name
And everything has changed
(Guys, you lost me.)
I don’t know what to do with this. With all this love I have for him. I don’t know where to put it now.
The world kept spinning like nothing had happened. And I hated it a little for that.
Every morning I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror of my room with that question stuck somewhere inside me, unanswered, with nowhere to go. Love doesn’t disappear just because you want it to. It doesn’t work like that. There’s no switch, no drawer where you can stash it and lock it away. It was just there, huge and useless, taking up space that no longer had anyone to belong to.
When was the last time I actually slept?
I couldn’t remember.
I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but fuck, not talking to him had hit me hard.
I washed my face with ice-cold water until my cheeks burned to bring down the swelling, then I put on concealer under my eyes and a little blush so I wouldn’t look so dead. War paint, I told myself. As if calling it that turned it into something that required courage instead of just the small, sad act of trying to look like a functional person.
Today I finally decided to leave my cave—my incredible, comfortable bed—to dignify myself with going to work. One of the perks of your mom being the owner is that she really doesn’t care if you miss work. I think she’s even at peace when I’m not at the café. It must be exhausting to see me moving around like a ghost in an apron.
The walk was twelve minutes. Janis was still at the car wash, so I had no choice. I usually didn’t mind walking, but now I couldn’t stand those twelve minutes alone with my thoughts. Before, I’d spend them with music or my phone in my hand, answering Logan’s messages like a dumb teenager. Now I just wore the headphones without playing anything. Just the dead weight of them as an excuse for no one to talk to me. So I could be, for those twelve minutes, exactly as broken as I was before having to pretend I wasn’t.
I’d been replaying the same moments all weekend. The feeling of his lips against mine. His big, warm hands closing around my hips. The way he looked at me right before he kissed me, like he’d been holding back for years. The hoarse sound that escaped his throat when I kissed him back. Everything played on loop, sharp, cruel, perfect.
And then came the memory of the next morning. His voice in the kitchen.
“I fucked everything up.”
“I need you to leave.”
I shook my head and picked up my pace, as if I could leave the memories behind on the sidewalk.
“The only thing I learned that night,” I muttered, dropping my forehead onto the table with a dull thud, “was that I should’ve stayed home.”
We were sitting at one of the outdoor tables in the central courtyard at Briar, under a sun that felt way too cheerful for my mood. I had a coffee that had already gone cold between my hands. Sarah was nibbling on an apple with a bored face, and Alison was stirring her chocolate milkshake with a straw while listening to me repeat the weekend story for the thousandth time.
Sarah let out a snort and ran her hand down my arm in a caress that was supposed to be comforting but mostly looked like she was holding back laughter.
“What if he’s gay and just hasn’t realized it yet?” she whispered mischievously, leaning toward me.
Alison let out a short, dry laugh.
“Men,” she said ironically, clinking the ice in her drink. “Tell them you love them and you’ll never see them again. They disappear faster than my patience on a Monday morning.”
“God, my life sucks,” I lamented, letting out a pitiful groan against the cold wood of the table.
The silence lasted barely two seconds before Sarah leaned in closer.
“For God’s sake! You’re twenty-two years old, what do you know about life?” she exclaimed, though her voice had that protective tone she always used when she saw me like this. “You’re beautiful, smart, and never apologize for feeling things, for setting boundaries, or for having ambitions, babe. Got it?”
I lifted my head enough to look at her. Sarah had that kind of confidence I envied with all my soul: short hair, sharp gaze, and a tongue that could destroy male egos in less than ten words. Alison was the same, only more cruelly funny. Both of them were like a man’s ego put into the bodies of beautiful, fearless women. The exact opposite of me right now.
“Besides,” Alison continued, pointing at me with her straw, “if John ‘Eat Me’ Logan is dumb enough to let you go after you told him you loved him, then fuck him. There are more guys at Briar. Most of them are worse, but at least some know how to use their mouths for something more useful than babbling excuses.”
I tried to smile, but it only came out as a crooked grimace. I knew they were saying it to cheer me up. I knew their words came from a good place. But none of that took away the weight I felt in my chest.
“Who needs therapy when I have you guys? Hooray…” I said in a tired but sincere voice.
But then I saw him.
Logan was walking along the path that crossed the courtyard with that stride of his I knew by heart—not too fast, not too slow, that way of moving that had always felt somehow inevitable. Tucker was beside him talking about something, hands in his pockets, and Logan had his head slightly tilted toward him with no expression at all.
And then he looked up.
I don’t know if it was instinct or bad luck, but his eyes went straight to mine. Without searching. Without hesitation. Like he already knew exactly where I was before he looked.
His brown eyes locked onto mine.
And I saw everything on his face in the space of a second: the impact of finding me there, the tension that rose up his jaw, something that could have been relief or pain or probably both at the same time. He had dark circles. A tight line between his eyebrows that I hadn’t seen before, or maybe I had and just didn’t know what it meant at the time.
Now I did.
He stopped dead.
Tucker took two more steps before realizing and turning around. I saw the exact moment he processed the situation—his eyes going from Logan to me and back to Logan—and something in his face closed off with an expression that wasn’t exactly pity but was too close for my comfort. Logan watched me with a mix of pain, regret, and something else I didn’t dare name. He took an involuntary step toward our table, like his body reacted before his brain. Tucker, beside him, noticed immediately and grabbed his arm firmly, stopping him.
Logan didn’t even look at him.
His eyes moved quickly over mine, my mouth, the line of my jaw, scanning my expression with an urgency that almost hurt.
He didn’t even like me. Why was he torturing me like this?
His lips parted slightly and then closed. I could see him working inside, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers briefly clenched into a fist and then opened. His entire posture was a question. Almost a plea.
Give me something. Anything.
I felt my heart rise to my throat and stay there, huge and inconvenient, pulsing with a force that I’m sure showed on my face.
No. I’m not going to be the one who does it this time.
I can’t be the one again.
I looked away with effort, breaking the contact like I was tearing off a piece of my own skin. I lowered my head and tightened my fingers around my coffee cup until my knuckles turned white.
“I’m not taking the first step,” I whispered, more to myself than to them, though the words came out loud enough.
“Bravo girl, Bravo” Sarah said proudly, giving me a gentle pat on the back. “Let him crawl this time.”
----
J.L
I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands, feeling like my chest was going to explode. In my head, the same image played on loop without stopping: the way her eyes filled with pain. And then she looked away. Like looking at me burned her. Like I was something she could no longer stand.
Like I was something she could no longer stand.
The three of them looked at me in silence. It was weird seeing the guys so quiet. Disturbingly weird. Normally Dean would’ve already said some shit to lighten the mood, but even he didn’t dare. Garrett had his arms crossed and his jaw tight, staring at the floor. Tucker was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at me… with a lot of pity.
How fucked up was I?
“…I ruined everything,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.
Dean let out a dramatic sigh and threw himself onto my bed like it was his.
“Yeah, we already know that. The question is: what the hell are you going to do about it?”
I stayed quiet for a long time. The knot in my throat was choking me. I ran my hands through my hair, pulling harder than necessary, as if the physical pain could organize the chaos inside me.
“I’m in love with her,” I admitted almost angrily. “I love her eyes… fuck, I love the way she looks at me like I’m someone decent. I love her hair, the way it falls in her face when she’s focused. I love her smile when she hears the stupidest thing that comes out of my mouth… like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her.” My voice was shaking by the end. I stood up without really knowing why. I needed to move, I needed to do something with my body because if I stayed still I was going to explode. I stood in the middle of the room like an idiot. “She confessed everything to me… and I told her I couldn’t. What kind of son of a bitch does that? After what happened that night?”
Dean, for the first time in a long time, didn’t make a joke. He just looked at me seriously.
“Bro… you’re really fucked.”
Garrett moved.
He’d been silent the whole time, staring at some point on the floor, and that silence from Garrett was what had me the most nervous since they arrived.
He leaned forward. Looked straight at me.
“So what are you going to do now? Because avoiding her and looking at her like a lost puppy isn’t working.” He said it without cruelty, but without softening it either. “Listen to me, Logan. You’re a mess, I know. But you can’t go dump all of this on her at once.” He paused, choosing his words. “She’s hurt. Really hurt. If you go now and tell her everything you’re feeling, she’s going to think it’s pity or that you’re confused. You have to take it slow… but don’t drag your feet. Do it right. Approach her little by little. Start by asking for forgiveness. Be honest, but gentle. Give her room to breathe.”
Garrett continued:
“You know where she works. You should go. Not like an ambush, just you. Order a coffee, sit down… and talk to her. On her turf. No pressure.”
Tucker pushed off the wall. He nodded slowly.
“Fast, but careful. Show her with actions that it wasn’t a mistake.” His voice was calmer than Garrett’s, quieter, but just as firm. “That she wasn’t a mistake.”
-
-
-
I stood in front of the café door for almost ten minutes, hands in the pockets of my jeans, my heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted to get out. The smell of fresh coffee and sweet bread reached me from inside, but it didn’t calm me. It did the opposite. It reminded me of her. Of her hands moving with that calm motion behind the counter, of how she bit her lower lip when she focused on making a latte.
Breathe, Logan. Don’t fuck this up again.
I pushed the door open and the little bell sounded way too loud in my ears. There weren’t many people. A couple of occupied tables and her behind the counter, cleaning the espresso machine. She was wearing the black apron she always wore, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail with some strands falling in her face. God… she looked beautiful.
I approached the counter with heavy legs. She looked up for a second, her eyes passing over my face without stopping, like I was just another customer. No surprise. No pain. Nothing. Just cold indifference.
Ouch. I deserve that.
“A black coffee, please,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
She nodded without meeting my eyes and turned toward the machine. Her shoulders were tense. I knew that body language. She was holding herself back.
Say something, John. Now.
“…I need to talk to you,” I murmured, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Alone. Please.”
She didn’t respond. The sound of the espresso machine filled the silence between us. She served the coffee with precise movements, placed the cup in front of me, and wrote something on the order slip like I hadn’t said a word.
“That’ll be four fifty,” she said, looking at a point over my shoulder.
“Hey… please,” I insisted, leaning a little over the counter. “Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve even that, but…”
She took the bill I held out without brushing my fingers. She gave me the change with the same empty expression, like she was serving a stranger. Her eyes didn’t meet mine even once. It was worse than if she had screamed at me. That indifference was destroying me inside.
She’s hurt. Really hurt. Shit, Garrett was right.
“I understand that you don’t want to see me,” I continued, almost in a whisper. “But I can’t keep going like this. What I did… was shitty. I was shitty. I need to explain…”
“Here’s your change,” she cut me off in a neutral voice, placing the coins on the counter. Then she turned back to the machine and started cleaning again, giving me her back.
The knot in my throat tightened so much I thought I was going to choke. I stood there like an idiot, the coffee burning my hand and my chest on fire. I wanted to jump over the counter, grab her by the arms, and force her to look at me, to see everything that was eating me alive inside. But I couldn’t. Not after what I’d done to her.
I took the coffee and sat at one of the tables in the back, where I could see her. I wasn’t moving from there. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for as long as it took.
I’m not giving up on you. Even if you ignore me. Even if you look at me like I no longer exist. I’m going to prove to you that you weren’t a mistake. That you never were. That you’re the only thing I want in this fucking life.
-
-
-
“Hey, kid!”
A strong, decisive voice snapped me out of my sleep. I blinked, confused, my cheek stuck to the table and a trail of drool that didn’t even embarrass me. The café was empty. The chairs were already up on the tables and the main lights were off. Only the dim light from the counter remained.
In front of me was her mom. And fuck… she was just as pretty as her daughter. The same expressive eyes, the same way of tilting her head when she was half amused and half serious, the same hair falling softly over her shoulders. Seeing her was like seeing a more mature, confident version of her. It hurt my soul.
“What, you think this is a hotel?” she said in a half-mocking, half-annoyed tone. “You’ve been sleeping there for like three hours, drooling on my table. We closed a while ago.”
I sat up quickly, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, my face burning. I looked around desperately.
“Did she… already leave?” I asked, my voice thick.
She let out a soft, almost maternal laugh and shook her head while picking up a rag.
“My daughter left a while ago. She said she had things to do.” She looked at me for a second longer, with that warmth she’d always had toward me. “You okay? You look… tired.”
Ma’am, I’m trying to prove to your daughter that I’m not a complete son of a bitch.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” I lied, standing up. My neck hurt like hell. “I just wanted… to talk to her for a bit.”
She pointed at the door with the mop. “Come on, out. I have to open early tomorrow and I’m not leaving you here as decoration.”
I got up unsteadily, still half-asleep and with a sore neck. I tried to keep some dignity, but it was hard with the table mark on my cheek and my hair a mess.
She took the mop and gave me a gentle but firm push toward the door, like she was shooing out a big, clumsy dog that didn’t want to leave.
“Ma’am, I just—”
“Out, out,” she cut me off playfully, opening the door. “I open early tomorrow and I’m not tripping over you drooling on my tables. I don’t know what happened between you and my daughter, but I hope you can fix it soon. It kills me to see her walking around like a ghost. Good night.”
The cold of the night hit me as I stepped out. The door closed behind me with that cheerful little jingle that now sounded like mockery.
I stood there on the dark sidewalk, running my hands over my face.
How pathetic. Ugh.
---
“Hi…” The low, close voice startled me so much I let out a small scream and nearly dropped the cup from my hands. I spun around, heart hammering in my throat.
Tucker took a step back and clutched his chest with one hand, eyes a little wide.
“Fuck… you scared me,” he muttered, breathing deeply, clearly surprised by my reaction. “Got a minute?”
I didn’t answer. Instead I stood there, pressing the cup against my chest like a shield. My pulse thundered in my ears.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck, uncomfortable, and looked down for a second before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, with that calm but heavy voice. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
I looked at him in silence. Tucker had always been the quietest. Seeing him here apologizing squeezed something in my chest.
“It’s not your fault, Tucker,” I answered quietly, forcing a weak smile. “Really. You didn’t do anything. You don’t have to apologize for something that wasn’t your responsibility.”
He frowned slightly, like he didn’t fully agree, and still insisted, but before he could say anything I beat him to it:
“It’s okay,” I added, trying to sound firmer than I felt. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone carrying this. Not you… not anyone.”
What a huge lie. I’m not fine. Nothing is fine. But what else can I say?
Tucker nodded slowly, still with that pitying look I hated so much. He stayed one more second, like he wanted to add something, but in the end he just murmured:
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. “Don’t lie to me.”
Crack.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
The knot that had been tightening in my throat for days, weeks, broke all at once. Tears flooded my eyes and I started crying uncontrollably, right there. Everything came out in a shaky, broken torrent.
“I really… I really didn’t want to like him,” I sobbed, covering my face with one hand. “I didn’t want to, Tucker. I tried not to… but it just happened. And now I miss him so much it hurts to breathe. I miss his stupid voice, the way he looks at me… I miss feeling safe with him. But he told me he couldn’t and… and I had to walk away. I needed to walk away. I don’t know how to keep pretending I’m okay when everything reminds me of him. He’s been coming nonstop, leaving these stupid letters I haven’t even bothered to open, and fuck, it complicates everything when I see him on campus… I’m drowning. I regret going to that stupid party. I regret confessing my feelings. If only… if only I’d held back a little.”
The tears kept falling, soaking my cheeks and my apron. I felt pathetic, exposed, but I couldn’t stop.
Tucker walked around the counter without saying anything. His steps were quiet, steady. Suddenly his arms wrapped around me carefully, pulling me against his chest in a warm, protective hug. I tensed for a second, but then I collapsed against him, crying harder into his sweatshirt.
“Shh… it’s okay,” he murmured against my hair, rubbing my back with slow, comforting strokes. “Cry as much as you need. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
I felt pathetic. I admit I really tried not to cry, but I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.
When will this suffering end?
I had to rip it out by the roots.
Maybe not right now. When I’m ready.
“Eight days!?”
They said it at the same time. Both of them. With the same incredulous face that made the lady at table three look up from her newspaper and stare at me like I was the problem.
“Shh, lower your voices.” I leaned on the counter with my arms crossed and waited for the echo to fade. “Eight days in a row,” I confirmed, lowering my voice.
Alison and Sarah were sitting on the high stools in front of the counter, their half-finished milkshakes in front of them and that look on both their faces that meant they weren’t letting me out of this conversation easily. The café was quiet at that hour, only four tables occupied and my mom in the kitchen making muffled clattering noises from the back. It was the kind of afternoon I normally liked. Calm. Manageable.
Until they showed up.
“And what does he do?” Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow while pointing at Logan’s table with her straw.
“He writes.”
“He writes?” Alison repeated, like the word didn’t quite fit, looking at me with a “Seriously?” face.
“He sits down, takes out paper, and writes. At first I thought he was studying, taking notes, whatever. Something normal.” I grabbed the rag from the counter and unfolded it, wiping the drops of chocolate Sarah’s straw had left. “But then on the third day he slipped a folded letter into the tip jar when he left.”
