SYNOPSIS. ever since martin’s debut, he’s been touted as a master of fanservice, but he's got something to prove: that his flirting does work on anyone. meanwhile, you desperately want to turn your internship at stereo into a full-time job. the best way to do that is by writing something so eye-catching to the point where your boss will have no choice but to keep you on: an article on dating and losing an idol. so when martin spots you at their comeback showcase, the scene is set. he’s going to make you fall in love with him in 10 shows. you're going to make him dump you in that same timeframe. you’ve got your agenda. he’s got his. game on.
or alternatively, the question: “Does Martin know how to flirt??” is answered.
GENRE. crack, fluff, angst, idol! martin, inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days'
WORD COUNT. 20.2k (I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT)
WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of drinking (james is drunk), questionable journalism practices for plot (as a journalist, i do NOT endorse what y/n is doing), reader is the same age as martin and is implied to be shorter
AUTHOR'S NOTE. yes this was inspired by seonghyeon's weverse reply. Does Martin know how to flirt?? enjoy this cheeky long fic as a gift to u all bcos i'm going to be working a bit so may b a bit more ia :p really loved this and i don't want to keep u guys waiting so i'm dropping it with no teaser. i hope yall like this!! <3
feedback and reblogs are much appreciated! <3
“Eom Seonghyeon, what the hell is this?”
Martin Edwards storms into his dorm room, holding his phone up. His brows are furrowed in mock anger as Seonghyeon peers at his screen from his spot on the bed.
“Wait, I can’t read it. I’m also too lazy to get up. Can you read it to me?” Seonghyeon’s buried under his blankets, head resting on his pillow as he squints at Martin’s screen.
Keonho, who’s lazily sprawled across his own bed, looks up from his phone to listen in on the conversation. Knowing him, Keonho’s probably watching some funny dog videos or going through his album of Cookie photos.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘does Martin know how to flirt?’ I have to find out that you think I have zero game from a Weverse reply?” he exclaims, exasperated. Seonghyeon and Keonho both explode into a fit of laughter, and Martin simply stands there, unamused.
Seonghyeon’s words ring heavy in Martin’s ears – look, although Martin hadn’t dated before, he does think he can flirt. He’s seen the discourse online.
Sure, was it a little corny sometimes? Yeah… a little. But most of the fans were eating it up, and Martin was more than happy to oblige if it meant that he would be making a little bit more money. Money didn’t fall from trees, and those clothes that Martin’s been eyeing for ages weren’t going to pay for themselves.
“What?” Seonghyeon asks, laughing as he hugs his pillow a little tighter. “Come on, the fanservice barely counts. I know everyone’s been saying that you’re a fanservice king, but they're all basically in love with you anyways!”
“Us,” Keonho pipes up. “They’re not only in love with Martin hyung. Also, you’re right – Martin, do you really know how to flirt?”
Martin narrows his eyes at Keonho. “I think I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t like it.”
Seonghyeon and Keonho’s loud laughter somehow summon both James and Juhoon in the room, and Martin’s already preparing himself to become the laughing stock for the next 30 minutes. The life of a leader, he thinks. It's truly so difficult.
It also wasn’t like Martin didn’t want love. He wanted it more than anything – he just didn’t exactly have the time for it right now, like most idols. He had so much to do every single day, from dance practices, to music shows, to producing music. Martin Edwards, despite having so much love to give, simply didn’t have time to do so.
“James hyung, Juhoon hyung – do you think Martin can flirt?”
James snorts. Juhoon makes a noise that’s a mix of a strangled laugh and a cough. At their reactions, Keonho laughs so hard his pillow falls right off his bed.
Martin groans, turning his phone off and shoving it back into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“I rest my case,” Seonghyeon says, grinning triumphantly.
“I can flirt!” Martin says, defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing so passionately for this – it wasn’t even that big of a deal. "Trust me, my flirting works on anyone."
He crosses his arms, letting out a deep breath as Seonghyeon lets out another laugh. He knows that the younger boy isn’t being malicious – they were just teasing each other like usual.
"Anyone is a bit brave, Martin." Juhoon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you can make someone – a non-fan, by the way – fall for you before promotions end here in Korea,” James says, jokingly. But Martin can see the gears turning in Keonho’s head before that shit-eating smirk spreads across his lips.
“James hyung, you’re a genius!” Keonho says, jumping up from his bed. “That’s 10 shows. Martin, if you get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows, we’ll officially say that you can flirt.”
Martin furrows his brows. “That’s all I get out of it?” he frowns. “Seems like a pretty bad trade-off for something so risky, considering that we’re… idols?”
“Fine. We’ll say that you can flirt, and Seonghyeon will pay for all your clothes the next time you buy something.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon suddenly gets up from his bed. He looks at Keonho, shaking his head.
“Me? You’re the one doing the bargaining, you pay!” Seonghyeon protests, and Keonho rolls his eyes.
“Okay, new proposal. We all pay for your next shopping haul and we say that you can flirt. We’ll all chip in an equal amount so it’s fair, and so Hyeon can stop complaining,” Keonho grumbles. Seonghyeon sighs, nodding as he gives in to Keonho’s bargain.
“Works for me,” James replies, putting his hands up. “I for one, don’t think I’m gonna lose any money.”
“Oh, don’t be so confident,” Martin scoffs. Wow, his friends really had zero belief in him. It really made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. “You guys are so losing your money.”
Keonho looks at Juhoon, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Juhoon hyung… you’re the only one left,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, it’s not even going to be that hard. It's easy money, let's go.”
“10 shows is still technically a lot, you know. It’s three weeks,” Juhoon hums, thinking it through. “Three weeks… well, Martin needs all the help he can get. Yeah, whatever – I’m in.”
“Juhoon!” Martin exclaims.
The boy looks at him, shrugging. “I’m sorry! I’m just too curious to see how this will pan out – we need a little bit of excitement in our lives! Performing is exciting enough, but this is like a whole new level. I’m going to be entertained for weeks.”
Juhoon drags the last word out, and Martin sighs. The air is thick with anticipation as the four of them look at Martin expectantly.
Honestly, getting all his clothes paid for by his friends wasn’t exactly a bad trade-off. He’s just going to make sure to throw in a couple more expensive things in there for some payback before he officially starts the bet. And the girl would surely understand that dating an idol was difficult, and if it ended a little earlier… that was sort of to be expected, right? In three weeks he would be going to New York City anyways. No harm, no foul?
“Fine,” Martin groans in exasperation, giving in. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Keonho pumps a fist in the air triumphantly, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Okay, and if you don’t get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows… you pay for our clothes. And publicly say that you’re shit at flirting and have zero game.”
“One piece of expensive clothing each. You’re four people, I’m one. If I paid for all of your clothes, I think I’d probably go broke.” Martin shoots back. Keonho shrugs, seemingly deeming it reasonable enough.
“It’s a deal,” Keonho says, holding his hand out for Martin to shake. Martin does, albeit a little reluctantly. What the hell did he just get himself into?
The room erupts into cheers so loud Martin thinks he’s suddenly transported back to MAMA.
Seonghyeon’s already immediately searching for a new pair of shoes that he wants to buy. James has rushed back into his room to grab his phone to go on Gentle Monster to see which pair of glasses will suit him. Juhoon’s already pulling up photos of this jacket that he’s been talking about for ages. Keonho makes it a big show out of telling Martin the price of this bracelet that he wants.
At their antics, there’s a fire lit up in the pit of Martin’s stomach.
He was going to win this bet. Even if it was stupid.
Your internship at Stereo is about to come to an end.
You’re distraught. Most people would love for their internships to end – no more shitty coffee from the 10-year old dispenser that someone brought in as an ‘office gift’, no more tapping away at a dim-lit cubicle, and no more measly half-assed articles to write that are assigned haphazardly. But you’re not most people.
Being a journalist at Stereo is your dream job. You get to write about the music that you love, review new albums, and you get exclusive perks and invites to music award shows every single week. You’ve been interning at Stereo for one and a half months now, and in just two weeks, you’re just going to be a high schooler in your final year.
You’ve heard stories of Jisoo, your boss, giving an offer for a full-time job to interns before. You desperately want to be one of those people.
You’ve heard her complaints behind closed doors about how Stereo’s latest content was becoming a little drab and boring, and that Stereo wasn't getting enough clicks online anymore. The most reads the publication had gotten recently was a review on Taylor Swift’s new album, but come on – it was Taylor Swift.
You needed to find a way to write the most eye-catching, niche and exclusive article that the music world had ever seen. That way, Jisoo had to give you the job.
Yoonchae, another intern who you’ve befriended, rolls her chair over so she’s sitting next to you. She taps her nails on your desk to get your attention. “So… last two weeks. How are you feeling?”
Yoonchae started around the same time as you, but unlike you, Yoonchae wanted to get the hell out. She was tired of writing the weekly ‘Songs You Need To Know’ article. “I’m a gatekeeper,” she had said. “I don’t want people discovering the artists I like!”
“Stressed,” you sigh, taking a sip out of your mug. “I’m trying to rack my brain to figure out how to write something so… fresh, I guess. Something that no other publication will be able to write.”
Yoonchae raises a brow. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with keeping this job, (Name). What we’ve been writing really isn’t that interesting, is it? I just had to review some album from a rookie group that I don’t think anyone’s heard of yet,” Her voice drops low into a whisper. “It was like nails on a chalkboard. I threw away that pair of company-provided earphones because the memories of listening to it were so traumatic.”
You look at Yoonchae like she’s insane before diverting your eyes back to your laptop screen. You’ve just finished a review on ILLIT’s new album – you skim through your article, making sure that there’s no spelling mistakes or other errors before sending it to Lily, the in-house copy editor.
“I love it though,” you say honestly. “I love music, I love writing about it – plus, Stereo’s the best place to get off the ground running if you want to work in this industry. I was at ILLIT’s comeback showcase literally last week – do you know how many people would die to have this opportunity?”
“I have to get that job offer from Jisoo.” Your voice is laced with determination, and despite Yoonchae not understanding why in the world you’d want to stay, she gives you a nod in support.
In the cubicle across, you hear a loud noise from another intern – you can’t tell if it’s a screech or a wail, or something in between. You and Yoonchae’s eyes snap towards the direction of the noise. It’s Yuna, and she looks towards you two with absolutely zero shame on her face, even if the entire office was startled by the sound.
“It’s my favourite idol! He’s dating someone! How could he?” She’s saying it like it’s the end of the world.
You’re looking at Yuna like she’s insane. You can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, and you blink at her. “Um… are you okay?”
Suddenly, her demeanour changes, and she smiles brightly at you. “Yeah! I was literally just being dramatic, I couldn’t care less,” she says, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t really want to be working with someone who was so incredibly parasocial over some guy who barely knew her. “It’s just crazy how he even has the time with how busy his schedules are.”
You hear the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor, and your eyes widen. It must be Jisoo.
“Was that you?” Jisoo asks, pointing at you. “The one who screeched?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “No, Jisoo – it was Yuna.” You felt bad for throwing her under the bus, but you weren’t going to lie to Jisoo and take the fall. Jisoo's eyes divert towards Yuna, who gulps.
“What happened?” she asks. Jisoo doesn’t sound like she really cares. She does have better things to be doing than partaking in conversations with interns who she probably won’t remember the names of in two weeks.
“Oh, just some… idol… dating,” Yuna says, acting like she doesn’t care at all. It’s hard for her to pretend that she doesn’t when a photo of said idol in question is in a picture frame sitting on her desk. “Maybe we should report on it briefly, or something…”
Jisoo takes in a sharp breath, sucking her teeth. You can hear the disapproval just from the noise, as if she’s already prepared to get rid of you three. “Alright. Get back to work.”
You turn your head quickly back to your laptop, not wanting to be berated by Jisoo. The disapproving tone was already enough, and you feel embarrassed under her gaze. You click onto your calendar to see what you’ve got going on next week. You’ve got two comeback showcases to attend with Yoonchae – IVE and CORTIS, along with a couple of music shows. You pencil them in your notebook, along with the words ‘remind Yoonchae to bring the camera!’
“You know,” Yoonchae hums. “Speaking of dating idols, I do wanna know what it must be like to date one. It’s like Yuna said – they’ve always got so much going on, how would they have the time? Hey, maybe you should write an article on this.” Her words aren’t meant to be serious, but you take it as such.
You can hear your pulse in your ears as your brain processes what Yoonchae has said. She’s tapping away at her laptop like she hadn’t just pitched the most amazing idea in the world.
“Wait,” you pipe up, dropping your pencil on the desk. It clanks to the ground, and you don’t even bother picking it up. Your eyes snapping up from your notebook to look at her. “You’re onto something.”
Yoonchae’s idea, if put into action, would give you an inside scoop that no journalist had ever had access to before – even if you were cordially invited to the shows and showcases of every group on the planet. Everybody wanted to know what it was like to date an idol, there was no doubt about that.
If you turned this into a piece, you knew it would tick all the boxes. Exclusive? Check. Daring? Check. Eye-catching? Check. Three big fat checks. It was perfect.
This… this was exactly the pitch that would land you a full-time job at Stereo. For someone who said they hated working in the news publishing industry, Yoonchae had just given you a golden ticket to a full-time job at Stereo. You’re just upset that you hadn’t come up with it first.
“What it’s like to date an idol,” you hum under your breath as you brainstorm, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Sure, it may be gossipy and scandalous, but Jisoo was saying that we’re not getting enough clicks, right? And after… I don’t know. 10 shows, maybe? I could just… dump him. Or find a way for him to dump me.”
You say that so casually, and you wince when you’ve realised what you’ve said. You’ve never been one to be a heartbreaker, or one to get into casual relationships with an ulterior motive, but you really wanted this job.
Finding someone to even be able to “date” for this article would probably be difficult. And once you got them to fall in love with you, getting them to dump you would likely be easy. Idols barely had time for relationships anyways, right? You wouldn’t necessarily be heartbroken at the prospect of losing him, because you had a job to do, and he wouldn’t really care that much. No harm, no foul.
You thought she had gone back to her office by now. Your head snaps to look at her, fear evident in your eyes until her words register in your brain. Jisoo had just said the idea was brilliant. Your heart is beating so incredibly fast you think it might jump out of your chest.
“Write it,” Jisoo says, and her lips quirk up into a smile. It’s like she can see the thousands, if not millions of views that your piece will bring in to Stereo already.
“If you can, of course. You’ve got two weeks left here, but I’m more than happy to extend your internship if you need more time to work on the article. And if it goes well…” she trails off, and you swear that if you could read her mind right now, you’re sure she’s about to say something along the lines of: you have a place here permanently.
You look at her, bright-eyed and with determination. “Of course, Jisoo. I’ll get right to it,” you stammer. Jisoo nods at you approvingly before she walks back to her office, heels clicking on the floor with a certain enthusiasm that wasn’t there before. She’s excited about your article. Your boss – the one who was notoriously difficult to appease, was happy with an article pitch of yours. Well, Yoonchae gave you the idea, but technically, you’d be the one to flesh it out.
Yoonchae looks at you, eyes wide with a look of bewilderment. “What… what have you gotten yourself into?” she asks, her tone laced with disbelief. She wheels her chair over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you.
“How… How the hell are you going to go bag an idol in the two weeks that we have here? Are you crazy?” she hisses, and the realisation of how difficult your task was actually sinks in. Thinking about it was fine and seemed easy enough, but now… now you actually had to do something.
“I… I’m going to figure something out, Yoonchae,” you say. “I have to.”
You wanted this job. You were going to make it work.
Jisoo would get that article, and it's going to be the best article that she’s ever read in her life.
The CORTIS comeback showcase is buzzing with people.
You scan your media pass at the entrance and wait at the side before Yoonchae comes through. You’ve got your notebook, pens and laptops in your bag, and the two of you head towards your designated seats at the front.
The plastic chairs are arranged in an orderly fashion, with yours and Yoonchae’s names printed out on paper and stuck to the chair to tell you where you both will be sitting. Much to your delight, you two are seated in the front row.