Both of them looked at the jar. It was there in its usual spot next to the register, completely innocent.
“In the tip jar?” Sarah pointed out, still not believing it.
“In the tip jar.”
“Why there?”
“Because I was giving him the silent treatment and every time he tried to talk to me I found something super urgent to do in the kitchen.” I folded the rag. Unfolded it. “So he stopped trying and found another way.”
Alison turned her stool slightly toward Sarah. Then looked at me.
“And what do the letters say?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Alison said slowly, her voice showing that something didn’t add up.
“That I haven’t opened them.”
“None of them?”
“None.”
Alison stared at me. Then at Sarah. Then back at me.
“How many letters total?” she asked, and something in her tone told me she was already bracing for the answer.
I wiped a part of the counter that was already perfectly clean.
“Twenty-two.”
The silence lasted exactly two seconds.
“Twenty-two,” Alison repeated, toneless.
“Sometimes he leaves me three in one day. He sits, writes, folds the paper, puts it in the jar, and starts again. Like he always has something more to say.”
“But why?” Sarah frowned, not in judgment but with the genuine confusion of someone trying to solve a puzzle. “I mean, what’s the point of him writing you letters if he’s the one who told you no?”
“Exactly what I keep asking myself.”
“And you have no idea what they might say?”
“None.” I shrugged, though the gesture came out a little forced. “Maybe it’s an apology. Or he wants us to stay friends and doesn’t know how to tell me in person. Or he just feels guilty and this is how he’s dealing with it. I don’t know.”
“Or maybe,” Alison said finally, measuring her words, “they say something that has nothing to do with any of those things?”
“Alison.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t say it.” I grabbed the rag again. “He made it pretty clear where things stood. The letters will be what they are, probably something I don’t need to read, and when I get the courage I’ll open them and that’s it.”
Sarah rested her chin on her hand and looked at me with that calm of hers that always felt slightly destabilizing.
“Do you have them on you?” she asked.
Of course I had them on me. I’d been carrying the wad folded in my apron pocket since Monday, but I had no explanation that made me look good. I took them out and placed them on the counter between the two milkshakes.
Alison and Sarah looked at them.
“Can we take a look?” Alison asked.
I glanced sideways at the table in the back. Logan was sitting with Dean Di Laurentis, a ridiculously hot blond who had always seemed almost unfairly attractive. They both had muffins they’d ordered a while ago in front of them. Logan was saying something with his elbows on the table and Dean was listening, leaning back in his chair with that half-smile of his, like he found the world generally entertaining. Neither was looking at me.
I shrugged.
“Whatever you want,” I said, and turned to clean the coffee machine. “They’re probably just apologies or something. I don’t think they’re a big deal.”
I heard the rustle of paper unfolding.
Silence. More silence.
The kind of silence you notice because there should be some comment and worryingly there isn’t. There should’ve been an “aw how sweet” or “look at his handwriting” or anything, but there was nothing, and that nothing started to itch somewhere I tried to ignore.
I turned around.
Alison had the letter in her hands and an expression I’d never seen on her. It wasn’t exactly surprise. It was something quieter, deeper, something that had settled on her face while she read and hadn’t moved when she stopped. Her eyes were still fixed on the paper.
“Oh,” she said.
Just that.
Oh.
Oh?
She passed the letter to Sarah without looking at her, pointing to a specific spot with her finger. Sarah read. I saw the exact moment she reached that part because her shoulders dropped a centimeter, she let out a very slow breath through her nose, and then she looked at me with an expression that was half tenderness and half something pretty close to “oh, sweetie.”
“This…” she started.
“What?” I said.
“This is pretty…”
I leaned over the counter without realizing it.
“Pretty what?”
The two of them looked at each other like accomplices and let out a small laugh.
“Give it to me,” I said.
Alison picked up the letter from Sarah’s hands.
“No.”
“Alison.”
“Nope.”
“Come on, it’s probably just a long apology—”
“It’s not an apology.” She said it without thinking and then closed her mouth like she’d said too much. Sarah pinched her.
I stayed still for a moment.
“What do you mean it’s not an apology?”
“Nothing, forget it.”
“Alison, if it’s not an apology then what—”
“When you’re ready you’ll read it and that’s it.” She leaned on the counter with a firmness that left no room for negotiation. “And don’t look at me like that, I’m serious. This is something you have to read alone and at the right moment, not here in the middle of your shift because we pressured you.”
“But I didn’t even want to know—”
“And now you do, right?”
I shut up. She was right. Damn it, she was right, because ten minutes ago I was perfectly convinced those letters were probably some elaborate apology or a request to stay friends and I didn’t need to read them to know they’d hurt anyway. And now I was leaning over the counter with my heart doing weird things because Alison had said “it’s not an apology” in that voice and—
A shadow fell over the counter.
The three of us looked up at the same time.
Dean Di Laurentis was standing on the other side of the counter. He didn’t say anything. He simply reached out, took the letter from Alison with a calmness that left no room for argument, grabbed another from the stack still on the counter, and placed them in front of me with startling ease.
I looked at him.
He held my gaze for a second, nodded slightly like he’d just done the most reasonable thing, then turned his head toward Alison.
And winked at her. Slowly. With total and absolute premeditation.
And he walked back to his table with his hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade, leaving calmly.
The silence he left lasted exactly three seconds.
Sarah and I looked at each other.
Alison’s cheeks were flushed. Alison, who had once told a guy trying to hit on her at a party that his technique was conceptually deficient. Alison, who in the three years I’d known her had never lost a millimeter of composure in front of any male human being.
She had flushed cheeks.
She picked up her milkshake. Took a long, absolutely deliberate sip while looking out the window.
“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered.
Sarah opened her mouth.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” Alison repeated without looking at her, with a calmness that didn’t match someone with cheeks that color.
Sarah closed it. But no one could wipe the smile off her face.
I looked down at the two letters in front of me on the counter. White paper, folded in three, nothing written on the outside. Just the paper. And underneath all of that, that phrase spinning nonstop: it’s not an apology.
If it wasn’t an apology, then what was it?
I didn’t want to know. Lies. Yes, I did.
It was past midnight. I was sitting on the floor of my room in my pajamas, with the twenty-two letters spread out on the rug around me in roughly chronological order of when Logan had left them in the tip jar. They formed a semicircle that completely surrounded me. From the outside it probably looked pretty bleak, but there was no one watching so it didn’t count.
I’d taken them out of the drawer where I’d been saving them one by one, with that weird mix of care and denial that didn’t make much sense if you analyzed it. I’d organized them. I’d been staring at them for a while, convincing myself that as soon as I opened them I’d find something manageable. An apology. Maybe several apologies, one per letter, with different wording because Logan had always been that meticulous when he wanted to be. Something that would hurt a little but that I could fold back up, put in the drawer, and move on with my life.
It’s not an apology.
Damn Alison.
I picked up the first letter.
I held it for a moment without opening it, fingers on the fold of the paper, staring at it like I could read through it. Logan had spent eight days sitting in the café writing things I didn’t understand why he needed to write.
He had told me no. He had chosen to reject me. Those were concrete, verifiable facts and there was no reason for any of this to mean something different from what I had already assigned it.
No reason.
I unfolded it.
Logan’s handwriting was exactly as I remembered, a little careless at the edges with some words crossed out and rewritten.
I read the first line.
I froze completely. This can’t be real.
“Oh, shit,” I said out loud.
Hockey.
I wasn’t really into hockey until I met Logan. Before, it was just that sport they showed on TV that my dad sometimes watched and that I completely ignored. Noise, ice, guys crashing into each other at speeds that made no sense. I didn’t get the appeal.
Now I know exactly how many points the team needs to advance to the next round. I recognize the plays. I can tell for sure when a referee is calling too many penalties and when a defenseman is being deliberately dirty. Which says a lot—and nothing good—about what John Fucking Logan does to a person’s critical judgment.
I sighed and sank deeper into my seat.
The stadium smelled of popcorn and that weird mix of sweat and excitement that exists in sports venues. The stands were full, Briar colors everywhere, and the noise was that constant, dull kind that after a while just becomes pressure. Sarah was gripping her soda cup with both hands like it was the only thing anchoring her so she wouldn’t lose her mind, while Alison had been taking pictures of a certain player wearing number sixty-six for twenty minutes.
Meanwhile, I just couldn’t stop looking at player number twenty-two.
You’re an idiot.
My conscience scolded me. We’ve hurt each other and I’m still sighing and staring at him like an idiot. Why can’t feelings have an off button? What’s the point of loving him if he doesn’t feel the same about me?
“You okay?” Alison leaned toward me with genuine concern that, in the three years I’ve known her, had never once fooled me.
“Perfect.”
“Sure,” Sarah said from my other side, without taking her eyes off the ice. “That’s why you have that face.”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t have a response that didn’t incriminate me. Technically, it was the idiot with number twenty-two skating on the ice who had unfinished business with me. Though “unfinished business” was a very generous way to describe a situation that basically boiled down to: I had made the huge mistake of feeling things I shouldn’t, he had told me he simply couldn’t (or didn’t want to) be with me, and since then I’d been trying to disappear from my own life as discreetly as possible.
I shouldn’t have come.
I knew it since this morning. I knew it the exact moment I opened the reminders app to see what I had pending and found “Briar Game — 8pm” marked in red. I’d written it down weeks ago, in another life almost, when Logan and I were still whatever we were before I ruined everything by being honest. And then, without meaning to, without looking for it, with that masochistic tendency I have and should probably work on with a professional, I went to the messages.
Just to see. Just to remind myself why what happened was the right thing.
And there it was, among three unanswered messages I had left on read with absolute cowardice. One that simply said: Hope to see you tonight.
The message that made me want to check my reminders list and the reason I was here tonight.
I should have ignored it. I should have stayed home with a movie, a pack of cookies, and some dignity intact.
Instead here I was, in the stands at Briar’s stadium, flanked by Alison and Sarah who were pretending—not very effectively—not to monitor me every thirty seconds, with my stomach in knots and my eyes fixed on one spot on the ice so I wouldn’t keep unconsciously searching for number twenty-two.
Because I was searching for him. That was the worst part. That despite everything, despite the days avoiding him and the speeches I’d given myself and the times I’d repeated that I was fine, my eyes found him on their own. Like they had their own memory. Like no one had told them the memo.
Logan skated well. That was the fundamental problem—that he was really good and knew it without being arrogant about it, and when he moved on the ice there was something about him that settled, that relaxed.
I looked away.
The scoreboard was two to one in favor of Briar and the atmosphere had that electricity of the final minutes of a close game. Alison had put her phone down and was standing without realizing it. Sarah was muttering something under her breath.
And then it happened.
Logan intercepted the puck in the offensive zone. He dodged the first defenseman with a turn that seemed physically impossible, the second with an acceleration that made the whole crowd collectively hold its breath, and shot.
Score.
The stadium exploded.
I stood up with everyone else. I clapped without thinking. Alison grabbed my arm screaming something I couldn’t hear over the shouts. Sarah whistled with her fingers in her mouth.
Then Logan raised his hockey stick.
He turned toward the stands with a smile—that smile I knew by heart and that right now was doing damage to me that had no name—and I saw it before I could prepare myself.
He pointed at me. What the fuck is that supposed to mean.
Straight. Unmistakable. With his arm extended and his eyes locked exactly where I was standing, like there weren’t three hundred other people in the stadium, like there was no chance he was pointing at anyone else, like he wanted to make sure there was absolutely no doubt.
The stands made that collective sound. That “oooh” people make when they smell drama from afar. And the commentator, the damn commentator, didn’t miss the moment:
“Looks like one of our favorite guys had his heart stolen tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t cry all at once, girls—there are still more players on the ice—”
Heat shot up my neck to my ears in about half a second.
Alison let go of my arm.
Sarah turned her head toward me very slowly, still looking stunned at what had just happened.
They both looked at me. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. And thank God they didn’t.
“No,” I said.
I grabbed my jacket from the seat. I put it on wrong, one arm inside out, and fixed it with more violence than necessary. My stomach was in a tight knot, my cheeks were burning, and my ears were ringing. I needed to get out of there.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I lied.
“Sure,” Alison said, glancing sideways at Sarah, who returned a worried look.
Neither of them made a move to follow me.
I went down the stands almost tripping twice, dodged three groups of people still celebrating, pushed the exit door with both hands, and the cold air hit me in the face the second I stepped out. Honestly, it was a relief. I needed that hit. I needed something to remind me that it was real, that I was real, that what had just happened inside that sweaty, noisy stadium had also been real.
He had pointed at me. In front of everyone. What the fuck.
I’m overthinking this.
I shouldn’t let it affect me. I shouldn’t let it break my decision to stay away from him.
I closed my eyes for a second and the commentator’s voice came back like a horrible echo: “Looks like one of our favorite guys got shot by Cupid tonight, don’t cry ladies—”
I wanted to die. For real. Not metaphorically. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole and not even spit out the bones.
I started walking fast. Then faster. The parking lot was dark and the streetlights made those blurry orange spots that multiplied on the wet asphalt, and I was only thinking about getting to the car, getting inside, and crying with dignity where no one could see me. I had parked Janis in the fifth circle of hell because I arrived late and there were no spots nearby, so when I finally found her I was going to be completely soaked.
Good. Perfect. Great. And it was raining.
Not just raining. Pouring. Like the entire universe had decided that tonight wasn’t humiliating enough and needed a little more drama. The water soaked my hair in seconds, ran down my neck, my shoulders, got into my shoes. Good. Perfect. Great.
I kept walking.
I had spent entire days convincing myself that what we had was just a friendship I had misinterpreted, that I had seen things where there was nothing, that when he told me no—when he simply told me he couldn’t give me what I wanted—it was the most honest truth anyone had told me in a long time. I had forced myself to accept it. I had forced myself to keep functioning.
And then he scored and pointed at me. Son of a bitch.
“Wait!”
I stopped.
I didn’t want to have stopped. It was a reflex, a betrayal by my own body recognizing that voice before my brain could tell it no, to keep walking, to pretend to be deaf, to die a little.
I turned slowly.
Logan was running toward me. With his hair completely stuck to his face and still in his team uniform darkened by the water, and his eyes—God, his eyes—searching for me with an urgency I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. Didn’t want to understand.
Wait.
Did he just leave his game? Just to talk?
“Stop,” he said when he reached me, breathing hard. “Please, stop.”
I looked at him. I tried to make my face say nothing. I tried to be a wall. I swear.
“Logan.” My voice sounded calmer than I felt. That was the only miracle of the night. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to apologize or explain anything, okay? It was me. I misread things, I was stupid, and—” I swallowed. “And when you told me about Hannah and I felt this bad, that was my problem. Not yours. So really, seriously, you can go back inside and—”
“For God’s sake, shut up.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Shut up.” He didn’t say it cruelly. He said it with something like desperation, jaw tight, eyes bright, rain running down his face like it didn’t exist. “Don’t regret anything. Please. Don’t.”
“Logan, I just—”
“I realized too late that she wasn’t you.” His skin was wet from the rain too (obviously), and one drop hung from the tip of his nose, about to fall. His brown eyes traced my face, moving over my eyes, my cheeks, and my mouth, before he said in a hoarse voice:
“I ruined everything.” He ran a hand through his soaked hair, a nervous, desperate gesture, like he didn’t know what to do with his own body. “I didn’t want Hannah. I never did. I just wanted someone to love, someone to spend the rest of my days with, and I was such an incredibly idiot, so completely blind, that I didn’t realize the person I actually loved was standing right in front of me.”
“Logan, stop—”
“It’s you.”
Oh God. My heart stopped. Literally. I swear it stopped.
“Stop—”
“And if your feelings are still the same, if you still love me, then right now—” his voice cracked a little there, just a little, but I heard it, I heard it clearly over the rain—“right now I’m telling you I want to spend the eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours, the five hundred and twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of every one of the three hundred and sixty-five days with you.”
The rain was starting to get heavier. The parking lot lights became orange and white spots behind him and I didn’t know if what was running down my cheeks was water or tears and honestly it didn’t matter anymore because no one was going to notice anyway.
“Don’t pity me,” I said, and my voice was no longer calm. “Don’t. You don’t have to—” I bit my lip. I was nervous, mostly because I really wanted to tell him how I felt and what I wanted. I took a deep breath and he cut me off instantly.
“Every single one,” he continued, like he hadn’t heard me, or like he had heard me perfectly and decided to ignore it. “No exceptions. No conditions. If I stay quiet, if I let another day go by without telling you that you’re the only thing that has made constant sense, I’m going to spend the rest of my life unable to forgive myself.”
“Stop, Logan, seriously, stop—”
“And I’m not going to let you give this story that ending.”
He took one step closer. Just one. But I felt it in my chest like he had closed miles.
“Nor will I allow myself to give our story an ending.” His voice had something broken and something completely certain at the same time and I didn’t understand how those two things could coexist. “A story that hasn’t even begun and that I’m already anxious to know the next chapter of. I’d rather die tomorrow knowing I loved you than live a hundred years wondering what it would’ve been like to be with you.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“Even it would be an honor if you broke my heart. Over and over, as many times as it took. Because even broken, even in pieces—” he paused and looked at me, and in his eyes there was something I had never seen before, something I recognized because it was exactly what I had felt all these months—“my heart would come back to you. Thirsty. Without conditions. Without holding anything back.”
My hands were shaking.
“I’ve always been a better person when I’m near you.” He said that lower, almost to himself, and it was what hurt me the most because I believed him. I believed him without wanting to. “And that’s something I haven’t told anyone until now. Because my heart is yours. Not from today. From way before I had the courage to admit it.”
He closed the last few feet between us.
“Forgive me. I’m asking you please.”
I shook my head. I tried to articulate something coherent.
“Don’t… don’t do this to me.” It came out broken, fuck. “Don’t do this to me now that I had already… that I had already…”
“What do you want me to do?” he cut in, and there was something urgent in his voice, something bordering on a plea. “Do you want me to pull the fucking moon down for you? I’ll become an astronaut for you. Tell me. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”
The rain pounded my shoulders.
“But I love you,” he said. “And that’s not going to change.”
I don’t know how long I stood there without saying anything. It could have been ten seconds or ten years and neither would have surprised me. I only heard the rain and my own breathing and the beating of something I had been trying to kill for weeks by ignoring it.
It was still there.
Stubborn. Damn stubborn heart. Damn body that doesn’t listen. Damn it.
I threw myself at him, wrapped both arms around his neck, and pressed my lips to his. The smell of his cologne mixed with the rain and completely intoxicated me. John froze for a second, motionless while my mouth was pressed against his. I thought, too late, that maybe he didn’t.
Shut up. He literally just bared his heart to you.
But then, as if lightning had struck him, John took a breath and cupped my face with his hands. He was kissing me back. I was kissing John Logan and he was kissing me. I went from being scared and breathless to a fire burning inside me in an instant.
John tilted his head and kissed me the way John was supposed to kiss—wild, and sweet, and entirely too confident in himself, all at the same time. He knew exactly what he was doing when his big hands slid into my hair, but it was the shudder in his breath and the slight tremble in his hands that drove me crazy. The fact that he had lost control as much as I had.
John pulled me even closer until we were pressed together, chest to chest. For the first time in my life, I understood why people said they could forget where they were, and he gave me a little bite on my lower lip, and then I touched his face, felt the rigid solidity of his jaw, and he kissed me like it was his job and he wanted a raise. He made a sound when I sank my fingers into his hair, like he liked it, and I wished it would keep raining like this forever, and never stop. Until he said my name, until he whispered it against my lips three times, I didn’t come back to reality.
“Huh?”
I opened my eyes, but my vision was unfocused.
Logan laughed. Softly, with his forehead almost resting against mine, his thumbs still on my cheeks, he laughed in that way of his that crinkled his eyes and that I had secretly collected for months like they were worth something.
They were. God, how much they were worth.
“Your name,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “I was calling you by your name.”
“Yeah.” I blinked. “I know. It’s just…”
“What?”
I looked at him. With his hair completely soaked and stuck to his forehead and that expression on his face I had never seen and now couldn’t stop looking at. The rain kept falling on both of us with that absolute indifference water has, that doesn’t distinguish between the most important moment of your life and any other Tuesday.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“Look,” I said, “I’m not… I mean, I’m not good at this. At saying things. The important things, I mean, the ones that really…” I made a vague gesture with my hand that meant nothing concrete. “You just told me a bunch of really big things and I’ve spent weeks convinced that this was all in my head and that you didn’t… that there was nothing and…” I breathed. “And right now my brain is completely fried and the words aren’t coming out in the right order.”
Logan didn’t say anything. He just looked at me.
“But I love you,” I blurted out, all at once, without elegance, without the firm voice I would have wanted. “I mean, I love you a lot. Too much, probably. For longer than I think is smart to admit out loud. And I tried to let it go, I really did, but it turns out I’m pretty bad at letting go of things that matter to me and you matter to me an amount that frankly seems excessive for my own well-being and—”
“Hey,” Logan said.
“What?
“Shut up.”
And he kissed me again. And for the first time I was glad I had parked Janis so far away.
Blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the owner’s super hot son works.
Warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.
Logan heard you before he saw you.
He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.
And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.
Logan’s older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, “Here comes Lottie.”
The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldn’t be visiting garages such as theirs.
Logan hadn’t entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.
Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garage’s office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.
Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.
You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. “Hi, Logan!”
He smiled politely, “Hey…”
“Did you save my girl?” You asked, batting your lashes.
Logan nodded, “She’s all fixed up for you,” he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.
You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.
Logan came over and handed you your keys. “You wanna try her out?”
You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driver’s side door. No beeping. Perfect.
You beamed at Logan. “You did it!”
He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.
You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.
You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.
He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.
Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didn’t care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls don’t worry about those things.
“Cash or card?” He asked.
You held up your metal black credit card.
Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.
“Thank you, Logan,” you told him kindly.
He shrugged politely, “It’s no problem.”
You smiled at him. He returned it, “Do you want your recei—“
Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.
He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.
+
A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.
He didn’t hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.
“Hi, Logan!”
“Hey…” He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, “Didn’t you pick up your car last week?”
You nodded. “Yep. But my AC is broken now…” You pouted.
Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, “Oh, I didn’t see that when I did the diagnostic last week—“
“Must be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,” you replied, tilting your head.
He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.
“Let me take a look,” he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.
As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, “How was your weekend?”
People don’t usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.
“It was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,” he responded casually.
You nodded along even though he couldn’t see you.
“Did you win?” You asked.
He laughed, an amused sound. “Yeah…yeah, we won.”
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.
“You like hockey?” He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.
You hummed, “I only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.”
Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.
“Recently, huh?” He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. “Who should I thank for putting you onto hockey?” He joked.
You smiled shyly and said, “You…”
His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. “Is it broken beyond repair?” You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.
He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. “Uhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.”
“Is that an easy fix?” You asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, the easiest.” He said.
You smiled in relief. “Thank goodness I have you fixing my car,” you told him.
He smiled at that.
He fixed your car, you chirped out a “Thank you, Logan!”, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.
“That the BMW girl again?” Logan’s dad asked as he stepped out the office.
“Yeah,” Logan replied, wiping his hands.
“Lottie back again so soon?” Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.
“You overcharge her?” His dad asked.
Logan looked at him, “Why would I do that?”
His dad shrugged, “Luxurious car fee?”
Logan squinted his eyes, “We don’t do that.”
Jeff piped in, “We could. She doesn’t even check her receipts.”
Logan looked between his dad and brother, “So what? We charge her fair and square.”
His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.
+
Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.
By week 7, Logan had had enough. It’s not that he didn’t like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when you’d come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.
But now he was noticing a pattern.
So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didn’t go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hi, Logan!” You beamed with a gleeful wave.
But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.
“Y/n,” he said, his tone serious. “This is the seventh time you’ve come to the garage.”
You nodded, “Nebula keeps acting up—“
“No, she doesn’t.”
You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.
His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. No, it wasn’t that. Logan isn’t an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didn’t need to come into his family’s garage.
Yet, you did.
Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your car’s oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.
Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. “I did those things to my car on purpose.” You confessed quietly.
Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.
“I watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,” you added. “And drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, and—”
“Y/n,” he held your chin with his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that to see me.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, “I…like seeing you. With or without Nebula.”
“You do?” You asked.
He nodded, “I do.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understanding—I like you and you like me.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You weren’t a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were just…you. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.
He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, “What did you do to her this time?”
You smiled sheepishly, “I jammed my gearshift…”
He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. “Okay…let me take a look.” He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.
summary: The thing about Logan is that he always knew what to say. He just kept finding reasons not to say it.
or: the five times Logan almost confessed and the one time he did.
notes: hii!! lazy sunday inspiration, this one is like sabrina short and sweet, hope you guys like it! enjoy your reading!!
warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, happy ending.
word count: 4k
I've been afraid of changing because I've built my life around you
You had met Logan at a rink.
This was, in retrospect, the most inevitable thing about you, that two people who had built their entire lives around ice would find each other on it. You had been eleven, in the middle of a spin sequence that wasn't working, frustrated enough that you had stopped and put your hands on your hips and glared at the ice like it had personally wronged you. He had been eleven too, sitting in the penalty box with his helmet off, watching you with the focused attention of someone who had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere else.
"Your left shoulder drops," he said.
You had looked at the penalty box. At the boy in it. At the hockey gear he was still wearing.
"Did I ask?" you said.
"No," he said. "But it does."
You had glared at him for a long moment. Then you had tried the sequence again with your left shoulder deliberately up and it had been better. Significantly better.
You had not told him that.
You had skated to the boards and looked at him.
"Why are you in the penalty box?" you said.
"Coach," he said, simply.
"What did you do."
"Argued a call."
"Was the call wrong?"
"Obviously," he said.
You had looked at him for another long moment.
"I'm (Y/N)," you said.
"Logan," he said.
Ten years later you were still talking.
one — the competition february, sophomore year
The thing about watching you skate was that it was completely impossible to be indifferent to.
Logan had been to enough of your competitions by now that he had developed what he privately considered a professional appreciation for figure skating, he understood the technical elements, the edge work, the difference between a clean landing and one that cost points. He had opinions about judging. He had once gotten into a fifteen-minute argument with Tucker about the scoring system.
He was, in other words, not watching you the way a normal person watched figure skating.
He was watching you the way he had been watching you for approximately five years without doing anything about it, which was with focused attention of someone who had accidentally learned the exact shape of their own feelings by observing them in a controlled environment and then never done anything with the information.
You were in the middle of your free skate program.
The arena was quiet, something that happen only when a competition in progress, a few hundred people all holding the same breath and you were in the center of the ice in a deep red costume that caught the light when you moved, and you were moving the way you always moved when you were doing this properly, like you were constantly sure of all the decisions and it was up to everyone else to accept it.
The triple axel was coming. Logan knew your program better than his own game tape.
He watched your set up for it and then you were in the air and rotating and landing clean, one blade, no stumble, the crowd exhaling around him in something close to relief.
Logan exhaled too.
You finished the program and stood in the center of the ice with your arms out and your chest heaving and your face doing something close to relief and the thin line with triumph.
He knew that face. He had photographs of that face going back five years.
Logan was completely gone.
After the scores were posted — first place, which was not a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention — Logan found you in the corridor outside the changing rooms, still in the costume, skates exchanged for boots, medal around your neck that you kept touching like making sure it was real.
You saw him and couldn't help but to smile.
"You came," you said.
"I always come," he said.
"I know." You were smiling the real one, not the competition smile, not the public smile. "How was the axel?"
"Perfect," he said. "Clean landing, good height, the rotation was exactly right."
"You sound like my coach."
"Your coach is correct."
You laughed and walked toward him and he opened his arms because that was what happened after competitions you walked into them and he held on and you smelled like the rink and some body lotion that he has been trying to steal for a long time, he had his chin on top of your head and everything was exactly the same as it always was.
Except that his heart was doing something extremely inconvenient.
"I have something to tell you," he said, into your hair.
"Mm?" You didn't move.
He had the words right there. Had been carrying them for approximately two years, which was when he had stopped being able to pretend to himself that what he felt was just friendship, had been practiced and ready and —
"You dropped your left shoulder in the step sequence," he said. "Third section. It cost you."
You pulled back and looked at him. "You can not be serious right now, Johnny."
"It's a small thing, but —"
"I just won," she said.
"I know. You also dropped your shoulder."
You stared at him for a long moment with a watchful expression.
"I hate you," you said.
"No you don't," he said.
"Maybe I do" you looked at him "No I don't," you confirmed.
You took his hand and pulled him toward the exit to find the others, and Logan walked behind you and thought about what he had almost said and hadn't. Logan had decided for once, to store away this information, maybe soon would come in handy.
two — the lazy day april, sophomore year
It was a Sunday in April, a Sunday that had decided to be warm for the first time all year, and you were lying on the floor of Logan's room with your legs up on his bed because the floor was cooler than the bed and you had been at the rink since six in the morning and every single part of you ached.
Logan was on the bed, technically reading something for class, practically staring at the ceiling.
You had been in this exact configuration approximately four hundred times over ten years. The comfortable silence of two people who had run out of things to say and were fine with that.
"My coach wants me to change the music for nationals," you said, to the ceiling.
"What's wrong with the current music?"
"She says it doesn't show enough range."
"What does she want instead?"
"Something more emotional apparently." You paused. "She used the word vulnerable which made me want to scream."
Logan made a sound that meant he was listening.
"I'm not un-vulnerable," you said. "I'm just — I show it differently."
"You show it on the ice," Logan said. "Anyone paying attention can see it."
You turned your head to look at him. He was still looking at the ceiling.
"That's a nice thing to say," you said.
"It's a true thing to say." He turned his head and looked at you. From this angle, floor to bed, you were looking at each other sideways, and there was something about the afternoon light coming through the window that was doing something to his expression, making it more open than usual, less managed.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what."
He looked at you for a moment. The open expression doing something more complicated.
"About —" he started.
Your phone went off.
The ringtone you had assigned to your coach, which you had made deliberately annoying so you couldn't ignore it. You grabbed it off the floor and sat up and mouthed sorry at Logan and answered.
Your coach talked for eleven minutes about the music change.
When you hung up Logan was reading again, or pretending to, and the afternoon light had shifted, and whatever the moment had been it had passed.
"What were you thinking about?" you said.
"Nothing," he said. "Doesn't matter."
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary.
Then you put your legs back up on his bed and went back to staring at the ceiling.
three — the boys september, junior year
The thing about you was that you were, objectively, extremely easy to be around.
Dean had arrived at this conclusion independently and over time, through the accumulated evidence of approximately a year of you being at various team events and group hangs and spontaneous Malone's trips, and it was not a controversial conclusion, Tucker had said the same thing, Garrett had nodded in agreement.
You were funny and direct and had opinions and didn't perform interest you didn't have, which was rarer than it should have been. You also had the unselfconscious ease of someone who had been comfortable on a competitive stage since you were fourteen, which meant you walked into rooms the same way you walked onto ice like you had already decided you belonged there.
Dean had been thinking about this for approximately three weeks when he cornered Logan after practice.
"Your figure skater friend," he said.
Logan looked at him over his equipment bag. "Her name is (Y/N)."
"Is she single?"
The locker room continued around them. Tucker was unwrapping tape. Garrett was checking his phone. Nobody appeared to be paying particular attention.
Logan's jaw did something.
"Yeah," he said. "She's single."
"Nice." Dean leaned against the locker with the easy confidence of someone who had made a decision. "Do you think she'd be open to —"
"She's focused on skating," Logan said. "Nationals are in February. She doesn't have time for —"
"I'm not talking about anything serious," Dean said. "Just —"
"She's busy," Logan said.
Dean looked at him.
Logan looked at his equipment bag.
"Sure," Dean said, slowly. "Right. Busy." A pause. "You sure you don't have a —"
"She's my best friend," Logan said. "Can you just — not."
Dean looked at him for a long moment with the expression of someone doing math.
"Okay," he said. "Sure."
He went back to his own locker.
Tucker caught his eye across the room and raised his eyebrows. Dean gave the smallest possible shrug, which in their particular shorthand meant: you are seeing what you think you're seeing.
Tucker looked at the ceiling briefly and then went back to his tape.
Logan texted you that night.
logan: what are you doing
yn: stretching. my hip flexors are staging a revolt. what's up
logan: nothing. just checking in
yn: at 10pm on a tuesday
logan: is that suspicious
yn: a little
logan: go stretch your hip flexors
yn: i am. you could come over and suffer with me
A pause. Longer than usual.
logan: be there in twenty
He showed up with food and sat on your floor and watched you stretch with the expression he sometimes had when he was thinking about something he wasn't saying. You didn't push. You had learned, over ten years, the difference between Logan processing something and Logan ready to talk about it.
You stretched your hip flexors.
He was quiet beside you.
It was, somehow, exactly enough.
four — the party november, junior year
Hannah had a very simple theory about Logan and you that she had shared with Allie approximately four months ago and had been collecting evidence for ever since.
The theory was: you were both completely in love with each other and were going to keep not doing anything about it until one of them finally cracked or they both graduated and went their separate ways, which would be a tragedy.
Allie's theory was identical, arrived at independently, and they had spent four months running what amounted to a covert observation project with no intervention component because, as Allie had said, correctly , very time anyone said anything to Logan he went quiet and every time anyone said anything to you, you laughed and changed the subject, and the only thing that was going to fix this was one of them actually doing something.