When the two of you sit down, you pull out your laptop, setting it on top of your lap. It’s been three days since you told Jisoo that you’d be writing that article, and as the days have gone by, you think you might’ve been a little too confident.
Music Bank was at the end of the week, and you think that you probably have your best shot there, but waiting was making you incredibly nervous. You didn’t want Jisoo to scrap the idea before you even started.
“So… found an idol to date yet?” Yoonchae almost reads your mind, and you groan as you open up your notes app. You click to the note titled ‘CORTIS comeback’, and all the questions that you have prepared pop up right in front of you.
“No, I haven’t,” you sigh, tapping your foot on the ground. “Thank you for reminding me, Yoonchae.”
Yoonchae smiles with amusement, as if she’s somewhat entertained by the predicament that you’ve put yourself into. You groan as you think about the article once again, and you scan through your options. You really could only take your pick from some 4th gen groups and the 5th gen groups.
This assignment was way easier in your head. The dating and dumping part was easy. The part where you had to get an idol to want to get to know you enough to move on to the dating stage was the hard bit.
Backstage, Martin peeks behind the curtains to get a good glimpse of the crowd. Although their new album just released today, Keonho just had to remind him of the bet as they were getting dressed.
Now, Martin has to actually find someone to make them fall hopelessly in love with him. Keonho had been ever so gracious to say that the comeback showcase didn’t technically count as a show, so in reality, Martin kind of had 11 shows. One more show couldn’t possibly make much of a difference, but 11 was a little less daunting than 10.
So now, he's searching amongst the crowd to see if he can find someone who he thinks would help him win the bet.
Keonho joins him, and it's like he can read Martin's mind, because he instinctively does the same. “Okay, let’s see. Which girl…” he hums. His eyes are scanning the crowd with hawk-like concentration.
“Okay, what about her?” Keonho says, motioning towards a brunette girl sitting in the second row.
“No,” Martin replies quickly, shaking his head. “Looks like she’d ghost me, but tell all her friends that we dated for a month.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Keonho replies. Seonghyeon catches wind of what’s going on and decides to join the two of them. Seonghyeon’s eyes land on a girl sitting not far away from the brunette, and she’s got dyed pink hair. He tilts his chin towards her.
“Her?” Seonghyeon proposes.
“Nope,” Martin says. “Feel like she’d ask me if I can give her BTS’ phone number. Which I also wish I had.”
“Fine,” Keonho says, and his eyes land on Yoonchae. “What about her?” He gestures towards her, but Martin’s eyes land on you.
You’re typing away at your laptop with determined focus, and Martin doesn’t know why he finds it so intriguing. You’ve got one earphone in your ear, the other dangling as you talk to Yoonchae. You’re wearing a striped zip-up jacket and jeans – you’re not trying to be noticed at all, but it makes you stand out even more to Martin. You’re sitting in the front row with a media pass around your neck, so Martin knows that you’re definitely not a fan.
That checks the box.
For him to actually win the bet, he should’ve made it easy for himself. But there’s something about you that makes Martin want to actually get to know you better. And truthfully, he did like a challenge.
Keonho notices how Martin’s gone silent. He’s looking in the direction that Keonho had originally pointed towards, but he sees that Martin’s looking at you, rather than Yoonchae. “Ah,” Keonho hums. “The one sitting next to her’s caught your eye.”
“Sure,” Martin replies casually. “You could say that. You said any non-fan, right? She fits the bill.”
“Alright, Martin hyung,” Keonho grins in amusement. “10 shows. It’s all you’ve got to make her fall in love with you.”
“That's all I need,” Martin replies.
Martin prays he’s right.
The comeback showcase goes well.
You enjoy the music a lot – you liked CORTIS’ debut album anyways, so you weren’t really surprised that they had released something good again. Their stage presence was always insane from the videos you’ve watched online, and witnessing it in person was no different.
However, you did seem to notice one of the members’ – Martin’s – eyes on you a little too often. You also had a hunch that perhaps they had talked about you, because whenever there was someone asking a question from your direction, Keonho would elbow Martin with a knowing smirk on his lips.
“So, what was that?” Eight out of ten?” Yoonchae asks you as she begins to pack up her things. The fans have been told to leave by now, and the only people really left are media and industry professionals. You look at what you’ve written down, and you’ve practically given five stars to all of the songs. The lowest is a 4.5, and you’d like to think that you have a pretty high bar for greatness.
“I mean… nine?” you hum. “There’s always room for improvement, right?”
“High praises,” you hear a voice that’s not Yoonchae interrupting your conversation. It’s also a voice that you’ve heard far too many times tonight. You turn to look at the stranger, and you meet eyes with none other than the Martin Edwards. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
Yoonchae opens and closes her mouth like a fish, stunned at Martin’s sudden presence. But then she remembers something the same time you do – the article. She purposely moves to stand behind him, mouthing at you: ‘he’s the one!’
You know Martin Edwards is exactly who he thinks he is. 6 '3, gorgeous dyed blonde hair, impeccable music-making skills and the coolest fashion sense in the industry right now. If you hadn’t seen more of him on your social media, you’d be genuinely a little intimidated by him.
But you know that he’s a sweet guy. He’s also a little bit of a goofball too – loud, likes making his friends laugh, and often gives in to a little too much of his fans’ requests. The fan call videos were certainly something, and you’re really wondering how much he gets paid to tell someone else ‘I love you, you’re my girlfriend.’
He’s still in his clothes from the showcase – silver jewellery hangs around his neck, with three rings on each finger. You observe his features for perhaps maybe a little too long, and his lips curl up in the slightest hint of a smirk.
Yoonchae clears her throat, giving you a wink. “So, I’m gonna go grab something for us at the convenience store nearby. (Name), I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.”
Before you can protest, she’s already darted off. You curse under your breath before looking back at Martin, who’s eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eye. You can’t quite place your finger on why that is, but maybe he caught you staring.
“So… (Name),” he says. His voice is smooth, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s testing the waters. There’s a certain cadence in his tone that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “I’m glad you liked the album. We worked hard on it.”
“I’m sure you did,” you beam. “Do you go thanking every member of the media after the showcase?”
Martin’s airy laughter rings through the air, and his smile grows even wider. “Oh, no,” he says breezily, waving you off. “Just the pretty ones.”
You’re knocked off your feet for just a split second. Was Martin Edwards flirting with you? And was it… dare you say… working?
And suddenly, the article doesn’t feel so difficult anymore. With Martin Edwards standing right in front of you, you realise that you have the perfect candidate.
His group was still new on the scene, but everybody wanted to get to know CORTIS just a little bit better. Your article would do that. Even if fans said that Martin was practically an open book, the boy standing in front of you now wasn’t necessarily the one you saw on stage mere minutes ago.
Sure, he was still confident and assured. But there was the slightest difference in the way he carried himself – a little less guarded, a little less… idol-like. Perhaps it was the flirting, honestly.
You come to your senses, quirking a brow at him. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”
The air is electric, and usually you’d be nervous, but just this once, you think that it’s perfect. Martin’s grin somehow grows wider before he nods.
“I do,” he hums. “Thought I said that before. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me just before your friend scurried off… you might’ve been staring at my face for just a smidge too long.”
Your cheeks heat up. “I… I was not!”
Martin lets out another laugh, clearly amused at how flustered you were. “I’m just teasing,” he replies. “Regardless, it’s not often I see someone working in the media that’s around the same age as us. And as I’m saying this, I’m hoping that you’re in your last year of high school.”
You nod at his words. “I am,” you reply. “Same age as you.”
“Perfect,” he grins. “I’m glad I was right, or I would’ve embarrassed myself coming up to you.”
“Right,” you chuckle. “So… any other pretty members of the media you want to thank?” you look around, and the exhibition hall is just about empty. Martin shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Just you.”
“Way to make a girl feel special, Edwards,” you quip. Martin ignores how his heart flutters when you simply just call him by his last name. “What's the phone for? A selfie? Just a reminder that you're the idol there."
"You're funny," Martin replies. There's sincerity in his tone. "But, I was hoping that perhaps I could get your number.”
You look at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Ah, you’ve beat me to it,” you pout, jutting out your bottom lip. “I was hoping that I’d be the one to make that move.”
Your words are awfully confident, making you sound completely unfazed at Martin’s flirtatious words. But inside, you’re internally screaming. You’re trying to hide your nerves, and Martin’s gaze on you is not helping as your thumb carefully presses the keys on the screen.
“There we go,” you say, pressing the ‘save’ button. “You should text me. I’d love to hear from you.”
“You would?” Martin asks, almost in disbelief. He can’t believe how well the flirting is going. Keonho, Juhoon, James and Seonghyeon would so be losing their money.
“Of course,” you beam. Your eyes tilt towards the exit, and you see Yoonchae standing there. She’s not hurrying you, but you know that it’s time to go. “Listen, I’ve got to head back home, but… yeah. Text me, and let’s hang out.”
“Are you asking me out?” Martin says, a coy smile on his lips.
“Maybe I am,” you reply. Your eyes dart back to Yoonchae again, and a sudden wave of boldness makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek. You watch as his cheeks flush bright pink, and you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself. Got him, you think. “I’ll see you around, Edwards.”
Before Martin can say anything, you’ve already rushed off. He instinctively brings a hand to his cheek, and he smiles triumphantly.
“Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he says to himself, a wide grin on his lips.
Meanwhile, as you’re darting off to the car, a similar expression graces your lips. “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead,” you whisper.
Conversation with Martin is surprisingly easy.
He texts you as soon as he gets back to the dorm, and you reply just as quickly. You shoot off flirtatious messages every other second like a seasoned professional, and Martin replies with just as much enthusiasm. You just know he’s probably cheesing behind the screen. You don’t notice how you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, though.
Martin is incredibly flirtatious, like you’ve seen online. You really thought it was all just fan service, but it turns out, Martin did really act that way. You’ve earned a new nickname now, thanks to him – pretty.
Minutes turn into hours, and sure enough, the two of you found yourself talking to each other until four in the morning. It’s not until you remind him that he’s got a schedule tomorrow and that you’ve got work, and then you two say goodnight.
Martin gives you recommendations of his favourite songs, and you rate them just like you usually do for Stereo. You find that your music taste is surprisingly similar, and Martin just tells you that ‘perhaps it’s a sign that we’re meant to be.’ You smile a little too wide at that response, and your heart flutters in the slightest way. You reply with a ‘I think so’, and Martin beams seeing those words on his screen.
You didn’t think that it was that easy to get Martin Edwards to fall in love with you, but honestly at this point, you think that you’ve got him absolutely whipped.
For three days, you and Martin talk non-stop. Whenever you’ve got a break, and he’s got a break, the two of you are talking about anything remotely that interests you. Bailey, another colleague of yours, tells you that you seem awfully invested in this considering that it’s just an article assignment.
On the fourth day, you head into work and find that there’s a tray of iced coffees on your desk. Yoonchae looks at you with a knowing grin as you pick up the sticky note, and sure enough, it’s Martin’s handwriting.
Hi, pretty. For you and the team. – Edwards.
You fail to hide the smile that’s unconsciously crept up on your lips. When Yoonchae points it out, you just tell her to shut up. This was all for the article, you remind yourself. You weren’t really in love with Martin Edwards. You hand out the coffees, and when you give one to Jisoo, she raises an eyebrow.
“Did you bring this in?” she asks, and you shake your head.
“Martin from CORTIS did,” you say. There’s a coy lilt in your tone, and Jisoo seems to remember the article. She smiles at you proudly, and gives you a pat on the shoulder before taking a sip of the coffee.
“Good work,” she beams. “Can’t wait to see the article.”
She then walks off, heels clicking on the floor. Yoonchae clears her throat to catch your attention, and you look at her, taking a sip of the coffee that Martin had bought you.
“So… what’s the plan to get him to dump you? Because… getting him whipped seemed pretty fucking easy. Like, this is three-month relationship stuff.” she says, gesturing to the coffee on her own table. Bailey, who's curiosity is piqued at the sound of Yoonchae's words, rolls her chair over to you to join in the conversation.
“I’m going to be entirely too much, too overbearing and too clingy to the point where he has to break up with me,” you say. Your plan is absolutely fool-proof. “They’re heading to New York in three weeks. Let’s get this done in the 10 shows they have in Korea.”
Bailey hums, nodding at your words. “Okay, but like… do you have any specifics?”
“Calm down,” you reply. “I don’t have to move that fast. We’ve known each other only for four days. No sane person is going to ask someone to be their girlfriend in four days.”
“You have three weeks, (Name) – you better hurry up…” Yoonchae replies, her voice trailing off. “Maybe just a date? Tonight? You know how they’ve got to basically be in the middle of the night though, right – because cameras are everywhere. Your sleep schedule is going to be fucked when you’re dating Martin.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put so much emphasis on the ‘fucked’,” you raise an eyebrow. “But yeah, a date sounds good. I’ll text him now.”
you | 7:32am
thanks for the coffee, edwards
it was really sweet of you
can i thank you with a date?
martin edwards | 7:33am
ah, i was waiting for that text from you
of course!
tomorrow? after you’re done with work?
you | 7:34am
sounds like a plan
wear something nice
martin edwards | 7:34am
i always do
gonna step it up to impress you though
can’t wait to see you, pretty
Yoonchae peers over your shoulder. “Don’t they have to go to Inkigayo tomorrow? How will you two have time to actually… go on a date?”
“Shoot, you’re right,” you reply. You quickly type out a message to Martin, your fingers flying over the screen.
you | 7:35am
you have inkigayo
martin edwards | 7:35am
ah. right
date at inkigayo? you could be my plus one
you’ll be there anyways right? as media?
you | 7:36am
first date at inkigayo is highly unorthodox
i’m in, though
only because it’s you
martin edwards | 7:37am
i feel so special
sneaking around is gonna be awfully romantic
i’ve got dance practice now and i’m sure you’ve got work
talk soon pretty
“Well… first date at Inkigayo,” you say, almost in disbelief. So this was what it was like to date an idol – music show dates, late-night dates, probably getting blown off because dance practice takes precedence. You note that down in your notebook, because you’re sure that it’ll be of use to you later. “That’s settled.”
“I suppose it is,” Yoonchae says. She’s still in disbelief at the entire interaction – she was peering over your shoulder the entire time. “Also, you should probably change his contact name to something other than his full name. It’s not that romantic.”
“I… ‘Chae, he’s not my real boyfriend,” you say, pointedly. “Heck, he hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend. Which actually reminds me, I have to get on that.” You do take her advice though, and change his name simply to ‘Edwards’ with an orange heart emoji. It’s plausible enough, considering that you do call him exclusively by his last name.
“I must say… this is going surprisingly well,” Bailey hums. “Even though I know it’s really new. Just… don’t go falling in love with him, or something. That would ruin the entire thing.”
You laugh, dismissing Bailey's words as if they were ludicrous. “Don’t worry,” you hum, your tone laced with a little too much confidence.
“I’m not going to actually fall in love with Martin Edwards.”
For someone who’s allegedly not invested in this ‘relationship’ at all, you do spend an awfully long time picking out your outfit for Inkigayo tonight.
CORTIS had a reputation for being incredibly fashionable – if you were going to be introduced as ‘Martin Edwards’ talking stage and to-be girlfriend’ tonight, you had to at least look the part.
You opt for something so outrageously Martin-esque to the point where you look like you could genuinely be the sixth member of CORTIS. So much so, that any random staff member would probably think that you pulled it out of his closet.
Members of the media were supposed to be unassuming, trying to avoid the public eye at all costs – but just for today, you were going to break that rule. Just based off of your outfit alone, you wanted it to be glaringly obvious that you were talking to Martin.
You pull on these black, chunky boots that you haven’t worn in forever (you even have to blow the dust off of them) lacing them up with a smile on your lips. Martin Edwards was so going to freak out when he saw you. You could just envision it.