The party was in November, someone's house, the kind that happened naturally when enough people were in the same place with nothing specific to do. Allie and Hannah had come together. Logan and you had come separately and found each other within four minutes, which was, Hannah noted, always how it went.
You were in the corner of the living room now, in the configuration you always occupied at parties, close enough that yourshoulders touched, talking in the way you talked when you were somewhere loud, which was slightly lower and slightly more direct, leaning in.
"He's doing it again," Hannah said.
Allie, beside her, followed her eyeline. "The shoulder thing."
"He always does the shoulder thing when he's about to say something."
They watched. Across the room, Logan's shoulder had indeed done the thing, a slight forward tilt, the specific posture of someone turning toward something rather than standing beside it.
You were looking up at him with the expression you had when you were actually listening to someone, which was different from your polite listening expression and your processing expression and was reserved for maybe three people in your life.
"He's going to do it," Hannah said.
"He's not going to do it," Allie said.
"He's leaning in —"
"He never does it."
"There's always a first time —"
Someone across the room called Logan's name. Loudly. Urgently. Something about a game in the kitchen that required his participation immediately.
Logan closed his eyes very briefly.
Then he straightened up and said something to you — one second probably, or back in a minute — and went toward the kitchen.
You watched him go with an expression that lasted approximately two seconds before you reorganized it into something neutral.
Allie looked at Hannah.
Hannah looked at Allie.
"I'm going to lose my mind," Hannah said.
"Same," said Allie.
They looked at each other.
"We're not intervening," Allie said.
"We're absolutely not intervening," Hannah agreed.
They watched you drift toward the snack table looking slightly like someone who had been about to hear something and hadn't.
"We're not intervening," Allie said again, more firmly.
"Right," said Hannah. "Definitely not."
allie: okay so
hannah: i KNOW
allie: the shoulder thing
hannah: and her FACE when he left
allie: someone needs to do something
hannah: we said we weren't intervening
allie: i know what we said
hannah: allie
allie: i'm just saying
hannah: we are not telling them
allie: fine
hannah: fine
allie: ...fine
hannah: goodnight allie
allie: if they're still doing this at graduation i'm saying something
hannah: GOODNIGHT ALLIE
five — the almost january, senior year
You found out about the Dean thing entirely by accident.
You had been in the kitchen at the off campus house, making tea because it was January and you were cold and your coach had banned coffee during competition prep, and Tucker had come in and started making a sandwich and you had been coexisting peacefully until Tucker said, entirely unprompted and clearly without thinking:
"By the way, for what it's worth, I told Dean not to."
You looked at him. "Told Dean not to what."
Tucker looked at his sandwich. Then at you. Then at his sandwich again with the expression of someone who had realized, too late, that they had said something.
"Ask about you," he said finally. "Like — ask Logan if he could pursue you. I told him it was a bad idea."
You put down your tea.
"Dean asked Logan if he could pursue me," you said.
"Back in September. Logan said you were busy with skating." Tucker picked up his sandwich. "Which was — I mean, you are busy. But also —" he stopped. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."
"Probably," you said.
Tucker took a bite of his sandwich and left the kitchen with the energy of someone removing themselves from a situation.
You stood at the counter with your tea and thought about September and Logan showing up at your apartment at ten on a Tuesday for no reason, sitting on your floor, being quiet beside you in a way that had felt like something without ever becoming something.
She's busy, he had apparently said.
You looked at the doorway Tucker had disappeared through.
You looked at your tea.
Hm, you thought.
Logan found you twenty minutes later in the living room, already in his jacket, apparently on his way out.
"Hey," he said. "You good?"
"Fine," you said. "Where are you going?"
"Skate rental shop. I need new laces." He paused. "Do you want to come? We can get food after."
You looked at him.
"Sure," you said.
You got your coat.
one — the one time he did january, senior year.
The skate rental shop was quiet on a January afternoon, the mundane warmth of a place that smelled like rubber and old equipment, and Logan found his laces in approximately four minutes and then stood in the aisle for another ten not moving, which you had learned to recognize as Logan making up his mind about something.
You looked at a display of blade covers that you did not need.
"Tucker told me," you said, to the blade covers.
A pause.
"Told you what," Logan said.
"About Dean. In September."
The aisle was very quiet.
"She's busy," you said. "That's what you said, apparently."
Another pause. Longer.
"You were," Logan said. "You were in nationals prep."
"Logan."
"What."
You turned to look at him. He was looking at the laces in his hands with the expression he got when he was trying to decide something and hating that he had to decide it.
"Why did you say she's busy," you said. "Instead of — anything else."
He looked up. His jaw did the thing.
"Because," he started.
"Because why."
He looked at you. Really looked at you, the way he sometimes did when he thought you weren't paying attention, except you were paying attention and he knew it and he still wasn't looking away.
"Because it's you," he said. "And I couldn't just — I didn't want Dean to —" he stopped. Started again. "I didn't want anyone to."
The skate rental shop was very quiet.
"Okay," you said.
"Okay?" he said.
"That's — I needed to know that." You looked at the blade covers. You looked at him. "I also needed you to know that I'm not busy. I mean — I am. But I'm not. Not for — not for this."
Logan looked at you for a long moment.
"Not for this," he repeated.
"Not for you," you said, which was the more honest version, which you had decided to say because you were twenty-two and you had been doing this for five years and Tucker had accidentally said something in a kitchen and it was January and you were tired of not saying things.
The laces in Logan's hands had been thoroughly analyzed.
He put them back on the shelf.
"I was going to tell you after your competition," he said. "In February. Your sophomore year."
"You talked about my shoulder."
"I know," he said. "I know I did."
"And on the Sunday in April —"
"Your coach called."
"And at the party in November —"
"Dean," he said, simply, and you almost laughed.
"Five times," you said.
"Probably more," he said. "I stopped counting."
You looked at him. This person who had been in the penalty box when you were eleven and had told you your shoulder dropped and had come to every competition and had stood in a locker room in September and said she's busy when what he meant was something else entirely.
"So say it now," you said. "We're in a skate rental shop in January. There's nobody here. Say it now."
Logan looked at you.
"I love you," he said. Not dramatically just simply, the way he said true things, like it was information that had been waiting a long time to be delivered and was relieved to finally arrive. "I've loved you since you told me I didn't ask and then tried the spin again anyway. I love you and I'm sorry it took me this long."
The blade covers blurred slightly.
You reached up and took the lapel of his jacket in your hand.
"You talked about my shoulder," you said.
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm going to bring that up for years."
"I know," he said. "I deserve that."
You pulled him down by the jacket.
He kissed you in the skate rental shop in January, between the blade covers and the laces display, with nobody watching and nothing to interrupt, and it was warm and unhurried and tasted like something that had been a long time coming and had finally, simply, arrived.
When you pulled back he had the expression you had been trying not to notice for five years — open and certain and entirely unmanaged.
"For the record," you said, "my shoulder doesn't drop anymore."
"It really doesn't," he said. "You've completely fixed it."
"I know," you said. "I'm very good."
He laughed and pulled you back in, and the skate rental shop continued to be entirely quiet around you, indifferent and perfect.
You told Allie and Hannah together, which was the only way to do it.
You had barely gotten the words out before Hannah made a sound that could only be described as vindicated, and Allie said I told you to Hannah at the same moment Hannah said I told you to Allie, and then they looked at each other and then at you and both started talking at the same time.
"The shoulder thing at the party —"
"In sophomore year when you called after the competition —"
"The thing in September with Dean —"
"We knew," Hannah said. "We have known for so long."
"How long," you said.
They looked at each other.
"Since the first time we saw you two in the same room," Allie said.
You looked at them. "And you didn't say anything?"
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Hannah said, with the dignity of someone honoring a commitment.
"You could have said something to me," you said.
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Allie said, equally dignified.
You looked at them both.
"I cannot believe," you said.
"You're welcome," they said, simultaneously.
Logan told the team at dinner.
Or rather, Dean asked where you were and Logan said she's coming later and Tucker said she's coming? is she — and Logan said yeah in the even tone that contained a lot of information, and Dean looked at Tucker and Tucker looked at Dean and Garrett looked at his food and the table continued exactly as it always had except that something had shifted in the specific, settled way of something that had always been heading here finally arriving.
When you got there Logan moved over without being asked and you sat beside him and his shoulder was warm against yours and everything was exactly the same as it had always been.
Except that his hand found yours under the table.
And this time he didn't let go.
allie: so
hannah: SO
allie: we called it
hannah: from the beginning
allie: the penalty box story is the most romantic thing i have ever heard
➷ summary: you’re the captain of the briar girl’s volleyball team, leading your team through the ncaa volleyball semifinals in the hopes of reaching the championship. and you do achieve that, but not after experiencing the most insane introduction with john logan, a man you hadn’t known to exist until now
➷ word count: 5464
➷ warnings: cursing, sexual references kind of (no smut), probably inaccurate volleyball because i literally have never played and don’t know anything about it (i was researching as i wrote this, so i'm genuinely so sorry if it’s completely wrong. also, for the sake of plot making sense, we’re gonna say the ncaa volleyball tournaments take place in march because i want hannah and garrett, and allie and dean to be together)
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
It was nearing the end of the 5th set, and yet, still, both Briar U and Harvard’s girl’s volleyball teams were tied. Fucking 24 points each, both having two winning sets beneath their belts. Meaning, whoever got the last two points– the points that both teams desperately needed– would get a ticket straight to the NCAA Championship.
And you, the libero on the team, the captain, were fucking livid.
Your team, as well as yourself, had been playing sloppy– or at least, it felt like you had– and you really had no clue why. You guys had been perfect during practice, together as one team. Hell, the first two sets had been great, too. Wipeouts.
But then, of course, because it was fucking Harvard, they won the third set. And then the fourth.
And now you were on the fifth and final set of the NCAA Semifinals, tied 24 points each.
It had to be the most intense game you had ever played in your 15 years of volleyball.
It didn’t help that Harvard was absolutely, 100%, targeting your ass. You guess it made sense– since your freshman year, you’d been talked about. A prospect that sports sites couldn’t stop talking about. Your name had been in their mouths since your first game at Briar U, and it hadn’t left since.
And that’s because you– to be totally, completely humble– were a really fucking amazing libero.
Your defensive moves and tactics were the highlights of many games, the Briar U volleyball account literally reposting edits that fans have made of your best saves. You didn’t let it get to your head, of course. You couldn’t, even if you had tried. You weren’t like that– you could never be like that, because in all honesty, you knew the only reason you had gotten as good as you had was because of past coaches and teammates. As well as current ones.
So yeah, you were good, maybe even great as some of the sports sites put it, but it was all through the effort of others.
And, to be honest, right now, you didn’t feel great.
Or good.
You felt completely, utterly, horrible, because during this set– despite it being in the beginning– you had failed to save two hits, the spikes from the opposing team smacking the center of your side of the net. This meant that Harvard had earned two points because you couldn’t get your shit together, and it was driving you fucking nuts.
You felt like you had the pressure of this win on your shoulders, and it really didn’t help that the stands were filled to the brim with students. Harvard students, yes, but mostly Briar students, since it was ‘Briar Blackout’ tonight, a term coined for any sports event when they were wanting to fill the stands, especially now, since it was semifinals, which were held in an arena very close to campus. And boy, were they filled. Which made this all that much worse. God, did it feel like you were letting them down right now. It was embarrassing. Every time Harvard got a point, the disappointed groans of your supporters met your ears, and the usual smile that you wore on your face as you played had been completely wiped from your features during the third set. Because genuinely what the fuck?
This game had been disappointing on so many levels to the point that you were now actively listening to the chants from fellow students and supporters, something you never did. You always tried to block them out, to focus on yourself, but right now, you needed the support.
And it helped a bit, hearing the chants of your name, as well as the other names of girls on your team, shouting how you guys totally ‘got this’.
The people sitting in the courtside seats were the loudest.
In the chairs to your right sat people who had actually bought tickets, while the courtside seats to your left was the Briar boys volleyball team. And, in the courtside seats directly behind you sat the Briar U boys hockey team. Which was new.
You’re pretty sure it was because they had won nationals, so they were here to support the girls volleyball team as they fought for their place. Which you were dreading may be coming to a dead-end tonight.
But you couldn’t be thinking about the hockey boys right now– you couldn’t be thinking about any of this, not when you watched as Luisa Elliot, your best friend, your outside hitter, stumbled as her hands tapped the ball, sending it in the completely wrong direction. Instead of it going back over the net like it was meant to, it had been hit completely off course.
It flew over your head, and was heading straight for the stands directly behind.
That was no good.
You sprint with not an ounce of hesitation towards the ball, following its movement with your eyes and legs, and you knew there was no way in hell you were going to make it– not when you were coming horribly close to the hockey boys. And, if you ran into them before you sent that ball back where it was meant to go, then you might not get the point, or, worse, Harvard could get the point.
And, fuck, you really couldn’t have that.
So you did what you always did– you leaped, quite literally throwing yourself forward in a dive, right arm pointed straight out, desperate to hit that ball back to your teammates. And you felt it, the ball smacking against the fleshy part of your hand below the knuckle of your thumb.
You figured it went as planned, your eyes watching as the ball went back over your head– and, when a loud, collective, deafening cheer sounded from your side of the stands, you were positive that your play had gone perfectly, the ball going exactly where it was supposed to be.
However, you were not where you were supposed to be.
No, you were currently dangling over one of the Briar hockey boys.
In the save that may have kept Briar in the game, you had sacrificed your dignity, because here you were, body pressed against and over a man you had never once spoken to– hell, you didn’t even know which hockey player was beneath you. All you knew was that you could feel his face pressed into the fabric that covered your stomach, the rest of your upper body draped over the top of his head. The only reason why you hadn’t flipped completely over the man was because his right arm had instinctively secured itself around the back of your thighs, keeping you in place.
To your left, you heard the loud cackle from one of the boys, and to your right, you heard another one of the guys react with a shocked, “Oh, shit!”
You tried to move quickly, hearing the game continuing behind you as the ball was passed between the Harvard girls. Your hands, which had previously been held out in front of you, trying to balance yourself, now were being grabbed by the two other hockey players beside you, who helped tug you to an upright position as quickly as they could.
As they do this, you feel the arm of the guy that you are currently straddling slide away from your thighs, and he holds his hands back, palms facing you as if he was surrendering to something.
You only get a quick glance of the guy’s baffled– but heavily amused– eyes before your left hand quite literally presses against his face, using it as leverage to push yourself off him, where you start at a sprint back towards the game that had your entire focus. And, it’s lucky you did that, because just as you were about to make it back to the court, the middle hitter of the Harvard team had spiked the ball straight to the floor on your side of the court.
Again, you dove to the ball, slamming your hand down on the polished wood floor just in time. Instead of the volleyball making contact with the planks of wood, it ricochets off the back of your right hand, moving upward where another one of your teammates– Liliana Amato– bumps it up and over to Louisa.
Louisa, the fucking amazing hitter that she is, spikes the ball with the palm of her hand, sending it straight to the back corner of Harvard’s side of the net.
Their libero isn’t fast enough.
No one on their team is fast enough, because the ball hits the wood with a loud smack, resulting in the entire room to vibrate with the loud cheers and screams of Briar students and fans.
You jump up quickly when you hear the whistle from the referee, and you swear you could cry from pure glee when the ref announces that, yes, the point did count, despite the Harvard team trying to claim that your pancake move hadn’t actually saved the ball.
This causes another wave of loud cheers to erupt in the room, and you move to Louisa and Liliana, a giant grin on your face as you three high five, but not before each of you took a running headstart, jumping as you met in the middle, your shoulders colliding in a celebration of glee. It was something you always did, the three of you, because, as fate had it, you three were the ‘big three’. You guys moved with an efficiency like no other, and as it turned out, sports websites loved it.
All you needed now was one point.
One point, and you would be two points ahead, and then you’d win.
If you guys got this point, you’d make it to the NCAA Championship, something that Briar girls volleyball hasn’t been to in over ten years.
The arena gets quiet again as the two teams get ready, and from the corner of your eye you watch as Macey Cameron, your team's setter, tosses the ball up into the air, using her palm to serve it to Harvard.
And, like that, another intense battle ensues. You swear to God you’ve lost at least twenty pounds through this game because the Harvard girls really were putting you to work– the ball had gone over the net and back three times in the last thirty seconds, and each time, you’ve had to dive to save the ball from one of the girls' vicious spikes.
Like now.
You had just gotten to your feet again when Harvard’s middle hitter sent a completely fucking lethal spike your way. It was going down and over your head with a speed you didn’t even know was possible, and you tossed yourself backwards, right hand out to save the ball from hitting the floor. As it flies up, your body rolls on top of itself, and you’re pretty sure you’ve done some sort of fucking backward sumersault, because one second you’re on your back, and the next you’re on your knees, panting as you rise back to your feet, watching as Liliana sends the ball back over the net.
You watch as the ball flies near the back of the court, hitting the polished wood planks before any of the girls can get it.