Yoonchae looks at you oddly when you jump into the car – this was certainly not your style at all. “Okay, Martin’s girl. You might as well just dye your hair blonde too,” she quips. Usually you’d tell her to shut up, but that was exactly the reaction you were looking for.
edwards 🧡 | 6:23pm
let me know when you’re here
we’re in dressing room 103
you | 6:24pm
im on my way
see you 🧡🧡🧡
“You go find Martin,” Yoonchae tells you, a playful smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you where we’re seated for tonight’s performances… if you’ll even be joining me here.”
You laugh, waving goodbye to her before you go off and find dressing room 103. You see a bunch of staff members at Inkigayo give you odd looks. They saw you here last week too, and you most certainly were not dressed like this. A girl you’ve made conversation with a couple of times – her name was Yoojung – mouths ‘Martin fan?’ at you, and you simply give her a wide grin before disappearing down the corridor.
You knock on dressing room 103, tapping your foot on the floor. Your mind runs through the plan – too overbearing, too clingy, too boisterous. You’re going to make Martin go insane.
Martin opens the door, since he was expecting you anyways. But what he did not expect was for you to be dressed in clothes that seemed like they were pulled from his closet. He looks you up and down, mouth opening and closing as if he’s about to speak – but all the words he has to say become strangled in his throat.
“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. You want him to think that no, this outfit did not take me forever.
“You look…” Martin stutters.
Time to pack on the dramatics, you think. “Gorgeous? Stunning? Beautiful?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, Edwards.”
Martin’s brain almost short-circuits. He’s still at a complete loss of words, and for a split second he thinks that Seonghyeon may be right – does he even know how to flirt? He’s trying to rack his brain for a compliment, or anything that makes it known that he thinks you look good.
Keonho clears his throat, and it brings Martin back to his senses – the bet. Time for him to make you fall hopelessly in love and make you weak in the knees, he thinks. He instantly puts a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “All of those things.”
“Next time though, if you wanted to dress like me, you should’ve just said so,” he adds. He hopes Seonghyeon’s listening – he was about to deliver a masterclass in flirting. “Just wear my actual clothes instead.”
Your heart flutters a little too much at those words, and for a brief second, Martin thinks that he can see your confidence falter ever so slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Another win.
“Oh, so that’s an invitation for me to just wear all your clothes, isn’t it?” you ask. “Moving fast, Edwards.” You peek behind him to see the other four boys watching the two of you talk with curiosity. Keonho’s eyes are practically sparkling.
You raise your voice a little before you say your next sentence. “Mind you, you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”
You don’t know which member it is that hollers loudly hearing your words. Martin turns around so fast you think he’s going to snap his neck. He glares at the four of them, before diverting his attention back to you.
This was going exceptionally well. Four days in, and you already wanted to be his girlfriend. Anyone who said that he didn’t have game was going to regret it.
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as a smile plays on his lips. “Let me introduce you to the members first, and then we’ll talk about that, pretty.”
He opens the door a little wider to actually let you into the dressing room, and the four of them blink at you, stunned when they see your outfit. Your outfit was almost a carbon-copy of something that they think they’ve seen Martin wear before. Was it a little tacky to dress almost identical to your talking stage? Probably. But their reactions were golden, and you hope to God that Martin’s cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.
“Guys, this is (Name),” Martin says, introducing you. You beam at the four of them just before lacing your fingers with Martin. The action comes out of nowhere, and Martin freezes for a split second before he closes his hand around yours. Your hand is warm, and Martin doesn't know why having your hand in his just feels oddly... right.
You swear Juhoon’s eyes pop out of his skull. Seonghyeon’s jaw practically drops. James puts his glasses back on to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Keonho shrieks before falling to the floor dramatically.
“I’m his…” your voice trails off. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. What did anyone in a talking stage hate the most?
The dreaded ‘what are we?’ question.
Martin would hate it even more if you asked that question right in front of his friends. It was perfect.
A devious grin threatens to creep up onto your lips before you turn to Martin. “What are we, exactly?”
Seonghyeon chokes on his water while Juhoon has to suppress a laugh. Martin can’t believe you asked that question in front of everyone – you were impatient, alright. He was actually going to ask you to be his girlfriend, but in private. But considering your outfit choice today, perhaps you were someone who wanted to make your affection for him known. He knows that he should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.
Four days is awfully fast to ask someone to be their girlfriend, but Martin wanted to win this bet. Badly.
And the first step to actually make it known to his friends that he was going to win, was to loudly announce that you were his girlfriend. Martin can’t wait for Keonho to pay for those Rick Owens shoes that he’s been eyeing for ages.
“She’s my girlfriend.” he says, a coy smile tugging at his lips.
The room practically explodes with questions, shouts and what you think are cheers. You weren’t exactly expecting this reaction from Martin, but it’s more than welcomed, considering the predicament that you’ve gotten yourself into. The first half of your job was done – you’ve gotten the idol. Now you just needed him to dump you.
But for some odd reason, him telling everyone in the room that you were his girlfriend makes your chest tighten ever so slightly. You ignore the feeling, telling yourself that it’s just nerves. You’ll ease more into the role of annoying girlfriend as the days go on.
You look at him, tilting your head with a small smile on your lips. “Didn’t even ask me,” you whisper in his ear. You hear Martin let out a light laugh amidst the chaos that those three words had created.
“Isn’t that what you were hinting at me to do when you arrived at the door?” he replies, voice matching yours. Touché, you think.
“Well,” you say, turning to face him. “That’s true. And I’m happy you did.” Your eyes quickly divert towards the four boys sitting on the couch – they’re still going on and on about how Martin actually has a girlfriend. They’re saying it as if they’re in disbelief that he’s actually with you.
Believe it, you think. To really sell it, you dramatically plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek. You’re thanking yourself that you decided to wear lipstick that wasn’t transfer-proof today, and you can practically hear Keonho’s gasp. When you pull away, there it is – a glaringly obvious stain of your lips on the side of his cheek.
“Oops,” you say, but Martin can tell you’re not really sorry about it at all. You bring a hand up to wipe the stain off, and Martin just shakes his head, gently clutching your wrist as if to tell you to leave it.
“I’ll just use some makeup remover,” he replies, calmly. You’re surprised that Martin’s face isn’t heating up with embarrassment – maybe you just had to be even more dramatic than you already were. In fact, he was smiling like an idiot in love. Was he crazy? “Thanks for the good luck kiss, girlfriend.”
It’s official. All Martin has to do is get you to stay with him until the end of the tenth show. All you have to do is get him to dump you before the tenth show.
And as you squeeze Martin’s hand a little tighter before planting another overly obnoxious kiss on his cheek, you’re almost certain that you’re going to get that full-time job.
Over the next week, Martin realises that first impressions are deceiving.
You’re not who he thought you’d be when he first saw you at the comeback showcase – rather, you’re the complete opposite. Loud, boisterous, unrestrained. You’re overly sweet and romantic in a way that Martin thought only existed in rom-coms. It’s nice to be showered in love and affection, and Martin – despite his better judgment – allows his heart to flutter whenever you lean a little closer, or when his name rolls off your tongue like honey over the phone.
You send him texts almost every single second now that you two are officially a couple (can he even call you his actual girlfriend when this was all a bet?). You also show up at almost every performance of theirs throughout the week.
The members and the staff all get used to your presence rather quickly – it’s not surprising, considering that whenever you’re there, your presence somehow commands the entire room. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and he doesn’t know if he loves or hates the extra attention that you bring with you. In addition, Martin doesn’t even know how you have the time to basically cling to him like glue when you’ve got a full-time job.
His phone pings again, and he already knows who it’s from. It’s you, sending him twenty messages in a row – each text is one word, and Martin would usually get a little frustrated, but it was you. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to actually get mad at you, which is the crazy part considering that this was all a bet.
You send him four selfies of yourself sitting in the front row of the same exhibition centre where you guys had met. He’s admiring how pretty you look until he realises the article of clothing that you’re wearing is awfully familiar. It’s then when it hits him – you’re wearing his striped red and black zip-up hoodie.
The one that he precisely wanted to wear today.
Martin knows that the zip-up basically swallows you, because he’s seen you in his other clothes before. His heart does a flip at the thought. It’s just a bet, he reminds himself.
You look pretty, he tells you. You respond almost immediately.
I know, is your response. Martin doesn’t realise how hard he’s grinning at his screen right now.
Is that my jacket? he asks you.
Your response? It’s mine now.
His nostrils flare slightly at the fact that you’ve just claimed his favourite zip-up hoodie, but he relents and lets you have it anyway. You did look good in it, he had to admit.
You practically demand his attention at all times, which is a little impossible considering his job. More often than not, whenever he’s practicing with the rest of the members, his phone would be buzzing so much to the point where it fell off the bench. Keonho only looks at him teasingly before Martin quickly shoots back a response to you, telling you that he’s got dance practice.
You don’t seem to care, and you continue spamming him anyways. Despite this, Martin can’t seem to push you away. Or mute your contact.
You’re sitting in the exhibition centre, confused as to why Martin hasn’t gone batshit crazy over the fact that you’ve taken his favourite zip-up without any warning. Keonho had warned you about how Martin didn’t like sharing his clothes. Perhaps you just had to take it a little further, then.
So, a day later, Martin opens the door to his dorm to find you standing there. You hadn’t announced that you were coming, and Martin assumed that you had work anyways. What he didn’t know was that you’d asked Jisoo for some time off today to work on the article – it was going well, you had told her. At those words, Jisoo nodded, giving you time off without a single thought.
“Hi?” Martin asks, stunned at the sight of you at his doorstep.
“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me,” you pout, and Martin shakes his head.
“No, no!” he says hastily. “I was just surprised to see you. Come on in,” he opens the door a little wider for you. You kick your shoes off at the door, and Martin winces a little when you just leave them there instead of putting it on the shoe rack. He decides to do it for you, like any good boyfriend would – placing your shoes next to a pair of his own sneakers.
“Thank you, ‘Tinnie.” you beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Even though there’s nobody else there right now, you make it a big show and exaggerate every motion. You deliberately say ‘mwah’ when you pull away, admiring the lipstick print on Martin’s cheek.
Oddly, Martin doesn’t wipe it off. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe he’s just insanely whipped like Yoonchae said.
“Tinnie is a new one,” he hums. “Finally moved on from calling me Edwards?”
You shake your head, bounding down the corridor like it’s your place rather than his. Martin follows you like a lost puppy. “Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’. “Just trying out something new. But, I wanted to grab some clothes.”
Martin furrows his brows. “You want to go shopping?” he asks. “Sure, I’ll just go grab my coat.”
You hold a hand out to stop him. “No, I want to wear some of your clothes,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It’s totally not like you two have only been dating for a week. “If that’s alright with you, of course?”
Martin can’t say no to you. Not when he remembers how nice you looked in his striped zip-up. He nods reluctantly, and you squeal, dragging him towards his closet.
You’re raiding Martin’s closet like it’s a department store sale. You’re grabbing hanger after hanger and asking him to hold onto them for you, and Martin can barely keep up. In five minutes, he’s somehow holding five of his own hoodies and three of his t-shirts, while you’re trying on another one of his zip-ups.
You’re twirling around in it, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You look at Martin for his approval, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Looks great on you, pretty.”
You really should be used to the compliments that Martin dishes out, but your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Bailey’s voice rings in your head – don’t fall in love with him. You can’t believe you have to remind yourself.
Seonghyeon walks in to grab a jacket, and he’s stunned at the scene. Martin’s got hoodies and shirts and jumpers draped over him as you pull out something else from his side of the closet.
“What the…” he says, and Martin turns to look at him.
“Hi,” Martin says. He can barely see. There’s a hoodie over his head, and he can’t bring his arm up to pull it off. “(Name) wanted some of my clothes.” Seonghyeon, who’s ever so kind, pulls the hoodie off Martin’s head.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon giggles. “Have fun, you lovebirds.” Before he leaves, he mouths at Martin, 10 shows. Though your presence is awfully over-the-top, Seonghyeon doesn’t quite mind having you around. It was rather funny to witness yours and Martin’s dynamic.
You take four more pieces of his clothing, and Martin helps you fold them all up neatly before placing them into a bag. “There you go,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Happy?”
“Very,” you giggle. You do feel a little guilty for stealing half his closet. “Thank you, ‘Tin. Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick, since I’ve taken so many of your clothes.” Though it was for an article, you weren’t a monster. You don’t realise how instinctively, you’ve leaned into his touch.
Martin nods, grinning as he kisses your temple like he’s done this a million times before. It’s getting awfully easy for him to slip into the role of your boyfriend. “Sure,” he hums. “We can watch something on my laptop.”
You curl up next to him on his bed, your head resting on his chest and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind playing on his laptop. Martin presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you.
This domesticity feels a little too natural. A little too real – like you two are actually two teenagers in love.
The slightest twinge of guilt pangs at your heart. You don't know it, but when the thought of the bet flashes through Martin's head, that same feeling strikes him in the chest too.
Martin’s eyes leave the screen for a split second to look at you, and he pushes the thought of the bet to the back of his head.
His closet may be a little bit more empty now, but his heart feels the slightest bit more full.
“I think Martin is a lunatic.” you confess to Yoonchae at work one day.
CORTIS had five more shows left in Korea before they were due to leave for New York City, and any logical person would have already broken up with you at this point.
But for some strange reason, Martin stayed. Not even just stayed – pulled you closer, even. He flirted with you more. Peppered your face with kisses. Proudly showed you off to his friends.
He’s either insane, or he loves crazy girls. You don’t know which is worse.
What you didn't know, of course, was that Martin was practically clinging on to this relationship for dear life. 10 shows, he reminds himself. He needed a girl to stay with him for three full weeks and to somehow put up with his insanely hectic schedule. Martin half-expected to barely see you, but you somehow managed to find a way to sneak into his life more often than not. It was welcomed, of course – he could show his friends that yes, he could flirt, and yes, an idol was able to date.
You were acting batshit crazy, and he still wanted you to be his girlfriend. Martin still hasn't dumped your ass, and that was absolutely shocking.
Idols were always busy, so you decided to do the very thing that all busy people hated: you spammed Martin all day.
You sent him stupid TikToks, telling him to reply to each and every single one. You called him at random hours, sent him voice messages, and practically demanded his attention every single second.
The crazy thing was, Martin would reply to every TikTok. He’d always pick up. He’d reply to every single voice message with his own, and you hated how you always smiled hearing his voice and his loud laugh through your headphones.
You showed up unannounced to so many performances to the point where his manager would only sigh, and reluctantly let you in. You’ve embarrassed him by showering him with affection in front of quite literally everyone. You heard how Keonho tried – and failed – to hide a shriek when you made a big show of calling Martin ‘baby’ five minutes before they were due to head on stage.
One night at his dorm, you’d even spent one whole hour asking the most basic questions about music production, forcing him to overexplain like he was teaching a toddler. You knew all the answers to the questions, but you’d asked them anyway just to rile him up.
Martin thinks that for someone who’s working at Stereo, you should know. But regardless, he explains it all to you patiently, smiling like he’s glad that his girlfriend is actually interested in what he does – much to your dismay.
Martin didn’t even bat an eye when you purposely stole all of his favourite clothes from his closet a few days ago. You’re sitting at your desk in the Stereo office, wearing Martin’s hoodie that is outrageously large on you. You’re shocked that he didn’t protest more, especially when you grabbed one of the expensive ones. Instead, he smiled, told you that you looked gorgeous, folded it up neatly and then gave it to you.
You also realise that you don’t hate the affection that he showers you with. It feels quite nice, actually – to be cared for by Martin Edwards.
But, this was truly not going well for your article.
“Why is that?” Yoonchae asks. “Because he hasn’t dumped you?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, as if it was the obvious answer. “He’s staying! Which is the crazy part! Idols don’t have time for this clingy, over-the-top nonsense, do they? So it’s either he’s insane, or he loves crazy girls.”
“There’s another obvious answer,” Bailey chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. “He just likes you.”
Bailey’s words hit you like a truck, and you ignore how your heart jumps at the thought. Martin Edwards likes you? You hate to say it, but that was truly… not implausible. But if Martin actually liked you – with all your craziness – surely, he had to be just the slightest bit insane.
“I…” your cheeks heat up. “Okay.” you grumble, eyes diverting back to your laptop screen. You need to figure out a way to drive Martin absolutely up the wall – he had a strong resolve, there was no doubt about it. Something about music seemed right.
Your eyes sparkle with delight when you remember that Martin said that he was going to be working on some music tonight in his studio. Something about recording some adlibs and some lines for their next album. Even while promoting music that was released recently, Martin was always working on something new. It was honestly incredibly admirable.
So, you find yourself slumped on a chair next to Martin at 9:30 at night, watching as he works on a new song. There’s a microphone in front of his lips as he clips sections together with silent precision. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and you deem it the perfect time to enact your plan.
“Tinnie,” you say, dragging out his name. He hums, acknowledging you, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. You nudge him gently, and he glances towards you. There’s a soft look in his eye, and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you think about this dog?”
You show him a picture of this random white poodle that came up on your For You page. He squints at it, nodding. “It’s cute, baby. Why?” he asks, before his eyes divert back to his screen again.
“I want a dog,” you say. “Let’s get a dog.”
That catches Martin’s attention. “You want… us to get a dog?” he asks, in complete disbelief. You nod, and Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. A dog was a big relationship commitment, right?
Martin could barely take care of himself sometimes – how was he going to take care of a dog? And who was going to pay for the dog? He’d made enough money from the song royalties, but still. The proposal was a little insane.
“That’s really sweet, baby – but we’ve only been dating for like a week,” he hums, hand gently caressing your shoulder. “And I don’t know how we’d even take care of it – would it live at your house? It can’t live in our dorm, you know.”
You pout at his words.
“I’m sorry. We can… go to a dog cafe, or something. I’ll take you sometime next week,” Martin looks at you sympathetically. Just give me a few minutes to work on this song, is that alright? I have to record some bits tonight, and then we can watch a movie.”
You nod, letting out a small sigh. Martin thinks it’s because he lightly rejected your proposal for you two to get a dog. In reality, it was really because you can’t seem to figure out a way to get Martin to actually dump you. What normal person asks their boyfriend of one week to get a dog with them?
Martin glances at you before he pulls up the lyrics of the song on his phone. He taps the record button, and just as he’s about to sing into the microphone, your voice cuts through the air.
“Tinnie,” you pipe up, and Martin pauses the recording. He really wanted to get this song finished by tonight. You see the slightest hint of frustration on his face, and you do feel bad – but despite all your past attempts to get him to drive you away, nothing else seemed to work.
“Hmm?” he asks.
“Do you have any drinks?” you ask, and Martin nods, rolling his chair back so he can open the mini-fridge under the desk. He pulls out a can of Coke – he knows your favourite – cracking it open for you before sliding it over to you.
“Thank you, Tinnie,” you beam. Martin thinks that seeing your smile is worth it, even if he did have to pause recording for a bit. Even if you sometimes did have awfully bad timing, he’s realising that he’s grown accustomed to your antics. “I’ll be quiet now.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.”
You take a loud, dramatic sip of your drink just as Martin presses record. He pauses it again before turning to you, and this time, frustration is evident on his features.
Guilt washes over you, and you realise that honestly, you didn’t really want Martin to get so mad at you to the point where he ended things. He looks tired, and you know it’s probably from a mix of hectic promotions, working on music and dealing with your incredibly annoying ass.
Martin was too sweet for his own good, and you’re suddenly re-evaluating every little thing. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to be upset at you.
You look at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” you wince, and Martin shakes his head, waving it off.
“It’s okay.” he sighs, but exasperation is evident in his tone. He huffs, pressing the record button again.
This time, you don’t interrupt – and now you know why everyone in the industry calls him a musical genius. Martin’s working like a seasoned professional, putting in clips of his voice here and there. He presses play on the section that he was just working on, nodding in silent approval when he’s satisfied.
You realise that you don’t want to drive him incredibly insane to the point where he can’t bear to see your face anymore. The article wasn’t going to write itself, but writing it meant that you had to hurt Martin. And looking at him now, and thinking about all of the times he had put up with you, you really didn’t want to hurt him. But you needed a way out.
The guilt is eating you alive as you sit there, making sure to quietly sip your drink. You think about every single moment you’ve shared with him for the last week, the flirting, the affection, the laughter – you don’t really want to let that go either. What were you going to do? This wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. You didn’t intend to actually catch feelings—
Oh.
Shit.
You might have feelings for him.
Everything clicks into place right then and there. You like Martin Edwards. You make sure to say those words in your head so you don’t interrupt him, but those words settle in your chest like they actually belong there.
Fuck. You did the one thing Bailey told you not to do.
“Hey,” he says softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, and Martin doesn’t know why you’re looking at him a little differently. Your gaze is soft, warm, and filled with what Martin thinks – and he doesn’t realise, but hopes – might be love. He doesn’t think he’s seen this look in your eye before. “I’m done.”
“Okay,” you say. Your voice is quieter than it’s ever been before. Martin’s slightly startled at the change. “Tin, I’m sorry.”
Martin furrows his brows. “What for?”
Everything, you want to say. “Interrupting you when you were working,” is what you say instead. Martin shakes his head, pulling you close in a hug.
“It’s okay,” he replies. He presses a kiss to your cheek to comfort you, and you hate how much it works. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”
You smile, albeit a little stiffly. “Movie?” you ask, pretending that everything is fine. Martin nods, gesturing to the couch situated at the back of the studio.
You sit down on the couch, and Martin plops right down next to you, giving you a bright smile as he places his laptop on his lap. “What’d you wanna watch?” he asks, and you shrug, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
“You pick,” you reply, and Martin nods. You lace your fingers with his, and he randomly clicks on a movie that he thinks Keonho had offhandedly mentioned was good before. He presses play before glancing at you to make sure you’re okay.
Martin squeezes your hand a little tighter, just to let you know that he’s here. You hate that he’s far too good to you.
You gulp, trying to ignore how the guilt is eating you alive.
Then, you take a deep breath before pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, slipping into the role that you think you’ve gotten too good at playing.
You have to end it with Martin.
It’s what you realise is best for the both of you. You get your article, and he gets to rid himself of an annoying, overbearing girlfriend. You head into work with a little less enthusiasm, and Yoonchae can immediately tell.
“What’s wrong?” Yoonchae asks, as you let out another loud sigh. Martin’s face is everywhere on your Instagram, and you hate that your lips instinctively tug into a smile at the sight of him. You were in love, damn it.
“Nothing,” you reply. “The article’s just… a little harder than I thought.” You weren’t necessarily lying. Every word you typed out felt wrong. The bitter taste of guilt in the back of your mouth reminds you that you were technically a horrible person for inflicting psychological warfare on Martin Edwards, who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.
“Oh?” Yoonchae asks, surprised. “I thought it was going well with Martin.”
“It is,” you mutter under your breath. “A little too well. He won’t end it with me. So I think I’m going to have to do it.”
Bailey quirks a brow. “Oh, really? How are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. “Maybe come up with some lame excuse saying that he doesn’t have time for us anymore, and it’s breaking my heart.” Bailey nods, giving you a look that indicates that it’s not that bad of an idea.
You knew that Martin’s schedule was packed today – he had two variety shows to film and then Music Bank later. If anything, today was the perfect day to spam him and then complain about how you got no response. Then, you could use that as an excuse to break up.
It was better to get it done early on before you both got too invested. Your heart does, however, twist at the thought of letting go. But it was for the better, you remind yourself. And you had an article to write.
So, after one whole day of no responses from Martin like you’d planned, you find yourself standing outside the CORTIS dorm, rehearsing your words. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you could do this. You could play the clingy, overbearing girlfriend role to perfection – this was the last time that you had to, hopefully.
You knock, and you hear Martin’s voice. You fail to stop the smile spreading across your lips.
When he opens the door, he instantly beams when he sees you. “Hi, baby!” He moves to wrap his arms around you in a hug, and for a split second, you nearly let him – until you remember that you’re going to break up with him.
“I can’t believe you,” You slip into your role, sniffling to show how heartbroken you were. “I sent you messages all day and you didn’t reply to me! It’s like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
Martin steps back in horror. Shit. Did he mess up? Well, not really, he thinks. He was far too busy – he barely had time to even check his phone all day, but seeing you heartbroken in front of his doorstep makes his stomach twist.
“No, no,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug in an attempt to comfort you, and you push him away. “Baby, I’m so sorry – I was really busy all day, and I didn’t have time to check my phone. The guys and I just got home, and I was going to text you, believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you say. Your words are absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. “I think we need to break up.”
Saying those words makes your heart sink. You hated it. You didn’t want to let Martin Edwards go.
Martin’s heart drops. The rest of the members can hear everything, and all of their eyes widen. Martin had not a single clue of what to do. He didn’t reply for one day and you wanted to break up? This was ridiculous – he turns to Juhoon, who’s shaking his head as if to say: don’t ask me!
He then looks at Keonho, who’s reminding him: 10 shows.
10 shows. He’s got a week left until he hits 10 shows. Shit. If you ended it with him right now, he would lose the bet.
Asides from that, Martin found that he genuinely did care for you. He didn’t want you to hate him over his schedule being far too packed. He had to find a way to reason with you so you’d stay – not just for the bet, he tells himself.
Seonghyeon’s watching this as if it’s the best episode of television he’s seen in his life. Martin Edwards, begging for his overdramatic, overly clingy girlfriend to stay with him. This was gold.
What did couples do when their relationship was in trouble? Martin racks his brain for ideas.
He’d apologised already. What about gifts? He could get you those. Couples counselling?
“What?” you pipe up. It’s only then when Martin realises that he’s said ‘couples counselling’ out loud. His eyes widen with panic, before he pretends like that’s what he intended all along.
“Yes!” he says. “Let’s do couples counselling. Please, let’s fix this, baby.” Desperation is evident in his tone, and you’re so shocked at his proposal to the point where you don’t quite know what to say.
“I…” you stammer out. You look at Martin, and you realise that you really can’t say no to him. Fuck, you think.
You’d have to find a fucking couples counsellor. Or someone who could pretend to be one. Maybe you could just get Yoonchae or Bailey to say that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and then that could be your excuse to end it.
Yes, that would work, you think.
“Okay,” you sigh, reluctantly. You suppose that you were in this predicament for a little longer. "I'm picking the therapist."
Martin lets out a loud exhale in relief. He's unbelievably happy that you've decided to give your relationship another chance, despite all this being a bet. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he seems to care more about you than the bet now. Even if you did, at times, drive him a little crazy.
He pulls you closer to him in a hug, and this time, you let him.
The smell of blackberries and cedar envelopes you in a comforting embrace, and you allow yourself to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and it’s all just too genuine – you feel awful.
Your heart twists with guilt at how genuine he sounds in his apology.
He holds you a little closer, and all you know is that you don’t deserve Martin Edwards at all.
One day later, you find yourself in Bailey’s apartment – or rather, Dr. Sok’s apartment. You didn’t even have to beg or bribe Bailey to pretend to be a fake therapist for you and Martin – she had said yes immediately, and with a little too much enthusiasm. Bailey wanted to witness whatever the hell you two had going on firsthand.
“It’s going to be good,” she says, tapping her fingers together mischievously. She’s talking about it as if your couples’ counselling appointment is going to be the best movie she’s seen in years.
Martin’s sitting beside you as he taps his foot nervously on the floor. This was insane. He feels a little too out of place here. Why did he agree to couple’s counselling for a relationship that had only just reached the two week mark?
Despite Bailey’s living room looking very much not like a therapists’ office, she comes up with some lame excuse saying that her actual office (which doesn’t exist) is going under some construction. She peers at the two of you through her blue light glasses, leaning forward as she holds a clipboard in your hands.
“So, (Name), Martin. Tell me what’s going wrong in your relationship,” Bailey says. You take a deep breath before slipping back into the role of annoying, overbearing girlfriend.
“He doesn’t have time for us and this relationship!” you huff, crossing your arms. Martin gives you a pained look, sighing. “He’s not taking us seriously anymore.” You sniffle a little for good measure to really sell the fact that you’re heartbroken.
“I… I have a lot to do, baby – you know this,” he pleads “I’m trying my best to make as much time for you as I can, I’m sorry.” You watch as Bailey writes something down on her clipboard. She’s never met Martin before, but she could immediately tell that he harboured a lot of affection for you.
She’s starting to realise that maybe you were right in thinking that Martin was a lunatic – she’d heard about all the antics you’ve pulled, and yet, Martin was still grovelling and wanted you to stay?
“It’s like you care more about being an idol than me,” you say – as the words leave your mouth, you realise how unreasonable it was. Perfect. You needed Martin to dump your ass. The longer you stayed in this ‘relationship’, the harder you knew you were going to fall. You were already in deep, and you needed to get out before this article left you completely heartbroken.
“I…” Martin’s at a complete loss for words. “I can balance my work and our relationship, baby. Please.”
Bailey hums, tapping her pencil on the side of her clipboard as an idea pops up in her brain. You watch as her eyes light up in that way you’ve seen before – you just know this is going to be bad. You’re praying to God that you’re wrong.
“I know,” she says, leaning forward with a glint in your eye. “I think you two need an opportunity to spend a little bit more time together, away from all the idol life. Maybe then, you’ll see your relationship with clearer eyes.”
Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no.
Martin leans forward, suddenly curious. Double oh no.
“What may that be?” he asks – he’s genuinely invested in keeping this relationship, Bailey thinks. It was more clear than ever to her that Martin genuinely liked you, despite how you acted insane.
“When’s the next time you have a day off?” Bailey asks.
“Tuesday. I’m heading back to my parents’ house to spend some time with them before we head off to New York,” Martin says. “Oh!” he looks at you, eyes gleaming with delight. Your heart sinks. Whatever idea Martin had, you knew it was going to be bad for you.
“You can come with me,” he beams. “Right? Is that a good idea, Dr. Sok?”
Bailey is surprisingly shocked at Martin’s willingness to introduce you to his family only two weeks into your relationship. But she had to admit, it was a brilliant idea. She plasters a smile on her face to hide her shock, and nods in satisfaction.
“It’s brilliant, Martin,” Bailey grins. She turns towards you, who’s got a look of horror on your face. “(Name), you should go meet Martin’s parents. After all, you said he wasn’t taking this relationship seriously. What couldn’t be more serious than meeting the parents?”
You fail to come up with a coherent response. Fuck, you think. You should’ve asked Yoonchae to be the fake therapist.
Martin’s looking at you expectantly, and you can tell just based on his gaze alone that he wants you to come. Your gaze softens, and you realise that you’re in way too deep. You’re in love. Shit.
“Fine,” you huff. “Let’s do it.”
Martin beams, so bright that it could rival the sun. The corner of your lips pull upward into a smile at the sight, and he laces his hands with yours. You hate how it feels right.
“Perfect.” he says.
To you, this was anything but.
Tuesday rolls around much faster than you thought.
You put much more effort into your outfit to meet Martin's parents. You’ve practically been living in Martin’s clothes for the past few weeks, and as much as you knew that he liked it, you still had to make a good impression on his parents. Showing up in Martin’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats wasn’t going to cut it.
You opt for something simple, a little more similar to what you wore at the comeback showcase. You arrive at the CORTIS dorm wearing a striped shirt and a pair of jeans. Seonghyeon greets you at the door, and the boy points at what you’re wearing, and then what he’s wearing.
“Oh,” he says. “Why are we matching?”
You let out a little laugh. “Don’t bring it up,” you reply. “Tin wouldn’t like it.”