But the room stays deathly silent because was that out?
It couldn’t be out.
There was no way you guys just did all that shit for the fucking ball to go out.
Everyone’s eyes are on the ref, who’s talking to the other referees. They’re huddled in a group, and after thirty seconds, they step apart. You watch, and you feel like it’s in slow motion as the man points to your team, nodding.
It had gone in.
The ball had gone in, meaning that Briar had just won the second point needed.
Meaning you were going to the fucking NCAA Championship.
In an instant, the room erupted in cheers so loud that it vibrated through the ground, reaching your feet as you and your team jumped up and down, your coaches– who have yelled at you more times than you could count this game– joining in. You’re so ecstatic that you don’t even think to apologize to the hockey boy that you had run down just minutes prior.
The hockey boy that is now watching you as he cheers, a soft, intrigued smile on his face.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Typically after volleyball games, you went straight home, where you would take a shower and then slump into bed, passing out before you could even question if you were comfortable. It was a ritual at this point; you play a game, you go home and sleep immediately after.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, you and your team had made it to the fucking NCAA Volleyball Championship, which Briar hadn’t done since you were still in elementary school. So, yes, you would fight through your exhaustion for one night, and head to Malone’s for a late night meal with three of your teammates– your best friends– and you would have a great time despite desperately wanting to get comfy in your bedsheets.
Which is how you found yourself now, at 10:30 p.m., entering Malone’s with Louisa, Lililiana, and another girl on the team, Jade, at your side, the four of you walking through the doors of the popular diner.
You were chatting with Louisa who walked directly next to you, and you laughed at something she said, the soft sound carrying through the diner over the group you had yet to notice. The group you had yet to ever meet.
“Holy shit, it’s her!” Dean hissed, leaning across the table to nudge Logan in the shoulder from where he sat beside Garrett. “She’s literally right there–”
“Yeah, I have fucking eyes and ears, man,” Logan responded back quickly, voice terse as his eyes sideglanced you and your group, watching as the four of you walked past the table that currently held six people, including himself, without any knowledge that you were being watched. He looked back to Dean, eyes narrowed, “Can you be quiet?”
“Why?” Dean asked with a smirk, leaning back against the booth chair, his arm still hung comfortably around Allie, who was grinning with Hannah. “You’ve been aware of this girl for four hours now, and it’s obvious you already have a massive crush on her.”
“I don’t–”
“You’ve been stalking her Instagram since the game ended,” Garrett interrupted with a snort. “I’m pretty sure you’ve scrolled down to her sophomore year of high school.”
Hannah laughs into her drink at that, sharing a look with Tucker who had been snacking on the basket of fries that sat in the middle of the friend group.
Logan feels his face heat up at that, and he promptly shuts off his phone, pressing it face down onto the table. Then, he picks up his drink, taking a large sip as he shrugs, speaking into the glass, “She’s interesting.”
“Yeah, interesting because she practically gave you a lap dance mid-game,” Tucker snickered, which, as a result, caused Hannah and Allie to erupt into fits of laughter.
Logan glared harshly at Tucker, “That’s not why I find her interesting.”
“Sure,” Dean drawls out.
“Dude, I’m serious,” Logan huffs, taking a fry and chucking it at the blonde’s head. Then, he leans back against his seat, crossing his arms over himself, “She’s good at her sport. It's fun to watch."
“I think he’s so intrigued because she has no idea who he is,” Hannah butts in with a grin, laughing as Garrett nods along, his arm resting firmly around her, his fingers rubbing against the fabric of her cardigan. “And that’s new for any Briar hockey boy.”
“Oh, definitely,” Garrett agrees.
Logan only stays quiet with a sharp roll of his eyes. But he doesn’t deny it. He can’t deny it, because it’s true.
Just hours ago, after your amazing win, you had been asked for a post-game interview by Briar’s sports media team. And you had said yes, because why would you not? It was better than having to deal with the glares and snarky comments from exiting Harvard fans.
Now, one thing about you was, you didn’t do hockey. Like, at all. You’ve never been to a game before. You didn’t understand how the stupid little ice game worked. Which, very fucking embarrassing for you, was discovered by the entire internet just hours prior.
It was discovered by John Logan hours prior.
The questions had been basic; they always were. Just repeats of the same things, such as certain plays, how you felt winning, yada, yada, yada. However, tonight, the last question had been different, directly tied to the man you had plowed down hours ago. The man who you didn’t know a fucking thing about, because you seriously didn’t do hockey.
“Alright,” the reporter, Sammy, had said, moving onto the next question. “Now, kinda venturing off… we actually wanted to talk about a specific save tonight.”
You smiled your practiced smile, the type that was sweet and polite and all the right ways, “Oh yeah?”
“John Logan. How are you feeling about that?” The reporter stated the question like you were supposed to know who the fuck that was. And maybe it was because your brain was practically mush from the brutal game, paired with the fact that you were running on pure adrenaline post game, but you couldn’t for the life of you connect that the guy you had run down was John Logan. Again, whoever the hell he was.
“Sorry, who?”
Yeah, you couldn’t have picked a worse fucking response.
But, in John Logan’s eyes, that was the perfect fucking response. When he watched the interview on the way to Malone’s after the game– because he was intrigued with volleyball, that was the only reason– he couldn’t help the amused but giddy smile that laced his face.
The reporter’s smile faltered, and she looked back to the camera that was videotaping the entire thing for the school’s media, before her gaze returned back to you like you guys were in an episode of The Office, “Uh… John Logan?”
“Yeah, um... I’m really sorry, I have no clue who that is.”
“The guy you ran into. When saving one of the passes.”
“Oh,” you respond. And because for some fucking reason you can’t help but embarrass yourself tonight, the situation finally clicks in your head, and you say the worst thing humanly possible: you smile, and say, “Hockey boy.”
Like a fucking idiot.
Or, in John Logan’s eyes, like a fucking angel.
“...Right. He plays right wing for Briar men’s hockey,” she explains. And then, she looks back at the camera as she asks, “You didn’t know the hockey team was behind you, watching tonight?”
And, of course, because for some reason your brain’s goal is to get you to make a complete fool out of yourself, you answer an even worse answer.
But, no, you weren’t a fool in Logan’s eyes. Not even close. You were the complete opposite and it had his heart going like a freight train was headed straight for him.
“I knew they were here. I just don’t have a clue who they are.”
“You don’t know Garrett Graham?”
“Uh… nope? I don’t think so.”
“Dean Di Laurentis?”
“Not ringing a bell, sorry.”
“John Tucker?”
“The guy I ran into?”
Logan had laughed at that, making up a quick excuse to Tucker, who had been sitting next to him in the car back when Logan had first seen the video.
“What? No– no, that was John Logan.”
“Right.” You shake your head and you laugh, “Too many John’s, am I right?”
The reporter was watching you like you had grown another head; she did not laugh. You felt a swell of embarrassment creep up in your chest, but you pushed it away, trying to finish the interview as quickly as possible. And you had.
Jesus Christ, Logan practically ate the thing up. He’d played it back, telling himself it was for educational volleyball purposes, when really it was to watch as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when asked who he was.
And not caring when finding out who he was.
Which is how he ended up searching your name on Instagram, scrolling through your feed, post by post like some weird stalker, according to his friends. Who, presently, were watching him, because he had turned on his phone yet again, eyes flickering down to the screen, watching an old volleyball practice video you had posted.
“Just go talk to her, dude,” Garrett finally said after another thirty seconds of watching Logan silently yearn at your Instagram profile. “She’s two tables down.”
Logan followed Garrett’s gesture, his head turning a fraction, his eyes catching your form as you hovered over a laminated menu, talking pleasantly with the girl who sat beside you. You pointed at something on the menu, wiggled your eyebrows at the girl across from you, and then snorted at what you had said while your three friends gave you bored expressions.
God, he hadn’t even spoken to you and he was positive he was in love.
“No,” he finally says, twisting his head back to his friends.
“Okay, this is painful,” Dean finally said, throwing his hands up. “Give me that–”
Dean had reached forward, plucking Logan’s phone from his loose grip.
“What– dude, stop– give it back–”
But Dean had stood in the booth, holding Logan’s phone out of reach, and he scrolled all the way back up to the top of your Instagram. He wasted no time, clicking the follow button with a sigh of content before shutting off the device and tossing it back to Logan.
And, oh, if looks could kill.
“Are you fucking–”
“Shhhh, thank me later.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
“No way.”
“What?” Louisa had said, smiling at the waitress as she brought out the four Cokes that you guys had ordered. She took a long sip, staring at you from over the rim, “What’s up?”
You silently turn your phone, showing your three best friends your most recent notification.
John Logan has requested to follow you.
“Holy fuck,” Jade gapes. Then, she snatches your phone from your grip, and you reach forward, trying to snatch it back. However, she’s already leaning far away from you, “Oh, we are accepting this right now–”
“No! No, we are not,” you respond, voice stern as you stand to try and reach for your phone again. “He literally just followed me. If I accept now, he’ll think me plowing into him was intentional or something, so give–”
“And, accepted! Alrightly, follow back… and look at that, he already approved it!”
“I hate you,” you groan.
“Bro,” Liliana said, gesturing to your phone, “he was the one who followed you first. Which means that after you ran him down, he looked you up on Instagram. Which means he has been debating following you for four hours now. Which means he has the hots for you.”
“You guys are all delusional,” you respond, but not before quickly thanking your waitress, who brings over the four burgers and fries you guys had ordered just a bit ago. The food had come quickly, and you know it’s because Malone’s is relatively empty tonight. Only three tables are taken, including the one that you and your friends occupy.
“I don’t think you’re grasping the severity of this situation.”
“‘The severity of the situation’?” You repeat Jade’s words. “The hell does that mean?’
“That you have one of the hottest guys at Briar, a hockey player, following you almost immediately after you straddled him–”
You feel your face burn, “I did not straddle him.”
“Babe,” Louisa interjects, “you absolutely straddled him. Wanna see a video?”
You groan, “They already posted it?”
“Girl, they posted it three minutes after it happened,” Liliana said. She grabbed her phone, typing quickly, and then slid her phone across the table. You steadied it in front of you, leaning over to watch. And, yeah, you definitely straddled the guy. But not after you fucking launched yourself at him like a rabid squirrel, nearly flinging over his shoulder– you only hadn’t because he had held you against him.
“Oh,” Louisa says from beside you, pointing to the phone. “So that’s Garrett Graham,” she points to the guy who was on your right, the one who had vocalized his surprise when it had happened, “and that’s Dean Di Laurentis,” and then she points to the guy who had cackled. You watch as her finger points to the man next to Dean, “That’s John Tucker. The other John. They all live together. They throw the best parties, too, out of all the hockey boys.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Literally everyone does except you, apparently.”
“Okay, whatever.”
Jade groans loudly, “Can we return to the issue at hand here? John Logan thinks you’re hot.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Girl, look at his smile after you push your hand against his face.”
Jade leans over, using two fingers to zoom the video on the guy’s face, and sure enough, after you push off against his face, sprinting to save the volleyball once more, he watches you with what looks to be a dazed grin, his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth.
Fuck, it was kinda hot.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you choose to say instead.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jade groans. “Look, whatever. Do you at least find him attractive?”
You shrug, lying, “I dunno. Didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Alright, Liliana, pull up the edit.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘the edit’?” You question, absolutely baffled. “This guy has edits made for him?”
“He’s a college hockey player, and he’s fucking amazing. And really fucking hot. So, yeah, he’s got edits– but this one is like, top tier. Really gets you going, if you know what I mean–”
“You guys are disgusting.”
“Here,” Liliana says, clicking a video in her liked posts. She shifts her phone towards you, turning up the volume with the pad of her thumb, and you watch as the song “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys sounds through her phone, an extremely well crafted edit of John Logan both on the ice and in interviews playing before you.
“Okay,” you say once the edit finishes, “he’s hot. I get it.”
“See!” Jade grins, “He’s hot, and he’s definitely interested in you after tonight, which means that–”
But you all pause. All four of you freeze, because two tables down, you hear the sound of your voice on full blast, coming from someone’s phone. It’s you answering a question after a relatively successful game, followed by a song. Meaning that somewhere in this fucking diner, someone was watching edits of you.
“Shit! Dean, turn it down–”
It was too late, though.
You and your friends’ heads snapped in the direction of the noise, only to be met with the eyes of six others– five who seemed absolutely thrilled that you had noticed, while the sixth definitely looked like a deer in headlights.
The sixth being John Logan.
You can’t even react accordingly, because Louisa is grinning like a madman, shaking your shoulder and pointing very obviously at the group that’s only two tables away, “Holy shit, he’s right there, oh my God–”
“I can see that, Louisa,” you hiss, pushing her hands off you. Then, you turn back to John Logan, watching as he whispers heated words to his friends before standing. And holy fuck, he’s making his way over to you. Before he even reaches the table, Liliana, Louisa, and Jade are standing, gathering their things and food, and your eyes widen with an alarmed expression, and you hurriedly whisper, “Where the fuck are you guys going?”
“To a different table so we don’t block his cock.”
“Oh my–”
You can’t even finish your words, because your friends are gone. And John Logan is standing right in front of you, a small, gentle smile on his face as he watches your friends scurry over to the table he had just come from. They shove themselves into the booth next to Logan’s friends, acting as if they knew the people they now sat with, which they did not.
Logan’s friends didn’t seem to care, though. They looked just as eager, making room so your three obnoxious teammates could sit comfortably.
You fight the urge to audibly sigh, looking back at the man in front of you. You match his smile, and you really don’t know what’s with your fucking head today, but the first words that leave your mouth aren’t something sweet. They aren't cute. They make you look like a dipshit.
“My victim.”
You immediately want to get up and leave, because genuinely what the fuck were you on today?
But you don’t leave, not when John’s smile widens, and you can see his pretty teeth. He looks thoroughly amused, excited even, and he nods along with your words as he responds, “My attacker.”
“I wouldn’t call it an attack–”
“What would you call it?” He asks with his gentle grin, and he pulls out the chair where Jade had just been, sitting directly across from you.
“A collision on the playing field,” you offer with a hint of playfulness, which he catches onto instantly. “I’m sure you’re used to those. With hockey and everything.”
“So you know who I am now?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with something exciting.
“Hard not to when our video is already making its way through social media. Have you seen it?”
“Absolutely,” he says with a nod, and his tone is serious in a joking way. He’s got his arms now on the table, leaning forward as he speaks to you. He’s still grinning, and you conclude now that this guy is insanely good at keeping eye contact. It's really hot. “You tackling me, me catching you–”
“Straight out of a sports romcom,” you conclude. Then, you shake your solemnly, “What a waste, am I right? If we had some good dialogue, we would’ve gotten a ticket straight to the Oscars!”
“Oh, I know,” he says, and he throws his hands up dramatically. “We’ve been snubbed.”
Fuck, he was fun to banter with.
All the nerves you felt when you first realized he was walking over had vanished into thin air, because you guys got along good. You clicked instantaneously, falling into an easy back and forth that had you leaning forward as you spoke to him, words playful as he nodded along, eyes wide in a way that showed he was having just as much fun as you were.
You guys had been so invested in your many conversations about literally whatever the fuck came up that you didn’t even realize when your friends left. Or when his friends left. Or when you two were the only people left in Malone’s, except for the staff.
And, through the long, witty, playful conversations you were having with John, you two somehow ended up staying at Malone’s until close. It was late out, just past 2 a.m., and John offered to walk you home, which you refused at first, worried about keeping him out too late. But the man pouts dramatically, a playful expression as he told you there's nothing else he'd rather do, and you can’t help but agree.
Which is where you found yourself now.
Pushed up against the front door of your apartment, lips pressed against his, hands threaded through his hair while his fingers held your waist, thumbs rubbing over your hipbones with the type of gentleness that made your heart ache.
He presses more kisses to your lips. They’re firmer, eager, and it’s now that you know you have to break the news to him.
“Wanna know another thing about me, John?” You grin, tilting your head back as he presses kisses down your neck.
He hums against your skin, sucking gently at your pulse point before smoothing it over with his tongue, pressing once final kiss to the skin. He moves his way back up your neck and jaw with soft kisses, pressing one final kiss to the softness of your lips, “What?”
“I don’t do hook-ups. Or casual.”
You expect him to falter, to pull back with a face of disappointment. You figured that’s what would happen, but you didn’t necessarily care. Sure, it was going to suck, having to end this short-lived thing with the hottest guy you ever met, but you weren’t going to change your rules for a guy you had just met.
But, no, Logan doesn’t react how you were expecting at all.
No frown, no hint of irritation. He does something else, something that catches you off guard in the best way possible.
can you write something with angst and fluff on john logan as we all are loving him being a yearner it would be fun to read
Warnings: Fluff, angst, sexual themes but not smut, cursing, alcohol
Pairing: John Logan X Reader
Summary: John Logan has been smitten with you from day one. But in your mind, guys like him don't really exist. This has to be a joke. So he yearns.