If Martin notices that you’re somehow dressed like Seonghyeon, he doesn’t make any mention of it. He holds your hand as the company car drives the two of you to his parents’ place, and the two of you share earphones, listening to Martin’s music.
You gulp. This was not what you had planned when you first decided that you were going to write the article. You didn’t think that you’d have to go this far – you had already accidentally fallen in love with the subject of your article, and now you were meeting his parents. This was… simply great.
When the two of you arrive, it’s like Martin can sense your nerves. He looks at you, his gaze soft and gentle like usual. “Don’t worry,” he beams. “They’re going to love you.”
You don’t know if you love or hate the idea of Martin’s family loving you. On one hand, it was nice to get his parents’ approval – on the other, this relationship was practically completely fake. Or at least it started that way, until your real feelings got involved.
Martin’s mother answers the door, and when she spots you, she pulls you in for a hug. You’re slightly stunned at how affectionate she is, but it’s awfully kind of her, and you return the gesture nevertheless. “You must be (Name),” she beams. “Martin’s been going on and on about you.”
“You have?” you ask, turning to Martin. His cheeks heat up and he shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Martin’s father greets you once you’re inside, sitting down at the living room table. He’s easy to talk to, much like Martin. He jokes around with you right off the bat, and your stomach twists with guilt. Your presence feels a little too foreign, as if you don’t belong – because truly, you don’t.
Here you were, sitting at the Edwards’ dining room table as if you were exactly who Martin said you were. His loving girlfriend who cared about him more than anything in the world.
The truth? All you were was a music journalist who was writing an article on how to lose an idol in 10 shows, and their son was the target. It was simply awful, and here you were, basking in the Edwards’ family’s praises like you deserved them. Like you deserved their son.
You didn’t. Martin Edwards was far too good to you, and for you.
You listen as his mother tells you stories about Martin’s childhood, such as how he composed a piece of music at the ripe age of 10 about the Spider-Man movie that he’d watched. His sister teases him lovingly, telling him that he shouldn’t have hid you for this long – she doesn’t seem to know that you two have only been ‘dating’ for two weeks. They treat you like family. You realise how much you adore all of them.
It makes the guilt that’s been simmering in your stomach much, much worse.
When Martin tells the story of how you two met at the comeback showcase, his sister’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you guys have been dating for two months!”
“Nope,” you chuckle nervously. His sister only hums, nodding. That reaction strikes genuine fear in your heart. Is she okay with it? Does she hate you? Martin seems to notice how anxious you are, and he gently caresses your hand with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you.
Martin beams as his family gushes over the new album, and you sit next to him, your fingers laced with his. You look at him, pride evident on your face as he talks about the songs, and Martin’s father realises that it’s only then when you relax your shoulders.
When Martin’s whisked away by his mother and sister, his father approaches you.
“(Name),” he says, pouring you a glass of water. “Thank you for being so kind to Martin. And being there for him.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. Martin’s father looks at you, handing you the glass. “It’s not an easy life for him to be an idol, especially since he’s so young,” he hums. “I’m glad he has someone like you to… you know. Keep him grounded amidst all the chaos.”
Oh god. The guilt. You want to throw up. His dad was extending so much kindness to you because he genuinely believed that you loved his son.
And you did, but you had started everything with ulterior motives. Did it even matter now that you truly had feelings, when you’d approached Martin with zero intention of anything genuine?
But you plaster on a smile, something that you’ve gotten a little too good at doing. “Of course,” you say. You look out the window, seeing Martin and his sister laughing about something. Martin’s father recognises this look in your eye – one of genuine affection for his son – and he too, smiles. “I’m glad that I can… be that for him.”
“And really, he is… absolutely amazing,” you say. “I don’t think I deserve him.” It’s the most truthful thing you think you’ve said all day.
The smile on his father’s lips grows a little wider. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are perfect for each other. Even if this is all a little recent.”
Perfect. Those words should make you feel relieved. But now that you have his father’s stamp of approval, it makes ending things much more difficult. How were you supposed to do that now?
It’s then when it hits you. You couldn’t write the article anymore. You had to tell Jisoo that you couldn’t. Because you’ve fallen for Martin Edwards. Hard.
Martin returns, seeing you and his father speaking to one another. He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You lean into his touch, even as the guilt from the past two weeks piles up and threatens to crush you like a boulder.
“Pops, what’d you say to her?” he asks, hoping that his father hasn’t embarrassed him in front of you.
“Oh, nothing bad, Martin. Don’t worry,” he laughs. “Do show her around the house, though. I’m sure she’d love to see your room.”
His father gives you a nod before going outside to find Martin’s mother and sister. Martin looks at you, and you’re standing there silently. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, coming to your senses.
“Of course,” you say. He smiles at the nickname before lacing your hand with his. He does it so casually now to the point where you’re not fazed by it at all. “So… are you going to show me your room?”
He nods, leading you down the corridor. It’s the first room on the right.
“Tada,” he says, flicking on the light switch. Your eyes immediately dart to the plane drawn on the wall, and Martin notices.
“My dad painted that for me when I was little,” he says, and your eyes flick back to look at him.
“He’s really good at painting,” you say, and Martin beams. Your eyes wander across the entire room, and the next object your eyes land on is a little Spider-Man figurine sitting on top of a cupboard. “You really did like Spider-Man, didn’t you?”
Martin chuckles, walking over to pick it up. “I did,” he hums. He hands it over to you, before grabbing something else perched on top of the same cupboard. “I was a big Marvel fan. Case in point – Thanos’ gauntlet.”
He tries to put it on, but it’s clearly too small for him now, and you laugh. “You try it,” he says, handing it over to you.
You put it on, and it fits. “If I snap my fingers, would we all turn to dust?”
Martin bursts into a fit of laughter – were you really that funny? But the sound of his laughter is infectious, and for a second you allow yourself to forget about that daunting thought of feeling like an intruder in your boyfriend’s own home.
You take off the gauntlet, handing it back to him so he can place it back in its original spot. He flops down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. “Come,” he says. “My bed here is comfy. Much better than the dorm one, to be honest.”
You lay down beside him, and to be fair, he was right. The mattress was slightly softer. Martin tugs at the corner of your shirt to get you to move slightly closer to him.
“Your room is cozy,” you say as he wraps his arms around you. You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity and love. That feeling of guilt creeps up once again.
“I know,” he hums. “Listen… I’m happy that you decided to come meet my family. I’m sorry about that day, by the way. I should’ve probably told you that I was going to be busy.”
You shake your head. You knew how unreasonable you were being. “It’s okay,” you say. Looking into his eyes, everything feels far too real – and instinctively, like you’ve done a million times before, you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry for causing a scene. I was being overdramatic. Like usual.”
Martin chuckles, his laugh light and airy. “Don’t worry.”
Over the two weeks, Martin has found that he does care for you. Perhaps a little too much for something that was just a bet. But with you here in his home, things just felt right. His father seemed to love you, and outside in the garden, his mother and sister had both said that you were amazing.
Martin doesn’t know what to do – was he supposed to tell you about the bet? You’d surely break up with him for good once you found out.
But he looks at you, and he just can’t help but think about how pretty you are. Truthfully, his heart did skip a beat when he first saw you at their comeback showcase, and despite your overdramatic antics, Martin did… want you to stay. That realisation settles in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he should be happy about it.
He’s not in love with you, is he?
You look at Martin. Silence falls between the two of you, and it’s comforting, really. You look at him like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s too pretty. Too kind. Too good for you.
You don’t know when your eyes flick to his lips, but you realise that over the last two weeks, you two haven’t actually kissed. He’s kissed your cheek far too many times, you’ve done the same, but you’ve never actually pressed your lips to his.
And the scary thing was, that you really, really wanted to.
You lean in a little closer, inching his face closer to his. Martin suddenly seems to notice the proximity between you two, and he too, realises that he hasn’t actually kissed you on the lips before. For someone who his sister claimed to be ‘so in love’, he hadn’t even kissed his own girlfriend.
He wants to kiss you. Really, really badly.
You’re the one who leans in first, pressing your lips to his. It’s hesitant and slow, and Martin’s a little shocked at your tentativeness. For someone who was so dramatic, over the top and boisterous – this was a little out of character.
Martin can hear his own pulse thundering in his ears as he kisses you back – slow, gentle, like he means it. Yes, this was exactly what he had been missing this entire time. Everything feels right, and Martin completely forgets about the bet. At this moment, all of it was real.
His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as the other finds your waist, and you kiss him a little harder, a little more insistent. As Martin melts into the kiss, he’s also simultaneously praying to God that he’s closed his bedroom door. The last thing he really wanted was his parents or sister catching him making out with his girlfriend – he'd never hear the end of it.
But when your hands find his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, that thought leaves his mind completely as he allows you to kiss him senseless. It’s fine if the door’s open, he thinks. All he cares about is you, and how your lips feel on his. He’s drunk on the feeling, almost – he doesn’t think that he can go a day without kissing you now.
When you pull away for air, you’re beaming at him like an idiot in love. Because truthfully, that’s what you were. The guilt that’s been eating at you is completely forgotten, and all you really want to do is kiss him again.
“You kissed me,” Martin says, a little breathless and a little astonished that this was all real. You had kissed him. And he felt something. Something real, something genuine – something that told him that it wasn’t a bet anymore, at least not to him.
Martin Edwards might really be in love with you.
It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. On one hand, Martin was thinking about what would happen if – god forbid – you found out that you were a bet. On the other, Martin just wanted to kiss you over, and over, and over again.
“Is it that hard to believe?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, your breath hot against his lips. Your eyes flick down to his lips once again, stained with your lipstick. Martin doesn’t – and won’t – wipe it off. “I think you better get used to it, Edwards.”
And when Martin Edwards leans in again to press his lips against yours, he allows himself to be irrevocably and truly yours.
You tell Jisoo that you can’t write the article.
She’s disappointed, but simultaneously, not surprised at all. “I thought you might’ve caught feelings for that CORTIS boy,” she hums, tapping her pencil on the desk. You don’t think you’re getting that full-time job now. “It’s okay. I knew it was too good to be true.”
Ouch, you think. That stings.
But you’re honestly on too much of a high after that kiss in Martin’s house. With the weight of the article off your shoulders, you can actually date Martin without feeling completely guilty now. Sure, some of it still remained knowing that you started the relationship with ulterior motives, but it was slightly more of a clean slate than before.
Despite Jisoo's disappointment in you, she still does invite you, Yoonchae, Bailey and Yuna to this music awards show after-party. You immediately text Martin, asking him if he’s going to be there. He responds with a yes, and you beam.
I can’t wait to see you, he tells you. You smile at your phone, giddy and far too much in love.
“I knew this was going to happen!” Bailey exclaims as you two get ready for the after-party in her apartment. “I told you, that Martin boy was so deeply in love – he was practically looking at her with stars in her eyes when we were doing ‘couples counselling.’ Honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t see it earlier!”
You curl your lashes, coating them with mascara carefully. “I mean, I didn’t expect to actually fall for him.”
“We all saw it coming a mile away, (Name),” Yoonchae laughs. “Come on, at the showcase you were gawking at him like he was your personal Prince Charming. The only thing I’m surprised at was how persistent he was in staying. If I were him, I would’ve broken up with you the second you humiliated me like that in front of all my friends.”
You gasp at Yoonchae’s words, and she simply shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. The rest of the time spent getting ready is filled with chatter about how you and Martin are going to cope with having eyes on you the entire night tonight. He couldn’t hold your hand like he usually did – you now had to hide.
When you arrive at the after-party, you immediately send a text to Martin, asking where he is. You look around the room to search for him, and you see idols, industry professionals and journalists like you conversing with one another.
“Hi,” a voice all too familiar to you makes you turn around, and you see Martin standing there, in all his glory. He’s wearing a crisp, sharp suit – Dior, you assume, considering the brand deal – and he looks absolutely perfect.
Your voice catches in your throat as you’re about to tell him he looks good, but rather a strangled noise escapes past your lips. You suppose you finally know what it’s like to actually be left speechless. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, and Martin simply laughs.
“Hi,” you breathe out, when you’re finally able to speak. “You look really nice.”
“And you do too,” Martin replies, looking at you. You’re wearing this stunning, satin yellow dress. In all honesty, Martin had grown accustomed to seeing you wearing his clothes, and seeing you in something like this made his heart race. A dainty necklace hangs around your neck, and Martin thinks that he might’ve just fallen in love all over again.
“Thank you,” you say. You’re unsure how to actually speak to him knowing that there were always going to be eyes watching his every move. “So… you doing anything after this?” is the only thing you’re able to come up with, and Martin chuckles.
“No, I don’t happen to be,” he replies, fixing the collar of his suit jacket. His voice drops low into a whisper, looking around carefully to make sure that nobody is listening. “Come to the dorm later for a movie date?”
“Of course,” you whisper back. You fail to hide the lovesick grin on your lips, and Martin’s practically fighting the urge to kiss you right now. You look irresistibly good, and Martin hates that every move of his is likely documented right now.
His manager approaches him, and he gives you a nod in acknowledgment. “Martin, we’re going to have to meet some members of the media. Please come with me – I’m sure the two of you will find time to talk later.”
You nod, understanding that duty calls. Martin waves goodbye to you, and you wave back. You didn’t even realise how fast your heart was racing there. You find Bailey, Yoonchae and Yuna near the drinks, and you grab a glass of fruit punch and converse with them about some new album that Yoonchae reviewed recently.
Martin straightens up his suit jacket before he walks up to the rest of the members, who are already talking to someone. “Hi, I’m Martin, the leader of CORTIS. Apologies for being late,” he says politely. “I had to catch up with a friend.” It’s a lie, but he couldn’t call you his girlfriend to everyone here.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the lady says, waving him off. She seems awfully drunk, and she’s already taking another sip of the champagne in her glass. “We were just talking about some of the articles that we’ve been publishing about your group. You boys are some of the most exciting faces on the music scene.”
“Thank you.” Martin beams.
“Her name is Jisoo,” James whispers in Martin’s ear. “I think she’s super drunk. Manager says that the rest of us are going to speak to some guy named John, but Jisoo really wanted to talk to you. So… we’ll leave you guys to it?”
Martin nods in agreement, but he doesn’t really want to speak with her. She’s incredibly drunk, and to be honest, Martin would much rather be talking to you right now.
“Oh, and we’ve got something much more than just about your albums,” Jisoo pipes up. “Well, did. One of my interns – talented girl – was writing a piece about one of you.” Jisoo's so drunk that she thinks that the five of them are still there, when it’s really only Martin who’s left.
She searches around the room, and her eyes land on you. She points in your direction.
“Ah, her. Over there,” Jisoo says. “(Name).”
Martin immediately straightens up at the sound of your name. He leans in to hear Jisoo better, curiosity suddenly piqued. “What article may that be?”
“Oh, it was a little bit more fun. How to lose an idol in 10 shows, or something. Dating an idol, and then trying to get him to dump her in 10 shows or less. I was gonna give her that full-time job, honestly.”
Martin’s heart drops.
An article? You... were writing an article on dating an idol?
It hits Martin right then and there. That’s why you were so adamant on breaking up over something so trivial – he knew that you weren’t that unreasonable.
The next realisation hits Martin like a truck. That’s why you would act so ludicrous and over the top sometimes – he had a feeling that it wasn’t really who you were. The night at the studio, the moments the two of you shared at his parents’ house. That was the real you. But Martin didn’t really care, he told himself he loved you all the same.
But knowing that all of this was just for an article? It sends a knife through his heart.
You kissed him like you actually loved him that day at his parents’ house. He thought you did. Did you love him? Did you even like him?
Jisoo is so drunk she doesn’t even seem to know the state of shock and distress that she’s just put Martin through. His mouth suddenly runs dry, and he doesn’t know what to do – all he knows is that he feels sick at the thought that perhaps none of it was real. His heart aches with betrayal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awful before.
His eyes are hot as he tries to blink back tears. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice cracking. “I have to go.”
Jisoo's too drunk to notice as Martin pushes past her, trying desperately to find any corner away from the cameras.
When he finds a place secluded enough, covered by the black satin curtains, Martin finally lets a tear slip past his cheek.
This must be what heartbreak feels like, he thinks.
You’re already starting to get a little bored at this after-party.
You know that Jisoo's practically drunk off her mind, and Bailey’s gone over to make sure that she doesn’t hurl on any of the guests. Yoonchae winces seeing Jisoo stumble on air, and Bailey sighs as she knows that she’s going to be babysitting her all night.
You look at the crowd, trying to count how many idols you can see that aren’t completely drunk off their mind.
“(Name)!” James snaps you out of your little game – you were at roughly 12 idols – and you direct your attention to him. He beams, greeting you with a wide smile.
He’s got a glass of champagne in his hands – after all, he is the only one legally allowed to drink. You can tell that he’s slightly tipsy.
“Hi, James,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice to see you again… after seeing you yesterday night.”
James laughs, a little louder than normal – yeah, the alcohol was definitely kicking in. “That’s funny. Yes, so nice to see you again. I know that our Martin was a bit late speaking to some important people because he was caught up with you,” he says, wagging his finger at you. “It’s okay. No worries.”
“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” he says, trailing off. There’s a beat of silence that falls between the two of you before James seems to remember something. “Oh! Oh! Don’t tell Martin. Wait, you two are dating for real, for real now. So you must know!”
You look at James, confused. You don’t have a single idea in the world of what he was insinuating at.
“Our Martin can flirt, can’t he?” James says, dragging out the word. “We all thought he couldn’t, so he proved us wrong. Now we all have to pay for his next shopping spree. Bleh. I’m going to be broke.”
Your brows furrow, but there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach – you think you know what James is hinting at, but he’s tipsy, so he’s somewhat circling around the topic.
“James, whatever do you mean?”
“We made a bet!” he says, a little too gleefully. “So like, Seonghyeon was saying that Martin couldn’t flirt, so we made a bet – 10 shows to get a girl to fall in love with him with his flirting skills. And he had to make sure you stayed with him through those 10 shows.”
He doesn’t know that those words had basically caused your personal apocalypse. You were a bet?
You look at James, betrayal evident on your features. Your chest pangs with pain so visceral, you think you might actually double over. You were just a bet to Martin, and the betrayal and pain from that realisation hits you like a tidal wave. Martin being awfully sweet to you, being too kind, being too understanding – that was all a lie?
You feel like you don’t even know him. You stand there, stunned, and at your silence, James somehow seems to sober up.
“Oh, shit – you didn’t know,” James’ face contorts into one of horror, and he brings his hands to his lips. “Oh my god, (Name) – I did not mean a single word of what I said, I am so sorry–!”
You push past James, running for the exit. You feel so violently ill – all you want to do is go back to your house and cry until you’ve got no tears left. You’re going to block Martin, and you never ever want to listen to a CORTIS song ever again.
You push past the gates, but then you’re stopped by a voice that is awfully familiar, but it’s the last person you want to hear from right now.
“Skipping town?” Martin asks. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets. Of course he still looks devastatingly beautiful, and for a second you forget that this is the boy who had made a bet that you’d fall in love with him in 10 shows.
Congratulations, it worked, you think. Maybe he should win a prize for it after you get over your heartbreak.
You turn to look at him, brows furrowed in anger. “What do you want, Martin?”
“What do I want?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. He steps closer towards you, and you realise that he’s angry too. You don’t know what for. “I want to know why Jisoo told me about an article that you’d pitched called: how to lose an idol in 10 shows. Yes, she was drunk. But you know that drunk words are sober thoughts. I could tell she wasn't lying.”
You’re stunned. Martin notices your expression, and his eyes narrow. “Yeah,” he replies, gritting his teeth. “Sound familiar?”
You gulp, and that guilt that you thought you’d rid yourself of comes back tenfold. But then you remember the bet. You, in similar fashion, grit your teeth and look at Martin with the same betrayal in your eyes.
“Right,” you hum. “And I want to know a little bit more about this bet that James told me about… perhaps something along the lines of you getting a girl to fall in love with him in 10 shows.”
This time, Martin’s the one with the stunned look on his face. His breath stutters, and you cross your arms. “Yeah,” you tell him, using the same words he did mere seconds ago. “Sound familiar?”
“You used me for an article,” Martin exhales. The heartbreak in his tone is evident, and you hate knowing that you’ve hurt him. But he hurt you too.
“I was just a bet to you,” you gulp. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?”
“You can’t be the one saying this to me,” Martin says, pointing at you. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” you retort.
“You wanted to lose an idol in 10 shows?” Martin seethes, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart is quite literally breaking. “Congratulations. You just lost him.”
You gulp, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill past your eyes. You take a deep breath, strengthening your resolve – you were a bet to him anyways. It didn’t matter.
“No, I didn’t.” you say. Even those words feel like a lie. You did lose him, and you feel terrible. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.”
With that, you turn on your heel and leave. You only let the tears fall when you know that you’re far away enough, and you reel with the realisation that you’ve probably just lost the first person that you’ve ever truly loved. Because of some stupid job that you weren’t quite sure you wanted anymore.
You leave Martin hanging as he watches your figure disappear. He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something, but you’re already too far gone. It’s fine, Martin tells himself. It was just a bet. You were just a bet. You didn’t mean anything to him.
No, he can’t lie to himself. It hurts much more than the truth.
Martin stands there as the cool evening air tousles his hair. It’s then when he finally allows himself to sob as he crumples to the floor – despite it all, he doesn’t know why he once again, can’t bring himself to hate you.
Martin Edwards lost you, and you lost Martin Edwards.
Maybe after all of it, this was the outcome that you both deserved.
Martin feels absolutely awful.
The members all look at him sympathetically, and they all notice that Martin’s not really his usual self nowadays. Seonghyeon buys him that jacket that he’s wanted for ages. Juhoon breaks his bank account to get Martin three hoodies. Keonho finally buys him those Rick Owens shoes, and he doesn’t complain about it.
James, who feels the worst out of all of them for letting the news slip to you, buys him two pairs of expensive earrings and cashes in on an extra bracelet as if it’ll cure the heartbreak.
"Well... I guess you can flirt," Seonghyeon says. He knows that it's really not helping Martin get over the heartbreak, but he's not quite sure what to say to make him feel better.
Sure, he could flirt. Hooray, Martin thinks. But he didn't really care about that anymore. Not when he just wanted to see you.
His life falls into the routine that he was so accustomed to before you barged into his life. Wake up, practice, make music, perform, repeat. Despite how much his stomach twists in anger at the thought that he was just an article to you, he misses your presence.
In those two short weeks, you’d changed his life in a way that he didn’t think was possible. His eyes always linger a little too long at the dressing room door, hoping you’ll show up. He stocks up on Coke for the mini fridge in the studio just in case you swing by and want a can. He can’t even tell his parents that he’s not speaking to you anymore.
He messed up too. You weren’t the only one. The guilt eats at him every single day, and he’s immediately reminded of it when he wakes up. Martin Edwards, despite it all, still thinks that he loves you. That may be even more ludicrous than your antics.
He hears the doorbell ring, and Martin gets up from his seat at the couch to go answer the door. He’s the designated one to do that now, because he’s always hoping that perhaps you’ll show up.
He swings open the door, and he realises that it’s Yoonchae. He recognises her from the comeback showcase.
“Hi,” she gulps, a little hesitant. “Martin?”
“Yes?” he asks. “How did you find–”
“I’m not a stalker,” she says. Martin figured, considering that she was a friend of yours. “Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. But… I think you might want to read this.” Yoonchae hands Martin a stack of papers, and he furrows his brows, confused as to why.
Yoonchae looks at Martin, and she knows that’s a devastated man if she’s ever seen one. His hair’s messy, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and there’s just something heavy seeming to be weighing on his conscience.
“Please,” she says. Martin motions for her to come in, and Yoonchae sits down at the dining room table. Martin flicks open the page, and there it is – the dreaded headline. How to Lose an Idol in 10 Shows. Your name is plastered right under it.
Martin doesn’t even want to read it. He feels sick already seeing the title. But curiosity kills the cat, and he reluctantly reads the words printed on the page, letting out a deep sigh.
Step one: Ask the dreaded question – “What are we?” in front of all of his friends.
He remembers that day. He also remembers the instantaneous shock that he felt hearing those words spill past your lips, and how it filled him with a sense of intrigue but also overconfidence that he was going to win this bet.
Step two: Be overly obnoxious – yes, again, in front of all of his friends.
The over the top cheek kisses, the way you’d cling to him like a koala and the loud displays of affection – yep, that tracks, Martin thinks. The crazy thing was that he didn’t mind at all.
Step three: Annoy him with text messages every single minute.
You did that. But Martin wasn’t annoyed, per se. He went through every single message, replying to them with equal enthusiasm. You always had something interesting to talk about – it wasn’t just filler, so Martin didn’t quite mind. And it did bring him some much needed entertainment after busting his ass for a performance.
Step four: Steal all his favourite clothes.
Martin smiles, stupidly. The memory of you wearing his clothes and looking a little too good in them cuts through the anger and bitterness he’s been feeling for the past few days. The mention of those also makes him also remember that you haven’t given any of those clothes back.
Step five: Interrupt him at the studio…
The next few words make Martin’s breath catch in his throat.
Despite my ridiculous antics, Martin Edwards somehow puts up with me and has the patience of a saint. I decide that he’s either a lunatic who loves crazy girls, but my colleague Bailey offers me something else: that he might genuinely like me. It’s when I’m halfway through step five I realise that I’ve fallen in way too deep.
It’s the first time where he actually shows frustration with my insanity, and it’s the first time where I realise that I don’t want to hurt him. Because despite starting this with unfortunately ulterior motives, I think I may have fallen in love in the process.
My goal was to lose an idol in 10 shows. But after getting to know Martin Edwards – the real Martin Edwards – I didn’t want to lose him at all, and yet I have. He’s admirable. Dependable. Too kind for his own good. I don’t even think I deserved him during those two weeks.
These two weeks have been riddled by mistakes. Starting this article, lying about my intentions, pretending that I was someone that I truly wasn’t… but the biggest mistake of all?
Losing the love of my life.
His vision blurs as tears prick his eyes. He was the love of your life? The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and Martin almost forgets how to breathe. The weight of those words settles in his chest, and somehow, the anger dissipates and is replaced with disbelief. He was the love of your life.
The crazy thing is, Martin thinks you may be the love of his life too.
He looks at Yoonchae with a look of determination in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before.
“I… is she at the office?”
“No,” Yoonchae replies. “She quit. I can give you her address, if you need—”
“Please,” he says, desperation evident in his tone. He throws on a random pair of shoes as he practically shoves his phone into Yoonchae’s hand so she can type in your address into his GPS app.
Martin runs out the door, Yoonchae trailing behind him and nearly failing to keep up. Juhoon asks him where the hell he’s going, but Martin doesn’t answer – he has pressing matters to attend to right now. Yoonchae calls a car for the two of them to head to your place, and on the way, she tells him that she really wasn’t supposed to show him the article – but she had to. She knew you were miserable too.
The ride to your place feels like forever, and Yoonchae tells him that she’ll just wait downstairs. He bounds up the staircase – the lift was a waste of time, you lived on the third floor. Yoonchae thinks that he doesn’t even register her words.
Martin double checks the apartment unit that Yoonchae had given him, and he knocks, tapping his foot on the ground nervously.
You fling open your door, and you’re stunned to see Martin there.
He’s almost speechless at the sight of your face – he hadn’t seen you in so long, and Martin has missed you, devastatingly so.
“Martin?” you say in disbelief. You’ve been dreaming about him so much for the past few days to the point where you really wouldn’t be surprised if he was a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up the article that Yoonchae had handed him less than an hour ago. You recognise it, and a mixture of guilt, shame and anxiety pangs in your chest – so he’s read it. That sickly feeling that you’ve grown accustomed to for the past week returns tenfold.
“This article,” he breathes out. “Did you mean it?”
“What?”
“Did you mean it?” he asks. He’s looking at you with desperation, practically pleading for you to say yes.
You blink back the tears in your eyes. A beat of silence falls between you two before you finally speak.
“I meant every word,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.
Martin tries to hold back the smile that’s threatening to creep up on his lips. “Really?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yes,” you say, a little louder this time. “ And I’m sorry about it all – you mean… so much more than an article to me.”
Martin has another question. “And am I really the love of your life?”
“Yes,” you exhale. “You are. I told you, I meant every word.”
Martin finally allows himself to breathe, his shoulders relaxing as he beams, wider than ever before. “Ask me the same question.” he says, grinning. You look at his expression, a little confused but hopeful all the same.
“Am I the love of your life?” you ask, your voice brimming with hope.
“You are.” Martin replies.
“Oh,” you reply softly, and you let a tear slip past your cheek. You’re crying, but they’re happy tears.
Martin reaches out to you, pulling him close to you. His hand finds your waist like it belongs there, and like nothing has changed in the last few days the two of you have been apart.
“I love you,” you choke out. “Unbelievably so. I’m sorry I lost you.”
Martin leans in, inching his face closer to yours as he smiles.
“I love you too,” he replies before he presses his lips to yours, and everything just feels right again. He pulls away for a split second to look into your eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.” he says, giggling before he pulls you in for another kiss.
And now, Martin Edwards is truly, irrevocably yours.
Synopsis: You’re a witch known for making love potions. They're fake. The reviews are real. Your track record? Immaculate. Until a duke walks in, covered in blood, and demands you reverse the spell you cast on him.
You didn't cast anything.
He doesn't care.
And now you live in his mansion.
Love Potion or Love at First Sight?
"Are you sure this is it?"
"Yes yes! This is the love potion. Now pay up or leave because I have other customers to attend to!"
You groan at the woman hesitating in front of you, wasting your time.
You're an infamous witch known in the black market for selling all types of spells and potions for a hefty sum.
Your most popular item? The love potion.
Which is actually just… an aphrodisiac.
But after selling 170 potions? You've only ever received positive reviews. All from noblewomen, lovestruck and happy with the results.
What can you say? You've always known men to be lustful creatures, barren from emotions. After selling a 170 with zero bad reviews? Your ideology is proven correct.
"Are you sure it works?" the woman whispers.
"100% customer satisfaction guaranteed!"
She still looks nervous.
"And if it doesn't work, you can come back and I'll give double your money back as refund."
The woman nods, pays with a pouch of gold coins, then leaves.
Another positive review, you think to yourself confidently, already marking this as your 171st success.
…
You just didn’t expect your first bad review to appear right in front of your face.
The door slams open.
A man stands in your doorway. With black hair and red eyes; blood plastered across his face, clothes, and most importantly his sword.
"So," The bloody man starts, one hand going up to wipe some blood off his face. “You're the witch selling cheap love elixirs all over the market?”
You don’t answer, your hand sliding toward the defense charm under your counter instead.
Because this wasn’t just any man, this was the war-crazed duke feared by all of society.
"You better pay for this."
…Guess you'll be closing the shop for a while.
___________
And… you've been working at his mansion ever since.
Tasked with reversing whatever spell you supposedly casted on him. Despite all your protests, swearing up and down that you never did anything.
He doesn't believe you.
He won't believe you.
Because how else do you explain what he felt when he walked into your shop? That made his sword hand waver and his heart stutter, and his threats turn into something softer?
Obviously, you’ve cursed him. There was no need to investigate this any further, nor did he feel the need to tell you about all these symptoms.
So now you're stuck in a massive estate with a madman who thinks you cursed him, brewing antidote after antidote, watching nothing work.
You could only curse that woman, muttering bitter insults under your breath.
The one who bought the potion and slipped it to him. The one who left you with this mess and then promptly left this world, if the blood on his sword was any indication.
Damn her.
What the hell did she see in this man anyway?