Prompts: None
Authors Note: First Off Campus post, I'm ecstatic as a lover of the books and show. Not fully proof read so..ignore any mistakes. Okay thanks!
@themarvelousbox wrote this partly for you because you're my bestie and obsessed with Logan. 💕
Dancing was not normally my thing but I have enough alcohol flowing through my veins that I forgot to care as my hips sway to the loud music. Which in itself is funny as I rarley drink. I guess that is what happens when you find your dynamic duo making out with the guy you've been crazy about for months. Dynamic duo, my ass. Friends don't make out with other friends crushes.
I try to tell myself it's not that deep as I make my way back to the crowded kitchen for more alcohol, pushing past the alarming amount of shirtless guys. Mostly everyone is some sort of drunk and common sense is starting to disapear all together. I barley make it out of the way of a couple attacking each others face and feel a body bump into mine.
"Wow you good?" Probably one of the sexiest voices I have ever heard says calmly. Turning, I see who I collided with.
John Logan.
"Y-yeah..sorry..was trying not to become that couples third."
A warm chuckle comes from him as he moved aside, providing me space to lean on the counter next to him. God, he was hot. "I don't think they would notice if you did."
A small smile grazes my lips. "No? Guess it wouldn't be that exciting then. I'll just stick to alcohol."
An amused smile grazes's his lips as he reaches into the ice next to him and grabs me a can "Here. Can is safer."
My chest tightens at that thoughtful gesture. "Thank you"
"Yeah, of course. I don't mean to pry but you look sad. Did something happen?"
I take a drink of the can IPA he gave me and think before I speak. "It's going to sound stupid."
"Tell me anyway." He said in a soft voice, moving closer, our bodies close to touching again as more people crowd the space.
"My friend and I came here together..she's my dynamic duo..and I walked in on her making out with this guy I've had a crush on for months. She knows about it too. I mean technically she did nothing wrong. We aren't dating-"
"Nope. Fuck that. That's not stupid. You don't have to be dating the guy for that to sting."
My shoulders move up in a quick shrug and I can feel Logans eyes trailing over my face as I take another drink. "Come with me."
"What? Where?"
"It's a surprise but I decided you aren't going to be sad the rest of the night over a guy who probably didn't deserve you anyways and a shitty friend." He says while giving me a charming smile.
I get butterflies in my stomach as I nod. "Fine just no killing me. This is stranger danger."
John chuckles as he takes my hand, guiding me out. "This is not stranger danger. We know each others first names from lit class."
"Everyone knows your name."
"Well that's even more reason not to kill you. If I did everyone would say you left with John Logan and I'd be fucked. I'm not a very good liar."
The laugh that comes out of me feels so natural, I barley remember I was upset five minutes ago. Logan leads me outside and down the road to an empty park. Then he leads me to a swing set, the swings moving slightly in the breeze.
"I thought maybe you could use some quiet and this is far enough that we shouldn't be able to hear the music or obnoxious drunk college students." He flashed a grin as he sat on one of the swings.
"Darn." I say as I sit in the swing next to him. "Seeing people barf in yards is a hobby of mine actually."
It's peaceful and comfortable. Banter is easy with him.
"Babe..I hate to break it to you but your hobbies are fucked up." He flashes me that damn grin again followed by his chuckle. "So..what's your biggest secret?" Logan asks out of the blue.
"You want to know my secrets now Logan?" I smile softly, looking at him.
"I want to know everything about you actually, just thought that was a good ice breaker." He grins "How about we start with your favorite color?"
I answer him and the night continued with random questions being answered, laughing at ridiculous jokes, me ranting about books I love and him telling me all about his hockey dreams.
Maybe I was drunk, maybe I was tired, but I could have sworn he was looking at me like I was important. Like no guy has ever looked at me before..
Yeah...definitely tired.
"You disappeared at the party." My friend Piper says as we sip our coffees on a campus bench.
"Yeah, I was having a bad night so Logan took me to a park for some quiet." I say nonchalantly as I scroll on my phone.
"Logan..John Logan? As in Briar hockey player.."
"Yes. I bumped into him when I went to get another drink and he could tell I was upset."
A sarcastic laugh sounds next to me and I look up at Piper.
"Yeah..right. And I fucked Dean Di Laurentis."
"I think he'd fuck anyone so I'm not sure why that would be a crazy thing." I turn to look at her "Do you not believe me?"
"It's just weird. I say you vanished and now you magically were with one of the most popular guys in school."
"So because you didn't see me..it's not real? You didn't even ask why I was upset."
"You can tell me why, just don't lie about who you were with."
I scoff. "You're unbelievable. I was upset because I saw you making out with Jack who you knew I had a thing for, now you're saying I'm a liar."
"You were never going to talk to Jack anyways. I mean I'm sorry if it upset you but you don't need to make up hanging out with a hock-"
"There you are." A deep voice interrupts Piper, who's eyes go wide upon hearing it.
I turn to see, of course, John Logan standing there with his killer grin. "Hi." I squeak out.
"I've been looking for you all day. You're surprisingly hard to find." He sits and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "So who is this?" He looks a Piper. "Let me guess, the "Friend" who was making out with the guy you liked."
"I-I-it was just a misunderstanding." Piper goes pale.
"Them being upset wasn't a misunderstanding."
"Well I just.."
"And I heard you saying you don't believe them."
I know I'm failing horribly at hiding my smile at this point. The reaction of Piper as Logan calls her out instantly perked my mood up.
"It was just-"
"Hard to believe that I'd spend time with them let alone be into them? Well I am." He squeezes my shoulder.
I look up at Logan in surprise until it clicks. He's just saying this to defend me against Piper because he's a good guy. That's all this is.
"I'm going to go." Piper stands and collects her things then walks away quickly. I never even glance at her.
Logan turns his attention back to me. "Sorry about that, she was just pissing me off."
I can't help but laugh at that. This man just showed up out of nowhere when I needed him, defended me against a mean girl, pretended to show interest in me and is now apologizing. "Are you serious?"
"What?" He furrows his brows.
"Logan you just saved my reputation and you're saying sorry?"
"......Maybe?"
A laugh leaves me again and I shake my head. After a few moments, Logan laughs with me.
"This isn't what I ordered." A voice says, the sharpness of it snapping me out of my own head.
"I'm sorry?" I say, looking down at the plate of food I just dropped off.
"This isn't what I ordered. I clearly said I wanted extra ketchup on the side and it's not there."
I look down at the grumpy, bald man sitting with a french fry gripped in his fist. "I'm so sorry sir, we'll get that fixe-"
"How damn hard is it to do ask I asked the first time?!" He raised his voice, not fully yelling but loud enough to get attention from other tables.
"Hey!" A voice I have come to know to well called out. Turning, I see Logan standing up from his chair, his friends looking at him both with confused and amused expressions. "They said they would fix it. What else do you want? Chill out."
I turn and give a small smile over my shoulder, mouthing a quick thank you before I turn back to the man in front of me. "Hockey players..am I right? I'm so sorry about this, it's our mistake, I'll get it fixed and get you a slice of pie on the house. How's that sound?"
"Well..I guess that's fair." The bald man nodded.
"Happy to do it." I flash him my customer service smile and go to get the missing ketchup and pie.
"You're so fucked." I hear the unmistakable voice of the one and only Dean Di Laurentis say as I pass the boys table. I pretend like I'm not paying attention as I get what needed for my customer, but my eyes keep drifting to Logan..
"What are you talking about? I was just being a good person..that guy was an ass. I'd defend anyone..."
"You probably would but this was different." Garrett added in a teasing tone.
"You guys are reading into things. Come on..back me up Tuck."
"Oh no. I definitely agree with them. You're whipped."
A smile grazes my lips as Logan lets out a loud sigh and glances my way. I pretend not to notice but my heart is racing, surely they are just kidding. Logan would never like me like that. Besides there has to be some flaw I haven't seen yet.
No guy is that..perfect.
I walk past the boys table and to my customer, trying to pretend I hadn't heard anything said between the friends. That part, I realized was easy, pretending not to feel Logans eyes burning into my back wasn't. I didn't feel tense, I didn't feel uncomfortable. I felt wanted and that scared me.
"You're crying." Logans gentle voice snaps my attention away from my phone and up to his worried expression. "What happened?"
"It's not what you think." A small embarrassed chuckle leaves me as I wipe my eyes quickly.
Logan tilts his head like a lost puppy, the concern showing more. "Did someone hurt you?"
"What? No. Logan." A small giggle leaves me
"Because I will fuck them up Y/N. I swear to god. Whoever made you cry-"
"Logan!" I laugh again.
Logan turns his head back to me, brows furrowed in confusion. "Then what is it?"
"Those were happy tears from a tiktotk I watched."
The look on Logans face is almost enough to send me into histarics. His brows rise so high I swear they are about to touch his hairline. "A tiktok. A tiktok made you cry?"
"Yes. Because humans can be sweet and cute when they want to be and when I get reminded of that, I get emotional. Sue me."
"Bab-" Logan clears his throat and pulls his eye contact away from me, shifting to my phone instead. "There is nothing wrong with being emotional over these things. I just thought someone upset you."
I can't help but blush softly at his words. I wipe the last stray tear clinging to my lash line and look over at him. "Would you actually care that much if someone did?"
"Of course I would." He looks at me, clear confusion on his face.
"No, I mean. I know you care because you're a good person and would care if anyone was crying but I just mean..you say it like you care about me personally. That I am crying." I ramble, looking down at my hands as I do.
"I do care because it's you." He almost whispers, his hand reaching for mine.
I lift my eyes to meet his that are already waiting for me. There is something unreadable about them. Something full of warmth and longing.
"You don't have to just say that."
"I'm not just saying it." He assures gently.
Our eyes search each others for a moment before my nerves get the better of me and I look away. Butterflies swirl around my stomach and I'm suddenly aware of how close we are. "Do you want to see the tiktok?"
Logan blinks back into himself and I can see the disappointment of the moment I ruined. He smiles anyways. "Of course. Show me the tiktok."
Panic takes over my breathing as I pace my dorm room. I'm trying to calm myself down, honestly. But everything in me is screaming something is wrong, I'm wrong. I don't know why I am the way that I am. I take things too seriously, get hurt over meaningless things and people find me annoying. I try desperately to tell myself it's not true but my brain says otherwise.
A knock breaks me from my internal breakdown and I open the door to see Logan standing there, almost looking shy. "Hey." he gives me a weak smile and leans in the door way.
"How...how did you find my dorm?"
"I saw one of your friends on campus and asked which building your dorm was in then I knocked on every door until I found yours." He's silent for a minute. "Okay that sounds way more creepy than I thought."
I can't stop the small giggle the leaves my lips. I already feel lighter and he just got here.
"I'm not creepy, I swear. It's just you weren't answering my texts and I wanted to see you. I felt like something was wrong." He looks at me, really looks me. "Hey, what's wrong?"
The gentleness in his voice makes me tear up again. "It's stupid."
"No, don't do that baby. I've got you just talk to me." He reaches up and gently wipes away a tear that escaped my lash line.
"It's just a bad day. I feel like I'm wrong. Like I'm too much or something. I can't really explain it."
Logan takes both my hands in his and kisses them. "It's okay to have a bad day. But I need you to listen to me." He loweres himself to look in my eyes. "You are not too much. You are not broken. You are not annoying or whatever else your brain is saying to you. You are perfect, there isn't a thing I would change about you. I admire, adore everything I have come to learn about you and I want to know more."
I look over his face, taking in ever detail on emotion. I know he is genuine but when I see the look in his eyes, I know he means every word.
"Are you tearing up again? Fuck no. Did I say something wrong?"
"No you silly man, you said exactly the right thing." A tearful laugh escapes me.
"Then why are you crying again sweetheart?"
"Because I have never had anyone to be here through this, to tell me what I need to hear...and mean it." A small laugh leaves my lips. "You knocked on every door until you found mine. How are you real?"
"I just missed you." He blushes a bit, squeezing my hands.
"Thank you."
"Thank you for what?" Logan looks over my face again.
"Everything. For make me feel better that night of the party, sticking up for me when that customer yelled at me, caring when you found me crying on campus and now. You've just always been there from me since we met."
"It's easy..I can't get you off my mind." He breathed out. He lets go of my hand and slowly reaches to my cheek. His palm cups it and his soft but calloused skin warms it. "You don't have to thank me, for anything."
"Well too bad. I want to." I lean into his touch. "So what can I do to pay you back."
A smirk grazes his lips and I instantly think maybe I should be scared. "You really want to know?"
"Oh god..on second thought..."
Logan chuckles softly. It's breathy and warm, all my nerves from before are instantly gone. "Come to my game on Friday and wear my jersey."
"That's it?"
"That's it baby." He presses a soft kiss to my head.
"Fine then. It's a Deal."
As promised I showed up to the game in Logans spare jersey. I felt a sense of pride knowing his last name was in big white letters on my back. Like I was his, he was mine and now we were telling the world.
I take my seat, an open one next to Hannah that is suspiciously close to the ice. I guess Logan arranged that too when he told me to sit by Wellsy.
"Y/N hi!" Hannah grins and moved her bag out of my chair. "I was so excited when Logan said you'd be coming."
"Hi." I smile. "Yeah he practically forced me." I tease as I sit.
"I wouldn't be surprised. He's been talking about you for almost a month now."
"What?" I blink and look at her.
"Oh..oh..I just mean that he." Hannah sighs and looks at me. "You know he likes you. Right? I mean really likes you."
"He's my friend, of course he likes me." I blush at her words.
"No, no. Don't do that. He like likes you."
"He's never said anything."
"Maybe he hasn't said it, but he's shown it hasn't he?"
I start replaying all our past interactions in my head after Hannah says that. It's true. He has. Every time I needed him, he showed up. Even if he got it wrong and I wasn't really sad, he tried to comfort me. He defended me against my shitty friend without hesitation, stood up for me when I had a rude customer, went to every dorm room trying to find mine. Even that very first night, he put my comfort first. He always puts me first.. "Holy shit" I breath.
"You see it now?" Hannah tilted her head with a glowing smile.
"Yeah. I think I've been blind, and an idiot. A blind idiot." I let out a shaky laugh. "He's been right in front of me this whole time and I pushed it away."
"Well, good news is you have tonight to fix that. You're here for him and that's already something."
"You're precious Hannah."
She grins widely. "So I've been told." With that she turns to the ice and waves at Garrett as he passes. Logan, who's not far behind him stops to give me a smile through the plexiglass.
Feeling brave, I blow him a kiss. Logan grins widely and pretends to catch it before skating after Garrett again.
"Oh you're so down bad." Hannah nudges my shoulder playfully.
We watch the game intently after it starts, I'm cheering so loud I'm sure my voice will be gone tomorrow. Just when I think I can't get any louder. Logan scores the game winning goal. I'm on my feet before I even think about, clapping and yelling Logans name proudly.
"Hell yeah, John Logan wins for the hawks. You can see the excitement." Jules says from the other side of me as they pan their camera to me. "Anything to say about it Y/N?"
"John Logan is a bad ass and I'm so proud of him!" I grin and turn to show off the back of my jersey, his name loud and proud. I'm grinning so wide and I want everyone to know..Logan is my person.
"You were amazing!" I yell as I ran towards Logan. He had just finished up in the locker room and met us outside. Garrett went to Hannah and from the corner of my eye I could see them embracing but I really just cared about getting to Logan.
He embraced me the moment we met, I could feel his joy radiating off of him. "I'm serious Logan. You were so so amazing. I'm so proud." I pull my face back so I could look up at him. He was already looking at me, with the softest eyes I've ever seen. Like none if this mattered if I wasn't there. Before I could think about it. I kissed him.
He melts into it quickly, his lips moving with mine. It's soft and gently but full of want. I spent so long talking myself out of this, saying he was just being nice, that he couldn't want me like this. Deprecating my value and worth because I was insecure.
But Logan..god Logan. Not once did he give up on me, not once did he make me feel like I was worth less. He's been steady, waiting for me to see how he wanted me.
Now I wanted to return the favor.
Logan moved a hand into my hair as he kisses me slightly deeper. I can feel his smile against my lips as we move together. Time seems to slow and all I focus on is him. I bring my hand up and play with the hair at the nape of his next, taking my time in the kiss. Nothing rushed. Everything perfect. It's minutes before we finally part, foreheads rested on each other.
Logan grins at me, his hand moving to cup my cheek. "Do you know how long I have waited for that?"
"Yeah..I think I just figured it out." I breath.
"I want you, all of you. I want to proudly say your mine and I'm yours."
"Do I get to keep wearing the jerseys?"
Logan lets out a warm chuckle. "You can have whatever you want baby, so long as I get to have you."
"I'm yours. Finally."
"Thank god." Logan breaths against my lips then kisses me again.