Because here's the thing you're learning, piece by piece. The duke? He's not just some nobleman. He's the nobleman. The one everyone whispers about, who keeps a dungeon beneath the east wing and a graveyard in the west garden. (Allegedly.)
The madman of high society.
If only you'd known he was the target that woman was after, you would've never sold her that potion. Never agreed to the commission or opened your stupid mouth about the satisfaction guarantee!!
But you didn't know.
And now you're stuck with the aftermath…
___________
At first, the madman kept you confined to a workspace somewhere within the mansion.
Close enough to monitor. Far enough to ignore.
Then, he started calling for you more often. Checking on your progress. Standing just a little too close while you worked. Watching you with scrutinizing red eyes.
And then, he started sticking around you 24/7, following you from room to room like some clingy puppy who couldn't bear for you to leave his sight.
Even that wasn’t enough. At some point, you stopped being assigned a room at all.
Wherever he was… that became your workspace.
You’d turn around and he’d be there.
In the doorway. Behind you. Leaning against the wall like he’d been there the whole time.
Like he had nowhere else to be. Don’t dukes have better things to do? Go tend to your paperwork or something!!
Through it all, he's never kind. Still angry, demanding, and barking orders about reversing the damn spell.
But he never hurts you.
His threats are loud. And his hands are rough, just like his voice that could shatter glass.
But you've started to notice something.
He always stops. It’s all bark but no bite…
And it becomes a routine.
You work. He watches. You brew. He hovers. You try to leave. He blocks the door.
At some point, he has you working in his bedroom.
No, like, actually. He stooped to this level of stupidity, needing allowing you to stay in his chambers at night.
He's sleeping on the bed and you have to sit beside him. On the floor. With your books and your herbs and your constantly dying patience.
You don't know when this became normal.
You hate that it feels normal.
__________
Tonight, you try to get up.
His hand immediately shoots out to grab your wrist.
"Where do you think you're going?"
You don't flinch anymore. The first few times, you did. Now? You just sigh.
"I'm trying to study for a reverse spell. Or a cure. For you, remember?"
"Stay."
His voice is flat. Unreasonable. Like he's not even considering the possibility of you leaving.
"I can't work if I'm stuck by your side, Your Grace."
"Leave and I'll rip your throat out."
You've heard this before. It had you frozen and crying the first few times, but then you realized…
He never follows through.
Not with you.
"Your Grace," you say, calm as anything, "you can't do that. Who will reverse your spell if not the caster?"
His jaw tightens, though the grip on your wrist doesn't loosen.
But he knows you're right.
He's quiet for a long moment, thinking. And you can see the exact second he shifts tactics.
"Then I'll slit the throats of all the guards outside who allow you to leave this room."
"…I'm sat."
You sit back down on the floor. Head leaning against the bed where his hand lingers limbly. Sometimes brushing your hair unconsciously, like it was to make sure you were still there.
And you work on the spell in his chambers all night long. Barely getting a blink of sleep.
He, on the other hand?
Dead to the world.
The madman who threatened to rip your throat out twenty minutes ago is now curled up on his ridiculous silk sheets, snoring softly.
His face is slack and peaceful. Innocent in a way that makes you want to throw a pillow at his head.
You've noticed this before. The way his eyes get heavy when you're nearby, how his shoulders drop when you enter the room. And the way his threats get lazier the longer you stay.
At first, you thought it was the potion's side effects.
Now you're starting to think he just… can't sleep without you.
Which is not your problem. You didn't sign up to be a nobleman's sleeping charm. You're a witch. A busy one! One who is currently being held against her will in a mansion that smells too much like old money and fresh blood.
And yet… Here you are, watching him sleep.
Because if you move, he wakes up. And if he wakes up, he gets grumpy. And if he gets grumpy, he threatens to kill someone.
Usually the guards.
You've started to feel kind of bad for the guards.
"I hope you wake up with a stiff neck," you mutter, dipping your quill in ink. "I hope you stub your toes when you wake up. I hope your breakfast is cold and your tea is bitter and your horse steps on your foot."
His lips curl up softly. Like you're singing him a lullaby.
Your quill scratches to a halt.
"…I hope you dream about spiders," you try, weaker this time.
His smile deepens.
He doesn't wake up. He just… rests. Still peaceful and content. Like your curses are the sweetest words he's ever heard.
You stare at him.
Then you look down at your notes, page full of failed antidotes and useless counter-spells. A truth you’ve been avoiding for a while manifests to the surface of your mind once again.
Nothing is wrong with him.
The potion didn't work.
He's just like this.
You set down the quill to press your palms to your eyes.
And wonder, for the thousandth time, what in the hell you did to deserve this.
Maybe its time you suggest a psychiatrist.
___________
Little did both of you know.
The potion didn't work on him.
It never could have. Years of assassination attempts had made his body resistant to poisons, potions, drugs… Basically anything ingested.
The drink that woman slipped him? It passed through his system like water. Barely a flicker of discomfort, a vague pulling in his chest that he dismissed as irritation.
He came to your shop that day ready to kill the witch who made it.
Not because the potion had affected him. But because he was annoyed.
Someone had tried to enchant him. Someone had failed. And he wanted to make an example of the person responsible.
Until he saw you.
And something in his chest pulled again.
Not the potion, that was already gone.
Something else he didn’t have a name for.
He still doesn't have a name for it. He calls it a curse. A spell. Your fault.
…
It's not.
He was just love-struck at first sight.
And he's been falling harder and harder with each day that passes.
Deep in his sleep, one thought surfaces in his mind.
( syn. ) a boy (?) from the forest finds you again at midnight
( tags ) implied f!reader ⋆ vampire!james ⋆ twilight (ish) au ⋆ warnings: implications of harm, violence, and death to reader, A.K, E.S, && E.M; blood; kissing (suggestive) ⋆ two oneshots ⋆ darker setting, darker themes ⋆ songs linked above :D ⋆ word count: 5.1k
#🫖: dedicated to my beautiful @liliikkuma and the anon who was excited for a twilight-esque fic 🥹🥹 this one technically isn’t my twilight one LOL that will come out later this autumn (i also wanna write vampire hcs for them 😹 (you’ll know who im talking abt by the end of this)) for now have small one-shots of vampire james because the edits were making me go craaaazzyyyy does he know i’m insane?
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You spin around to the voice, supposedly behind you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t startle you–you hadn’t even heard another pair of footsteps in the few minutes you’ve been walking through this silent, winding, forest.
You’ve braced yourself, but there’s no one there–only the lush, evergreen staring back at you. You scan the scene for a second longer, even though you can feel that you’re alone.
The lack of sleep recently must be making you hear things, and you set a mental reminder to ask for an increase in your melatonin dosage when you get back home from this town. From Forks. Washington’s Olympic Peninsula; a place you’d never voluntarily step foot in if it weren’t for the paper desperately needing something fresh to publish.
You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head, willing yourself to wake up and focus.
When you turn back, a figure is standing before you.
You can’t help but let out the gasp that escapes you this time, taking a step back, trying to calm yourself.
“Sorry.” He says, raising his eyebrows in an almost taunting-like way. “Did I scare you?”
“Maybe.” You offer a small chuckle, easing tension, and clear your throat. “I didn’t see you come up.”
He’s taller than you, though his rugged cap planted over his messy hair might have something to do with it. You do a quick intake; sharp bone structure, onyx dark eyes, and hollow, pale cheeks. So, so pale, he looks almost deathly.
“Not much sun around here.” He says, as if offering an answer for your thoughts.
Your breath hitches. “What?”
“It messes with the light. Why you didn’t see me.” His eyes are burning into yours, willing you to accept his explanation.
“Oh,” you force out, nodding. “Right.”
He simply watches as you swallow and force yourself to steady your thrumming pulse. A task that’s not as easy when he’s looking at you like he has intentions if you move even a muscle.
Your intuition–one that’s never been wrong before–is yelling at you to back away even more; to run until you see someone else; to flee this scene because you know all too well about strangers and solitude.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” He echoes.
Finally, something on script. Something you can work with.
Your investigative days have led you on strange pathways before; places you legally shouldn’t have been, but over the years of experience, you’ve learnt how to sweet-talk your way out of trouble. You straighten your back–Forks will not make you another statistic.
“Right! I’m so sorry. Is this private property? I had no idea…” Feigning innocence, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “I tried following the main river.”
The boy–if you can even call him that–is quiet for a moment. Something is gleaming in his eyes, as if he has you exactly where he wants.
“You’re alright. No, it’s not private property, but the woods aren’t safe for a girl like you.”
You let a humourless scoff. He’s playing into your act a bit too much.
Using the opportunity to eye him down properly, your gaze doesn’t miss a single detail. You’ve seen him before. You realise. Though you can’t recall where, or when, you know his face. You wouldn’t forget one like his.
The vague familiarity calms you down. You’re really grasping onto straws here, but it’s a slight relief knowing he’s a little less harmless.
The edge of his lips twitch.
“The woods wouldn’t be safe for a guy like you, either.” You finally respond. “You can’t be that much older than me.”
A slow, deliberate, smile spreads across his face. His features were almost too perfect, that the expression makes him look more real.
“I’ve been twenty.”
The way people talk here is so strange.
You wait for anything further, and he offers none.
“Not much older than me,” You confirm.
He only hums.
He turns his attention to a long, fallen log covered in fern, wildflowers sticking out messily. Bending down gracefully to pluck one out of the bunch, the boy gently dangles it in front of your fisted hand at the side of your hip.
If this was his way of pleading trust, you hate how it works.
Opening your palm, you let him drop the light pink wildflower into it, fingers curling around it to flex your body into moving again. You hadn’t realised how still you’ve been since he appeared.
The boy begins to walk in the opposite direction you were heading.
Without meaning to, you walk with him.
“I haven’t seen you before.” His voice is softer now. Curious. Itching to get you to keep talking.
You recognise the path he’s taking you down–you’re retracing your steps.
You didn’t want to leave the forest too early, given this morning was practically spent settling into your motel room, but the endless branches of hanging canopy weren’t giving you much to work with either.
“I only just arrived.” Your answer is plain. You’ve got to start asking questions too, the boy could be of use, after all.
“The tourists usually skip this part of Washington.”
“Not a tourist.”
“Then what are you here for, Miss…?”
You state your name, followed by “SBS,” with a fiddle of your lanyard. Your bright photo identification plastered across it.
“A reporter!” The boy marvels, “We don’t get many of those. I’m surprised our police haven’t reassured you away.”
“Oh, they tried.” Memories of Martin–the scrawny, blonde intern at the station–flash in your mind. He had to have been freshly graduated from high school with the way he stuttered in attempts of refusing an interview. “But my boss–she says there’s something sinister going on over here. So, I’m not leaving until I have a story.”
“Do you believe her?” But his tone is off, as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this question, and not one of opinion.
He faces you, and you feel the spotlight burning your cheeks. “Two seventeen-year-old boys missing in the span of a month? I’d say that’s pretty sinister.”
He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then closes it again. After a pause;
“The logic is there.”
“You…” The sentence can’t come out. He turns to look at you again, tilting his head to implore you to go on. “You don’t seem to agree?”
A clench of his jaw. “Live long enough, you tend to get used to how small towns work.”
He looks away now, taking in the vastness of green surrounding the two of you.
“You’re a Forks local, then?”
His head rocks side to side, as if weighing the answer. “Something like that.”
“Local enough for a statement, at least?”
“I’ll give you one, if you let me see you again before you leave town.”
For the second time since meeting this boy, you’re taken aback. The shock even makes you stop walking. “That is an extremely unprofessional deal.”
“You’re writing about a retired case.” He chuckles, commanding you with his hand to keep moving forwards. “I hate to break it to you, but the Ahns and Eoms don’t want to cry to the media about their boys anymore. I think I’m the best chance you’ve got.”
You simply shake your head, and in a trance-like state, you continue to follow him. “Families of victims are always looking to get the word out there. If I don’t get something from them, I’m sure there are others who will talk.”
“None as good-looking as me, though.” He grins, teeth flashing your way. His face snaps back frontwards though, hiding it as quickly as it came.
Though you feel the urge to scoff again, you technically can’t disagree.
He’s unbelievably gorgeous; an alluring way about him that you’ve never found in the city boys you’ve dated in the past. His cologne even, the way it’s breathing off his heavy coat, is enough to make you dizzy.
A satisfied expression forms on his face at your silence.
Before you know it, you’ve nearly stepped out of the alienating forest of Forks.
You can tell, because at the very first sight of a building, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN AHN KEONHO?’ posters are plastered across the walls.
The reminder of the disappearances settles down any attempts of flirtation and humour that were about to surface. The boy watches as you stare, and lets the weight of it all sink onto a moment of silence between the two of you.
“Off the record?”
You turn this time, ears piqued in interest, but he’s not next to you anymore. You’ve realised you’ve kept walking ahead a few steps, as if getting closer to the pictures of the lost boy will give you a clue on where he’s gone–where they’ve all gone.
“Yes?” You pry, especially as you watch him slightly chew on the inside of his cheeks.
“You were right to go into the woods to investigate. There’s a reason no one has published anything about Forks.” He says this in a rush, a slight octave above a whisper–like he shouldn’t reveal this to you. Like he shouldn’t be talking to you at all. “But if you’re smart, you really won’t come back here. You won’t stay for long, either.”
You slowly read between his lines, half comprehending what’s trying to say. Your chest steadily rises in increasing bursts at his warning.
You try to remind yourself that you’re safe now–you can hear the bustle of the streets much up ahead, indicating there are more people around on the other side, if need be. Such safety produces bravery, you’ve come to find out.
“You know something, don’t you?” The plant in your palm, almost crushed.
You seem to catch a dip in his head, but you’re not certain.
“What is it?” Your eyes frantically searching his now, “An animal? Some sort of voodoo ritual?”
You trace back to all you’ve read about the history of Forks.
It’d be impossible not to do research for the case of this town; generations of boys slipping from existence every few decades, no questions asked, no pleas answered.
You remember how many speculated beasts that roam in the night, or how other sources simply passed down folktales; history coming into fruition. Though you didn’t believe them entirely, the isolating experience of the forest makes you rewire your beliefs on what could rationally be happening in a town that’s left off the maps.
His eyes are narrowing down to look at you through them. He’s about to respond, until a branch nearby snaps. A noise–a warning–made by someone who knows how to stay quiet.
Then the crunching of leaves as heavy boots make their way closer.
“James, you’re frightening the poor girl.” A different voice says, and you whip your head to another boy stepping out from behind the trunks covered in moss. “I can hear her heartbeat from here.”
He’s slightly taller. His voice is slightly deeper too. A multitude of differences between him and the first boy, James, with the exception of his complexion also being ghost-like.
“Hello,” He dips his head low, like a bow. “I apologise on his behalf. James doesn’t know what he’s saying, really. He likes to play with his fo-”
“Friends!” James finishes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
His eyes haven’t separated from yours this whole time, and they brighten when you nod.
Pleased, he turns to the boy standing next to him now. “Juhoon,” James sighs. “You’re interrupting my time with my new friend.”
Juhoon’s face is stonecold. “Carlisle sent me. He could tell you were up to no good again.”
James rolls his eyes. “Not a single moment of peace or privacy with you around,” He mumbles to himself.
You can’t help but revel in this dynamic; you don’t even care where this Juhoon came from, you’re relieved to see James acting like a real person. For a second, he almost didn’t seem like one.
James blinks in your direction.
He keeps doing this, you note to yourself. As if you’re saying all of this out loud, and he’s reacting like second-nature. It’s odd to find yourself in proximity with someone as perceptive as you consider yourself to be.
“Hello, Juhoon.” You greet, finally taking your gaze off of James.
The seemingly younger boy doesn’t take your late attention to heart. “You’ll have to excuse us, friend of James, our father wants us home.”
You can’t help but smile at his childish antics, and send another nod his way, outlining understanding.
Then, to James, “I want my statement.”
It’s unspoken you’ve consented to what comes with it.