His lips against mine and I wonder why did I wait so long?
summary: the rules are strict—you must date for two months, you must act convincingly in public, and whoever catches feelings first automatically loses.
pairing: john logan (off campus) x fem!reader
warnings/tags: 18+ content (read responsibly!) fake dating trope, enemies to lovers if you squint, mild swearing, emotional constipation, sexual tension/suggestive banter, basically the deal but make it john logan with a few changes (requested by anon who asked for a fake dating trope)
The bass vibrating through the floorboards of the hockey house felt less like a party and more like a localized seismic event.
Standing in the corner of the living room, a red plastic cup of lukeward beer held loosely in your hand, you observed the chaos with the detached scrutiny you usually reserved for your political science seminars.
It was only eleven on a Friday night, but the house was already operating at maximum capacity. Bodies pressed together in the dim ligthing, moving to a track that threated to shatter the windows.
"You're doing the thing again," Hannah said, appearing at your shoulder. She smelled like expensive vanilla and whatever fruity drink Garrett had given her.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," you replied.
"That glare," Hannah clarified, bumping her shoulder against yours. "The one where you look at this party like it's something worth writing a thesis on. Relax, babe. It's Friday. Your debate briefs are done, just have fun."
"I am having fun," you said midly. "I just watched a guy try to open a beer bottle with his teeth and fail."
Hannah sighed, shaking her head, though a fond smile played on her lips. At the age of twenty, Hannah Wells was one of the few people at Briar you genuinely liked.
She was grounded, observant, and possessed the patience of a saint—which she needed, considering she was dating Garrett Graham, a man who took up entire too much oxygen in any given room.
Speaking of, your eyes tracked Garrett as he navigated through the sea of drunk undergraduates, making a beeline straight for Hannah.
"Hey, beautiful," Garrett said, sliding an arm around Hannah's waist and pressing a kiss to her temple that was too domestic for a frat party.
He looked over her head at you. "Thrilled as always to see you radiating sunshine."
"I try to keep the moral high, Graham," you replied dryly.
"Where's the rest of your circus?" Hannah asked, leaning comfortably against Garrett's chest.
"Dean is currently trying to convince two freshmen that he's investigating the economics of the campus weed supply for school purposes," Garrett said, sounding entirely unbothered.
"Tucker's in the kitchen making a charcuterie board out of Ritz crackers. And Logan's somewhere. Probably flirting his way into a girl's pants."
Logan.
That name alone felt like a minor inconvenience. He was perpetually restless, hiding an objective sharp mind beneath layers of obnoxious frat-boy humor.
He was the kind of guy who couldn't stop moving—tapping cups, spinning cups, drumming his fingers against tables. His main flaw, as far as you could tell, was his absolute refusal to be genuine for more than three seconds.
"Don't tell me he's right behind me," you said, detecting a sudden shift in the air behind your back.
"He's right behind you," a voice drawled near your ear.
The heat radiating off his chest was immediate, creeping through the thin fabric of your top. You turn slowly, tilting your head back to meet Logan's eyes.
He was tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking the strobe lights from the makeshift dance floor.
"Sweetheart," Logan said, a lazy, infuriating smirk curving his mouth. "You're at my house. Drinking my cheap beer. Looking aggressively judgmental. It's like my birthday came early."
"If it were your birthday, I would've brought a gift," you shot back. "Like a dictionary. Or perhaps a book on basic social etiquette."
Garrett snorted loudly, burrying his face in Hannah's neck to muffle his laughter.
Logan didn't flinch. Instead, he took half a step closer. He did this all the time—invaded personal space, trying to rattle people with his presence. He smelled like beer and an underlying male musk that was very distracting.
"A dictionary?" Logan feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. "I passed my comms paper last week. Got a B-plus. Care to issue an apology for implying I'm illiterate?"
"A B-plus?" You arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess. The prompt was a three-page analysis of team dynamics, and you just described the plot of The Mighty Ducks."
Logan's eyes darkened, a flash of genuine amusement sparking in the dim light. "First of all, it was Miracle. Have some respect for the classics. Second of all, my work was flawless. You're just mad because you actually study for that class and I can bullshit my way into the same bracket."
"You don't bullshit, Logan, you distract," you corrected, your voice dropping an octave as you leaned in just a fraction. Two could play this game.
"Your arguments have zero structural integrity. You win debates by being loud and charming, forcing the opposition to give up out of sheer exhaustion. It's a cheap tactic."
"If it works, it's not cheap," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a split second before returning to your eyes. "It's effective. You'd know that if you didn't argue like a politician who hates people."
"I don't hate people," you replied smoothly. "I just set high standards."
"Oh, snap!" A new voice interjected cheerfully.
You glanced sideways to see Dean materializing out of nowhere, dragging a very tired-looking Tucker behind him.
"Look who it is," Dean grinned, tossing an arm around Logan's shoulders and gesturing wildly at you with a solo cup. "Briar's premier academic terror."
"Hello, Dean. Did you solve the economic crisis of the campus weed supply?"
Dean blinked, genuinely taken aback, before pointing a finger at Garrett. "You told her? That was supposed to be a covert op, Graham!"
"You were shouting it at two freshmen in the kitchen!" Tucker sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked at you apologetically. "Good to see you. Sorry about... all of this."
Logan let out a low huff of laughter, stepping closer again. His arms brushed yours, sending an unbidden, sharp thrill of heat straight up your spine.
"So what are we aggressively debating tonight?" Dean asked eagerly, looking back and forth between Logan and you like you were a tennis match.
"Last week it was the geopolitical implications of Batman. Which for the record, you won. Logan sounded like an idiot."
"I was making a valid point about vigilante infrastructure," Logan protested loudly. "And I'm not doing this again. I was just pointing out that she hates fun. She thinks sports superstitions are dumb."
"I didn't say they were dumb," you corrected, turning your body fully toward Logan. "I said they were pathetic. Tapping a hockey stick against the post does not appease the 'hockey gods.' It's just you, a grown man, relying on magic because you can't shoulder the burden of a random outcome."
The entire circle went dead silent.
Even the thumping bass of the track seemed to fade into the background as Garrett, Dean, and Tucker all stared at you in horror. Superstitions in a hockey house were effectively a religion.
You had basically just walked into the Vatican and insulted the Pope.
Hannah covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God."
Logan didn't look mad. If anything, the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth grew sharper.
"Say that again," he dared you, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a flush of heat creeping up your neck.
"I don't repeat myself for the stubbornly ignorant," you whispered back, holding his gaze fiercely.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Logan was overwhelming up close, the scent of his cologne curling into your lungs. He was staring at you like you were a puzzle he firmly intended to break apart.
The physical awareness between you was suddenly deafening. The rise and fall of his chest, the slight flex of his jaw, the way his thumb rubbed absently against the seam of his jeans.
It was heavy, heated, and entirely inappropriate considering you were fundamentally incompatible.
"You guys flirt like divorced parents," Dean announced loudly, shattering the tension.
You stepped back instantly. "I'd rather die, Di Laurentis."
"Seriously," Garrett chimed in, leaning against the wall with a delighted grin. "The sexual tension is ruining my high. Just make out already so Logan stops acting like a rabid dog every time you walk into a room."
"I do not act like a rabid dog," Logan snapped. He glanced at Garrett before shooting a defensive look at you. "And for the record, I don't flirt with her. Having a civil conversation with her is like trying to pet a cactus."
"A cactus?" You crossed your arms. "Your metaphors are weak as shit."
Logan stepped into your space again. "My metaphors are elite. You couldn't handle dating me anyway. I'm exhausting."
"Please," you scoffed. "I'd win."
Logan blinked, momentarily thrown off-balance. "You'd... win dating me? That doesn't even make sense."
"It means," you said, stepping right up into his space. "That if we dated, I would be completely unbothered. You, on the other hand, would crack in a week. You need vaildation too much. The moment I didn't laugh at your stupid jokes, your ego would implode."
"Is that right?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerously smooth register.
"That's a hypothesis," you whispered, holding his stare. "Backed by evidence."
"Alright, that's it," Garrett shouted, clapping his hands together like a referee ending a play. "Bet."
You tore your eyes away from Logan to look at Garrett. "What?"
"I'm calling the bluff," Garrett announced, stepping into the center of the circle. "Two months."
"Garrett, no," Hannah warned, grabbing his arm. "This is such a bad idea. They'll kill each other."
"No, let him speak," Logan interrupted, his eyes never leaving your face. There was a reckless, arrogant light in his gaze now. "What are you proposing, G?"
"A fake relationship," Garrett declared grandly. "Two months. Exclusive. Here are the terms: You two have to publicly pretended to be wildly, obnoxiously in love. You go to parties together. You sit in the cafeteria. You do all the gross couple shit."
"Absolutely not. You're the one to talk about fake relationships, Graham," you said immediately.
"Let him finish," Dean rubbed his hands together like a villain. "This is getting good."
"If you quit early, you lose," Garrett continued, counting on his fingers. "If you make it obvious to anyone outside this circle that it's fake, you lose. And the most important rule: whoever catches feelings first, loses."
Logan let out a bark of laughter. "Catch feelings? For her? I'd rather drink bleach."
"The feeling is mutual," you shot back smoothly.
"Excellent," Tucker said mildly, folding his arms. "Then this should be effortless for the both of you."
"If you both survive two months without losing," Dean added hastily, clearly inventing the stakes on the spot, "the three of us will cover Logan's share of the rent for the semester. And for the lady... we'll pay for your prep courses for the LSAT."
You froze. LSAT prep courses were expensive. You had been working extra shifts at the campus library just to save up for the basic packages.
Your secret, the one you closely guarded beneath your tailored clothes and sharp remarks, was that you constantly, exhaustingly stressed about money. Your parents weren't footing your tuition like the rest of the kids in this house.
You glanced at Logan.
He looked entirely unbothered, practically vibrating with the arrogant certainty that he could beat you. He probably thought it would be easy money. He probably thought he could charm his way through two months of fake dates, annoy you into quitting, and walk away victorious.
"Two months," you verified. "Exclusive public dating. Must appear convincing. Catching feelings results to an automatic forfeit."
"Those are the terms," Garrett confirmed, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Babe," Hannah whispered, leaning into your ear. "Do not do this. Logan is an idiot, but he's a very aggressively charming idiot. You're voluntarily putting yourself in the line of fire."
"Hannah," you murmured back, eyes fixed on Logan. "I'm going to ruin his life."
You stepped forward, extending your hand toward Logan.
"Deal."
Logan looked at your outstretched hand for a moment. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, slowly, he reached out and wrapped his calloused hand around yours. His palm was warm, rough from years of handling a hockey stick, and the sheer size of his grip swallowed your hand completely.
The moment your skin made contact, a violent, unexpected jolt of heat shot straight up your arm, setting low and heavy in your stomach. Logan's eyes snapped up to yours, widening just a fraction as if he had felt the same shock.
"Two months," Logan murmured, his voice suddenly sounding lower, rougher than it had a moment ago. "Try not to fall in love with me."
"Don't worry, Logan," you said, stepping back, desperately ignoring the tingling warmth still radiating across your skin. "I prefer men with actual reading comprehension skills."
As you turned away, dragging Hannah toward the kitchen to refill your beer, your mind was racing. You had a 3.9 GPA. You had destroyed professors in debates. You were composed, rational, and immune to college boy bullshit.
What are you doing with your life?
What happens after you agree to a fake-dating bet with John Logan is not a smooth, cinematic transition into romance. It is a controlled massacre of your entire existence.
By Monday morning, Briar University had done what Briar always did with total campus chaos: it weaponized it into gossip.
The exact moment you knew your carefully, ordered, highly academic life had collapsed was when you walked into your first class. Three people you had never seen before in your life turned in perfect, horrifying unision said, "Hey, Logan's girlfriend."
You didn't correct them. Not because it was true, but because correcting them would imply that you cared enough to use your vocal cords. And you absolutely refused to give the entire hockey house the satisfaction of knowing they've got you riled up.
Logan was waiting outside the lecture hall. As soon as he saw you, he pushed the wall with a lazy smirk. "Morning, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that in daylight. I feel like I'm being slaughtered."
"That's the whole point," he replied easily, not missing a beat.
Before you could step past him, he moved directly into your personal space. Logan didn't understand the concept of a normal human boundary.
Or, more accurately, he understood it perfectly and just liked seeing you try to calculate the physics of how much trouble you'd get into for shoving him into the nearest trash can.
He held out a coffee cup. You paused. "...Is that for me?"
"No, it's an experiment. I'm conducting a study on what happens when your cold, robotic, cynical heart accepts a basic act of human kindess. Do you melt? Do you hiss? I need to know."
You snatched it from his hand with a glare. You took a sip, fully prepared to criticize his taste, but stopped mid-swallow. It was exactly how you liked it.
You hated that he knew that. You hated that he had apparently paid attention to your order exactly once three weeks ago and cataloged it away.
By noon, your little arrangement has entered phase two.
When you sat down in the crowded dining hall with your laptop open, ready to get some actual work done, Logan didn't take the empty seat across from you.
He slid right onto the bench next to you. His thigh pressed casually against yours, the heat of his body radiating through his jacket. He acted like it was completely accidental, totally ignoring the fact that your entire nervous system was actively trying to exit your body through your ears.
Dean slid into the seat across from you a second later, immediately grinning like a hyena. "Oh, this absolute disgusting. Look at you two. You're doing the couple lean already. My stomach is turning, I love it."
"We're not leaning," you said, stiffening your posture until you were straight as an ironing board.
Logan immediately leaned his entire upper body weight into your shoulder, resting his chin almost directly on your collarbone to look at your laptop screen.
"What are we studying, baby?"
You shifted away, your face burning.
He followed.
You shifted back toward the edge of the bench.
He followed again, nudging his shoulder against yours with a quiet chuckle that vibrated right against your side.
"If you don't move three inches to the left," you whispered to Logan, "I'm going to stick this fork in your knee."
"Threatening me with bodily harm?" Logan beamed, completely unbothered. "Write that down, G. It's out one-week anniversary."
By the second week, the cracks in your defense strategy started small. Annoyingly, frustratingly small.
The real issue was Logan remembering things. Not grand, cinematic, romantic things. That would've been easy to ignore. It was worse. It was the mundane, everyday things.
On Tuesday, a freak afternoon thunderstorm hit right as your statistics seminar let out. You stood in the lobby of the building, staring gloomily at the pouring rain, fully prepared to ruin your favorite shoes and your mood.
Then the heavy glass doors swung open, bringing in a gust of cold air, and there was Logan. He was soaking wet, his hair blasted blasted by the wind, holding out a massive umbrella.
"What are you doing here?" you asked. "Don't you have practice?"
"Canceled," he lied smoothly, though you knew for a fact hockey practice was never canceled unless the arena literally froze over from the outside.
"C'mon, I'm not letting your stuff get damaged. I'd never hear the end of it."
On Thursday, after you spent six straight hours in the computer lab and forgot that human beings require food to stay alive, he casually walked past your desk.
Without saying a word, he dropped a bag of chips, a sandwich, and a protein bar right on top of your keyboard. He didn't even linger for a thank you; he just flashed you a smile and kept walking.
Then he started walking you home from the campus library. Every single night.
"You don't have to do this, you know," you told him one chilly night. "I'm perfectly capable of walking without security."
"I know," he replied simply, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
That was it. No cocky comeback. No punchline to ease the tension. Just complete, unbothered certainty. And that was the exact problem. John Logan didn't do anything without intent.
Later that weekend, the hockey house threw a massive party that you were forced to attend to 'keep up the act.' You were standing with Logan by the crowded kitchen island when Dean loudly announced to a group of girls.
"Just so you all know, Logan hasn't even looked at anyone's way ever since she came. The man is practically a monk."
The girls laughed, looking at Logan expectantly, waiting for him to play along or make a joke.
Logan didn't deny it. He didn't even laugh. He just took a slow sip of his cup and said, "No time. I've been busy."
And he looked directly, intensely at you when he said it.
The heat in his gaze made your face feel like it was on fire. You came very, very close to throwing your cup of beer straight at his beautiful, stupid forehead. Almost.
By week three, the rest of the house began to notice that something was seriously off with the atmosphere.
It wasn't that you were acting like a couple in public (That was the literal objective of the bet). The actual problem was much worse: it was starting to look real when absolutely no one was watching.
Hannah cornered you in the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon while you were trying to make tea.
"You're aware you're softening, right?" she asked, leaning her hip against the counter and eyeing you.
"I am not softening," you said keeping your voice entirely flat and monotone.
Hannah gave you a long, knowing look that made you want to crawl under the floor. "You're not losing the bet," she said quietly, her tone softening. "But something's happening."
She patted your shoulder in a way that felt entirely too sympathetic and walked away before you could come up with a brilliant counterargument to save face.
The following week was the week everything completely shifted, because Logan stopped performing.
The flirting didn't disappear, but it changed into something unrecognizable. There was less showmanship, less playing to the crowd. He stopped making the rest of the campus his audience.
Instead, he started making you his sole focus.
One chilly Friday night, he walked you back to your dorm after a grueling study session that had left you wishing for a quick death.
"You don't have to come up to the door," you said. "I have my keys anyway."
"I know."
But he didn't move. He just stood there, his breath turning to white mist in the cold night air. His dark hair was slightly messy from the wind, and he looked incredibly human.
The silence stretched between you, growing longer and heavier by the second. Usually, this was the part where he'd make a sarcastic comment, flash his signature grin, or try to steal a fake kiss to get a reaction out of you so he could tease you about it.
But he just looked at you.
Then quieter than you'd ever heard him speak, Logan said, "You ever think about what happens after this?"
You frowned, "We win. Obviously. You and I get the satisfaction of annoying the boys and not pay for anything. Life continues exactly as it did before we started this."
"That's not what I meant."
You studied his face. The streetlights threw sharp shadows across his jawline. He wasn't smirking, or teasing, he looked incredibly still. It made your stomach tighten in a way that you really, really did not appreciate.
"I don't think about the after," you said carefully, your voice barely above a whisper.
Logan nodded once. Like that was a completely acceptable answer. Like it was for now.
"Goodnight," he said softly, turning to walk down the path toward his car.
Naturally, the first real breakdown happened during a completely stupid, unromantic moment.
It was a Thursday night in the absolute deepest basement of the campus library. It was past 2:00 AM. Your notes looked like ancient hieroglyphics, your brain felt like wet cement, and your very last remaining nerve was hanging on by a single, fraying thread of caffeine.
Out of nowhere, a familiar shadow fell over your messy desk. Logan slid into the wooden chair directly across from you. He looked entirely too awake for two in the morning.
“You look like you’re about to commit a felony,” he said, eye-level with your massive stack of textbooks.
“I am studying.”
“That’s worse.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a massive headache blooming behind your eyes. “Why are you even here, Logan? Don't you sleep?”
He reached out and lightly tapped the edge of your open laptop. “Because Hannah told me you haven’t eaten anything since lunch. And because you’re stubborn.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I’m just highly focused. It’s an adrenaline rush.”
“You’re going to pass out on a public desk and some freshman is going to steal your notes.”
“I said I’m—”
The words caught in your throat. Logan reached across the table, his large hand wrapping around the top edge of your laptop, and gently but firmly closed it shut.
“Come on,” he said.
It wasn't a command. He wasn't teasing your or trying to be funny. His voice was just filled with a quiet, undeniable certainty that completely disarmed me.
You stared at him, your stubbornness trying to flare up one last time. “I’m not done.”
“You are for tonight,” he said. He paused, looking at you with an expression that was so soft, so genuinely sweet, it scared me more than any test ever could. Quieter, he added, “I’m not asking.”
And for some horrific reason, that was what broke you. It wasn't him trying to control the situation; it was the fact that he was disguising genuine, protective care as control. My throat felt tight.
Once you got outside into the cool, crisp night air, he pulled a warm, wrapped breakfast sandwich out of his jacket pocket—he must have gone to the 24-hour diner down the street—and handed it to you.
“You’re really not supposed to be good at this,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.
“At what?”
“Whatever this is. Being nice. Taking care of me. It’s messing with everything”
Logan leaned his back against the brick wall of the library, looking down at you with a soft, steady expression. “I’m not trying.”
And that, right there, was the ultimate problem. He wasn't trying to act like a good boyfriend for the bet. He just was.
By week six, Garrett called an emergency house meeting. In the hockey house, a formal house meeting meant disaster was not just imminent—it had already arrived, unpacked its bags, and moved into the guest room.
“You guys are failing,” Garrett announced, pointing a finger at you and Logan from across the living room coffee table like a disappointed coach.
“We are literally not failing,” you shot back instantly, crossing your arms defensively. “Everyone on campus thinks we’ve been dating for a month and a half. The dean literally asked me how Logan was doing yesterday.”
“You’re not winning, though,” Dean corrected, leaning over the back of the couch with a piece of leftover pizza in his hand.
Tucker nodded from the armchair, not looking up from his phone. “There is a distinct difference between surviving and winning.”
Logan leaned back in his seat, looking completely unbothered as he stretched his long legs out across the rug. “We’re fine. The bet is intact. No one doubts us.”
Hannah didn’t speak at all. She just sat in the corner armchair, watching the two of you with a look that made you incredibly nervous.
Garrett stood up and started pacing, pointing between the two of you. “You’re supposed to be acting. That was the deal. Fake dating. But right now, Logan looks like he’s thinking way too much about what he's doing, and she looks like she’s actively trying not to look at him. It’s weird. The vibe is off.”
“I don’t think,” Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s against my brand.”
Without thinking, your brain completely bypassing your filters, you blurted out, “He absolutely thinks. He thinks more than all of you combined. He’s incredibly observant, and just because he doesn't shout his thoughts doesn't mean he's empty-headed.”
The entire room went dead silent. Garrett stopped mid-pace. Dean froze with the pizza halfway to his mouth.
They all stared at you. Then you realized what you had just done: you had just fiercely, reflexively, passionately defended Logan John’s honor in front of his best friends.
That was entirely new. That was not in the script. You hated myself a little bit in that moment, your cheeks burning a bright, undeniable crimson.
It was exactly eleven forty-five on a Friday night, which meant there were fifteen minutes left on the clock.
Fifteen minutes until the wager expired. Sixty days of holding hands in public corridors, sixty days of leaning close enough to share breath but never a kiss, and sixty days of you telling yourself you were fundamentally immune to John Logan.
The bass of the off-campus house party rattled through the worn wooden floorboards, vibrating against the soles of your boots. Red and purple strobe lights sliced through the humid, crowded room, illuminating the exact moment Logan broke through the throng of sweaty bodies.
He moved with that infuriating, effortless grace he always possessed—broad shoulders easily parting the crowd, his dark leather jacket slipping past red plastic cups and uninhibited dancers.
His eyes were locked on you from across the room. There was no trademark smirk tonight. No lazy, arrogant tilt to his jaw. He looked deadly serious.
Your heart did a violent, terrifying stutter against your ribs. Don't lose your nerve.
The bet had been simple: fake date for two months to get your respective meddling friends off your backs, and whoever caught feelings—whoever tapped out first—lost. It was an exercise in ego. A test of pure, stubborn willpower.
He knew exactly where to touch your lower back to make your breath hitch. You knew exactly how to angle your neck when he whispered in your ear so that he would lose his train of thought. It was mutually assured destruction disguised as a joke.
But as he stopped right in front of you, the joke was violently dead.
He took your hand, wrapping his large, warm fingers around your wrist, and pulled you out of the kitchen. You followed blindly, letting him navigate you down a narrow, shadowed hallway away from the crush of the party. The noise muffled slightly, swallowed by the heavy coats piled on a nearby bench.
Logan turned to face you. The shadows carved sharp angles into his cheekbones. His chest was rising and falling a little too fast, his dark eyes entirely devoid of their usual playful challenge. He took a single step into your space, trapping the air between you.
"Time's almost up," he murmured, his voice a low, rough scrape against the thrumming music from the other room.
"I know," you breathed. Your throat felt incredibly dry. You fought the urge to step back, but the wall was already pressing against my shoulder blades. "You ready to concede?"
"No," he said flatly. Then, his gaze dragged down to your mouth, heavy and dark and starving. "I'm ready to change the rules."
Your logical brain told you that you should find a flaw in this plan. Your old survival instinct told you to run away before you got hurt.
But instead, you looked up into his eyes and said, “This is probably going to ruin our entire reputation for being sensible.”
Logan smiled, that beautiful, real smile that didn't have a hint of a smirk in it, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Probably.”
He squeezed your hand tightly, pulling you just an inch closer until your chest was pressed against his jacket. “Worth it?”
You looked at him. Really, truly looked at him—the boy who brought you umbrellas in the rain and remembered how you took your coffee.
You ignored the loud music behind him, the crazy bet behind you, and all the overthinking in your own head. For the first time in two solid months of calculating every move, you didn’t care about the outcome.
“…Yeah,” you whispered, reaching your free hand up to grip the lapel of his jacket. “Definitely worth it.”
Logan exhaled a massive breath, like he’d been holding it underwater for weeks, a look of pure relief washing over his face. “Good,” he said.
And this time, when he stepped closer and leaned his head down, you didn’t move away at all—you reached up to meet him halfway.
The second your lips touched, a violent, desperate shockwave tore through you. It wasn’t a soft, exploratory first kiss. It was an absolute collision.
Logan groaned, a deep, helpless sound in the back of his throat, and immediately dropped his hands to your hips, hauling you flush against his hard body.
He kissed you like he was starving. Like the last two months had been a physical torture he was finally allowed to end. His tongue swept into your mouth, possessive and hot, tasting every corner while his hands gripped your waist tight enough to bruise.
"Baby," he breathed raggedly against your lips, peppering hot, frantic kisses down the corner of your mouth to your jaw. "Christ, I've wanted to do this since week one."
"Then why didn't you?" you gasped, letting your head fall back against the wall as his lips dragged down your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin.
"Because you're stubborn as hell," he growled, biting lightly at your collarbone. "And I needed you to be sure. Let's get out of here. Now."
There was no conversation. No goodbye to your friends. You practically sprinted out the back door, stumbling into the sharp chill of the autumn night. His hand was locked in yours, pulling you toward his car parked down the block.
The entire drive to your apartment was a blur of thick, agonizing tension. Logan kept one hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, while his right hand rested heavily on your thigh.
His thumb dragged slow, torturous circles against the denim of your jeans, sending jolts of heat pooling directly between your legs.
By the time you shoved your way through your front door, the final remnants of restraint shattered.
The heavy wooden door hadn't even clicked shut before Logan pinned you against it. His mouth crashed down on yours again, deeper and dirtier this time.
He tasted like desperation. Your hands scrambled at the zipper of his jacket, shoving the cool leather off his broad shoulders so it dropped uselessly to the floor.
"Fuck, baby," he mumbled roughly, his hands already sliding up under the hem of your sweater. His large, warm palms met the bare skin of your stomach, and you threw your head back with a sharp gasp. "Tell me to stop if this is just the adrenaline."
"Logan," you said, your voice shaking with pure need. "If you stop right now, I'll never forgive you."
He let out a low, feral sound that sent a shiver straight down your spine. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.
You stood before him in a bra, chest heaving, entirely exposed to the searing heat of his gaze. Every muscle in his jaw feathered as his eyes took you in.
"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice thick, his hands trailing down your sides. "You have no fucking idea what it's been like. Pretending I wasn't obsessing over you. Holding your hand and having to let it go."
"Show me, then," you challenged softly, your fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
He didn't need to be told twice. He stripped off his shirt with brutal efficiency, revealing a broad chest and a torso cut with hard lines of muscle.
You barely had a second to appreciate the view before he was backing you down the short hallway into yout bedroom. The mattress hit the backs of your knees, and you tumbled down into the comforter, Logan following you down instantly.
His weight settled over you, caging you in, heavily masculine and exquisitely overwhelming. He kissed you again, his thigh parting your legs as his hips pressed flush against you.
Even through the layers of denim between you, you could feel exactly how hard and thick he was for.
A desperate, wet heat flooded your panties. You arched blindly against him, seeking friction, and he groaned into your mouth.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he rasped, his warm breath fanning over your collarbone.
His hands moved with practiced, urgent purpose. He unclasped your bra in a single deft motion, sweeping the lace aside to expose you.
The cool air hit your flushed skin for only a second before Logan lowered his head. His mouth closed over one hard peak, hot and wet, his tongue laving the sensitive center while his teeth scraped lightly.
A loud, embarrassing whimper tore out of your throat. Your hands dove into his hair, gripping tightly as a heavy, twisting coil of pleasure tightened deep in your belly.
He suckled you unapologetically, drawing hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyes, while his hand moved lower, fumbling with the button of your jeans.
You tore at each other’s remaining clothes. It wasn't graceful; it was chaotic, driven by two solid months of pent-up starvation.
"You're perfect," he breathed, tracing a path down your stomach with one long finger. He followed the trail with a string of open-mouthed kisses, lower and lower, until he reached the juncture of your thighs.
Before you could brace yourself, he settled between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders.
"Logan—" you gasped, reaching for him, but he just smirked—a dark, wicked version of his usual smile.
"I have two months of making up to do," he murmured against you. "Keep your hands in the sheets, baby.”
And then his mouth was on you. He found my clit instantly, his tongue sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a long, relentless drag.
Your back arched completely off the mattress. You screamed his name, your fingers twisting violently into the heavy fabric of the sheets as he devoured you.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was thorough, patient, and ruinously skilled. He alternated between deep, rhythmic laps and tight, focused flicks of his tongue, teasing you right to the edge and then backing off just enough to make you beg.
"Please," you sobbed out, thrashing helplessly against his mouth. "Logan, please baby, I need—"
"I know," he soothed, sliding two thick fingers deep inside you while his mouth continued its assault.
you were completely dripping for him, embarrassingly slick, but he only seemed emboldened by how wrecked you were.
The orgasm hit you like a freight train. It ripped through your body in violent, shivering waves. You cried out, legs clamped tightly over his shoulders as you broke apart under his mouth.
You were still gasping for breath, chest heaving, when Logan rose over you. His face was flushed, his jaw tight, his dark eyes dilated with pure, predatory need.
He settled his weight back between your thighs, propping himself up on his forearms. He nudged the blunt, hot head of his length against your heat, stopping right on the verge.
He looked down at you, his expression softening into an aching vulnerability that made your heart hammer in your throat.
"I need you to know," he said, his voice entirely wrecked in the quiet room. "Before I do this. You have to know it wasn't a game to me. Not for a single goddamn second."
Tears stung the corners of your eyes at the raw sincerity in his tone. "I know. It wasn't a game to me either."
He let out a broken breath, leaning down to press a deep, bruising kiss to your mouth. As your lips locked, he drove his hips forward, burying himself fully inside you.
You both cried out. He was massive, thick and blazingly hot, stretching you open and filling every empty ache you hadn't let yourself acknowledge.
"Okay?" he whispered, his hips instinctively trembling against yours.
"Don't wait," you begged him, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to lock his hips to you. “Don't hold back anymore."
That was the only permission he needed. Logan began to move, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt with a heavy, wet slap of skin on skin.
He established a deep, punishing rhythm. Every thrust was accompanied by a harsh grunt, his hips snapping forward to hit the deepest, sweetest spot inside you over and over.
Your nails dug half-moons into his back, your hips rising off the mattress to meet him halfway, desperate for deeper friction.
"Fuck," he ground out, the pace accelerating. The bed frame let out a heavy rhythmic squeak, echoing the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. "You feel—god, you feel better than I imagined."
"John… baby…” you whimpered, the syllables falling from your lips entirely broken.
He shifted his grip, sliding one hand under your hips to angle you perfectly against him, while his other hand reached between your bodies. His thick thumb found your swollen clit, pressing down right as he drove deep inside.
The pleasure was too dense, too sudden. You let out a sharp cry, your head thrashing on the pillows as the second orgasm rushed up your spine.
"That's it," he praised hoarsely, his grip tightening violently on your hips. "Come for me. Let go."
You shattered around him, your walls clenching tightly over his cock. The sensation tipped him right over his own edge.
Logan let out a deep, guttural shout, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he drove completely to the hilt. His entire body went rigid, cording with strain as he pulsed deep inside you.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the ragged tear of your breathing. Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel the vibration echoing in his chest, pressed completely flush against yours.
Slowly, the adrenaline ebbed, leaving a sprawling warmth in its wake. Logan pressed a soft, damp kiss to the side of your neck before gently rolling to the side, pulling me flush against his side.
He wrapped a thick arm around your waist, tucking your head securely under his chin. His hand smoothed down the messy tangle of your hair, his thumb beginning a slow, possessive stroke along your spine.
"So," he murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly beneath your ear. The tension was gone from his shoulders, replaced by a profound, immovable contentment. "I tap out. You win."
You tilted your head up, resting your chin on his bare chest to look at him. His dark hair was a ruined mess, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were soft and incredibly bright in the dim light of the bedroom.
The smug arrogance of his fake dating persona was completely burned away, leaving only the real boy underneath. The one you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with.
"I don't think either of us actually lost, Logan," you said softly, tracing the line of his jaw.
A lazy, brilliant smile finally spread across his face, lighting up the corners of his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, pressing his lips firmly against your forehead. "I think you're right."
You lay there in the quiet aftermath of the storm, the neon digits on his nightstand clock finally flipping past midnight.
Day sixty was officially over. The wager was dead and buried. And as his fingers gently laced with yours in the dark, tying your hand to his, you realized the terrifying truth.
The fake romance was easy. Now you had to wake up tomorrow, walk out into the real world, and start playing for keeps.