Juhoon watches at how James’ smirk is forced to the ground; as if he’s guilty, as if he’s caught.
He can only sigh at his older brother.
“Carlisle’s right. You are up to no good again.” Juhoon disrupts the moment, glancing between the two of you.
Your eyebrows rise at this. “You walk girls out of the woods often, James?”
Hearing him say your name isn’t helping him wipe the smug expression off of his face, even though he knows he has to. “Only the pretty-”
A slight breeze picks up from your direction, and you can feel your hair lift off your shoulders. You grumble at this cursed weather, even if the wind only lasts for just a moment.
It’s enough for Juhoon.
It’s enough for James.
It’s enough for something to shift.
In the split-second you took to pat down your hair-do, your instincts have spiked up, something suddenly stirring inside of you to run.
Looking back at James, his eyes have gone impossibly darker. His nose slightly flares from impulse, his dry lips part from want, his nails dig beds into his flesh from restraint.
You almost feel like prey, and when James hears this thought–because you can feel him react to it with the quirk of his mouth, you’re not sure if you want to agree to his deal anymore.
“Hey!” Another voice calls from behind. The three of you, disrupted from the bubbling tension, look across the field to see a lanky boy, six foot three, waving both arms in the air with glee.
Do the boys in this town just not know how to approach social situations properly?
With the biggest grin on his face, Martin-from-the-station is huffing and puffing when he finally reaches you. “There you are!”
The shift in the air is gone–you feel like you can breathe again.
“Hi?” You grimace, but he puts up a finger, indicating he needs another minute to catch his breath.
“I was meant to tell you earlier, you’re not supposed to go into the woods.” He manages, through shortness of gasps. When he can stand up right, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Bad place.”
“I got the message,” You’re about to point at James and Juhoon, but when you look behind you, they’ve been replaced with the silence of Fork’s lush again.
Even their absence startles you, they were just there.
Were they ever with you at all?
Martin, ignorant to your internal turmoil, takes your arm and drags you closer to the town. His warm hand grounding you, as you make it back to the centre of the graveyard of a city.
You hate admitting James was right.
The Ahn girl had slammed the door in your face, and the parents of the second boy who disappeared, Eom Seonghyeon, only stared blankly in disbelief. The people around town had completely avoided you too; picking up their things when you sat at a table near them, crossing the street when you began to walk their way.
Small towns keep their secrets like no other.
Hours later after leaving, you’re drawn to take a wander in the forest again, to see if you could find something this time. Or to see if James would come find you again. The more you pondered on your interaction, the more you knew both options were really an individual one.
You never got his statement, and so you’re back to square one.
Martin, the young boy who had been eager to get you back into town according to the wishes of Chief Swan, was at least useful by directing you to the town’s (one, and only) library. You guessed a historical report was better than going home tomorrow empty-handed.
Which is how you got into this position: crouched on the floor in between bookshelves, one table-lamp dragged to your corner, it being your only source of light, as you flip through the volumes of social and political notes of Washington State.
Forks: A History, is keeping you company tonight.
It could really be considered an antique, how it had been collecting dust for what seems like a millennia the way it made you sneeze when you first pulled it out.
Most of the information is a bore; records of architectural developments taking up the majority of pages, but you continue to seamlessly turn the page regardless.
Your mind swirls back to James again.
His scent.
His voice.
The way he looked at you.
You kept his wildflower in the back pocket of your pants, tucked away for when you want to remember him after you leave Forks. You decide it’s such a shame a pretty boy like him is stuck here, in this peculiar, rainy place. Even if he was peculiar, himself.
You can feel yourself getting so distracted–you almost jump in fright when James’ face appears in front of you as you flip the page.
Delusional girl. Saw a nice face once and now he’s apparently everywhere. The sleep deprivation really is getting to you. You almost chuckle out loud to yourself.
You let yourself take a miniature break from reading–it’s not like you were comprehending any of the literature anyways–and rub your eyes. When you look back down at the page though, James’ face is still there.
You have to take several blinks, press the book up in front of you, and illuminate the lamp right onto the centre of the page because you truly cannot believe your eyes.
James.
It was really James.
A splitting image of him, standing behind a woman sitting down, and next to a man, both just as beautiful as him.
A family portrait, with ‘1908’ stamped in a faded, red, onto the paragraph right next to them.
This chapter is dedicated to Dr. Carlisle Cullen, his beloved wife, Dr. Esme Cullen, and their only son, Yufan Cullen. In establishing Forks’ first public hospital, we thank the medical developments that have been brought to our town from the family’s arrival. The Cullens, who volunteered their time preaching aid and wellness to our patients, have immortalised their well-wishes in their generous donations before their departure from Forks, ten years after Forks Hospital opened in 1908. The funding for the public healthcare of Forks’ citizens will be felt, centuries from today. Though the Cullen family may never read these words, the people of Forks dedicate their lives to their munificence.
1908?
You know this is mathematically impossible–that this boy printed in a historical volume is the same as the one you talked to in the forest only a mere hours ago–but you could draw his nose, his eyes, his cheekbones, the curve of his neck’s apple blindfolded, and you’d have a replica of the image before you.
And Carlisle. That had been the name Juhoon referred to as his father earlier today, too. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore either. This was him. This was James–of this, you’re absolutely sure.
You slam the volume closed. Specs of dust fly about, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. You knew something was off with him, with this town, with these people.
You had to go home. Now.
Though the library hall felt huge when you first stepped in, it’s suddenly claustrophobic. You can’t stand being here anymore, willing yourself to gain enough mobility to crawl up and push the cursed book back to where you found it.
“Hello, again,” a familiar voice says.
You go still. Leaning on the bookcase for support, as you linger your fingertips on the volume.
“How long have you been there?” Your voice is weak, hoarse from dehydration. You’re still facing the bookshelf, too anxious to turn around.
“I only just arrived.” James says simply. He whispers your name, a command for you to look his way. “Will you let me see you? That was our deal, was it not?”
“I don’t need your statement anymore.” You somehow breathe out.
You’ve memorised the escape route from when you walked in, a habit you’ve picked up since childhood.
“You’re leaving already?” He asks. If you could see him, you’d see the pout painting James’ lips too. “But we’re only starting to have fun.”
You close your eyes in defeat.
It’s impossible to resist. It’s intoxicating how his voice coaxes you to abandon all ideas of exiting, and instead, face him.
“There she is.” James almost sighs, as he steps closer. “You look pretty, in this light.”
He stops right in front of you, and you press your spine further into the bookshelf.
James looks divine, too. His features are even sharper against the shadows, with only his eyes changed–a stark difference you notice only because you were staring at them so intently earlier. They’re topaz now, and as he watches you take him in, you can feel your heart bursting in your ribcage.
You’re scared, oh, you’re so scared.
You’ve never given thought to how you would die, coming to Forks has changed this in the span of a day.
“Yep. I still look scary if I don’t smile.” James tells you. His grins will be earned though. He can’t seem to stop them from appearing every time he’s with you–his dimples coming out from hiding, the way he steps out from the dark.
“Yufan,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His head flickers back; in surprise, in disbelief, in awe–neither of you know. He’s quiet for a beat. Glancing between your eyes, dangerously close to you. And then, slowly;
“No one has called me that name in a long time.”
James is silent again, and you realise he’s listening. You force yourself to not think of the portrait, but of course, trying to not think of something, makes it flash in your head like a screen just for his eyes.
A small curl at the tip of his lips again, “I knew you were a smart girl.”
“That’s all you have to say?” You swallow.
“I didn’t know they printed that.” He says more to himself than in response to you. “I should probably get rid of it when I’m done with you. Would be a problem if others connected the dots, don't you think?”
You can only nod. You’re still fearing for your life–you don’t want to question what his middle phrase means, because something has fused within this feeling; pure want.
Having him so impossibly close, the tip of his nose nudges yours.
You pull your face back, head now hitting the volumes of books.
“James, you’re freezing.” You say astonished, reaching one hand to cautiously place it on his cheek. It stings you to touch.
Your palm isn’t as warm as he wishes it was.
“You too, it seems.” James mumbles.
“What?”
Before you can blink, his jacket is slipping off of his broad frame. James brings you forward by the waist, only by a step, to pull it over your shoulders.
His scent hits you even harder, and you feel your knees buckle slightly. The jacket doesn’t provide any warmth, given it was on him this whole time, but the way it envelopes you, and how his arms find their way on either side of you to push you back up against the bookshelf again is making your body heat up uncontrollably.
“James,” You start, shaking your head as if denying this as reality. “Or Yufan. Who are you? What are you?”
“We don’t need to say it out loud.”
These dismissals are only making you think more rationally, which you’re grateful for.
“Those boys,” You feel something forming in your throat. You will yourself not to struggle as you ask, “Were you the ones behind their disappearances?”
James only sighs. His newest younger brothers were the last thing he wanted to think about, but he’s swimming through your thoughts and the posters are magnified on all of them right now.
“They’re okay,” He attempts at reassuring.
The confirmation that he really did have something to do with them makes your blood cold. Your mind is going back and forth: run away from him, get closer, run away, get close.
All you can make out now is his name, chanting in your mind like a mantra.
This he likes.
“Are you going to do to me, what you did to them?” You ask.
His eyes look away from yours for the first time since he arrived, looking up to think.
“Women don’t deserve to hurt like this,” He states plainly. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to take care of you tonight. Alright?”
You can’t wrap your head around the things he’s saying. Something about hurt, or something about care. To you, the two were the same.
James’ eyes are back on you now–not your eyes though, only your lips. The sight, makes you look at his. If you tipped forward just slightly, they’d touch.
You’d be kissing him–this creature, this monster, this boy.
A chuckle at the nicknames, all of them heard endlessly before. He likes your suggestions though, in fact, he has to answer it directly;
“Do it.”
James?
“I’m here,” He coos.
Get out of my head.
“You first,” is the last thing you hear, before he closes the short distance and plants his mouth onto yours.
James immediately takes your bottom lip as his, claiming ownership, kissing it as if he has millions of times before.
One of his hands moves from gripping the bookshelf, his pointer finger tracing the outline of your ear, the other fingers following in suit. His hands drag all the way down across your jaw, until he places it on the base of your neck to tilt your head up.
The cold makes you shiver into his mouth, and the small opening allows him to deepen the kiss, all parts of him, aligning with every part of you.
Your hands are delicately scrunched on the edges of his shirt, pulling him closer, no doubt leaving crinkles into the fabric. Your head is spinning as you kiss him back, you can’t even focus on any specific detail, he’s all too consuming.
James demands attention by tilting his head the other way now, swapping positions with you, tasting you from the other side. It’s a state of bliss, the two of you have found, and in doing so, you’ve both lost track of time.
How long has passed?
Minutes?
Hours?
You don’t care. You don’t want it to end, even if your breathing is getting heavy as James doesn’t let you break for even a second.
You feel his teeth graze your bottom lip. You mirror, following his lead, doing the same to him. It tickles at first and you take pleasure in this new, unexplored sensation.
That is until, the tips of a sharp one pierces through your tender flesh.
You gasp in white, hot, pain.
You try to pull away, but James has one hand on your neck, the other moving to your waist, locking you in place.
His name comes out of your mouth as a beg, tears brimming your eyes at the sting of how the canine sinks in. His tongue is quick to go over the mark, soothing it, before his lips pucker at the familiar taste, on instinct swallowing what melts out.
James smells metal, and the gravity of what he’s done finally hits. His eyes fly open, stepping away from you immediately, moving impossibly quick, he hits the bookshelf you’re standing across.
The impact of his body is so hard, a few books come crashing down.
James’ expression is one of shock, and his hand reaches up to wipe his mouth–the drips of blood, mixed with saliva that shine on the back of his palm is enough to fill him with dread. What has he done?
“No,” he repeats in whispers, over and over. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”
James was only meant to kiss you. He was only meant to be close enough to get a dose of your scent. To touch you, if you’d let him. He was never meant to do this.
In a panic, James spills your name out, profusely apologising for his actions–his actions you haven’t even understood completely, too focused on how red is trickling down your bottom lip, almost reaching your chin.
“James?” You call out, as a way to calm both yourself, and him down, but it doesn’t work. You want to tell him it’s okay, to comfort him into explaining why he looks so distraught.
James can’t stay here, he can’t look at you knowing his poison is pulsing through your veins. You won’t feel it now, just the initial sting, but you’ll feel it soon enough, and he can’t be around to watch.
His head is shaking and your fear earlier is nothing compared to how he has you now. You’re confused, and you’re anxious, you just want him to hold you again.
You know he knows you’re thinking this.
It’s why him vanishing in the next passing heartbeat hurts even more.
The light from the lampshade stutters, and you have to train your eyes to stay on the fallen books, and wrap his jacket around you even tighter, to convince yourself he was real.
You leave the library in the state James left it in too; the workers tomorrow will be concerned at the drops of crimson staining the carpet.
You don’t remember the short walk back to the motel room, the hours you laid wide awake in the hard bed, or the girl who somehow manages to functionally wipe away last night’s mess and force food down her throat as the sun rises above Forks.
It’ll be the last time you see the sun. You don’t know it for certain, but you can feel it—your intuition, saying its farewell, as it leaves you now, too.
You only gain back a sliver of human consciousness when Chief Swan pins a new poster to the community board of the motel’s breakfast diner. You wonder how long it’ll be until you have a matching one too—it seems James got to work after he left you stranded. The poster, a confirmation of it. Five words peek out from the boy’s printed photograph.
You’re sitting on the cold river bank, the smell of sunscreen clinging to your warm skin. Cicadas hum lazily in the background, mixing with the sound of rushing water and loud, overlapping voices.
You watch the boys splash around in the river, shoving each other like kids, yelling all kinds of nonsense, all laughing so hard they can barely stay afloat.
You can’t help the smile that settles on your lips, soft and warm, like the sun kissing everyone’s skin.
“Y/N!” Makki suddenly yells, making you flinch hard, “Get in here!”
You roll your eyes immediately, “Is it still cold?”
Issei snorts before anyone else can answer, “Y’know, I’m beginning to think you can’t swim”, small smirk on his lips.
Your head snaps toward him instantly, “I can swim!” you defend, frowning.
You open your mouth.. Pause. Then close it again, “…I don’t wanna”
A chorus of BOOs immediately follows.
Iwa swims over, brushing water from his face as he reaches where you’re comfortably settled. He rolls his eyes at them before looking up at you, smiling softly.
“Ignore them,” he says, a little breathless, “Are you having fun?”
You crinkle your nose and glance back at the others now splashing water at each other, “yeah, I’m glad I came”
He plops down next to you, gently bumping your shoulder with his own, “I’m glad you did too”
And the admission has you both pink in the face, goofy smiles in place.
“Awwww,” Oikawa’s voice cuts through the moment instantly, “Are you guys gonna kiss now?”
Before either of you can react, cold river water comes flying at full speed.
You gasp so loud it startles even yourself, scrambling to stand.
“Toru!” you hiss, “It’s freezing!”
“Your body will adjust”, he rolls his eyes dramatically, “once you get in!”
Iwa snorts, rolling his eyes as the brunette swims away laughing, “…Wanna ride on my back?”
You raise an eyebrow, “You think I can’t swim?”
“Just offering”, comes the cool, casual reply
Your eyes linger on him for a second too long.
Water rolling down his neck.
Hair pushed back.
Broad shoulders already tanning under the sun.
Your mind wanders to his strong back, toned muscles…
And your stomach twists at the thought.
You look away immediately, cheeks already warming, “No thanks”
He laughs, the sound loud and easy, then he flashes you an annoyingly pretty grin, “Better hurry up then, I think they’re plotting to throw you in” he says, teasing tilt in his voice.
It’s then that you realize how oddly quiet it’s gotten.
Your eyes slowly lift, only to see them huddled up in a group, smirking at you.
“Don’t you fucking dare” you snap at the group, scrambling into the water toward Iwa.
The cold hits instantly and you hiss, grabbing onto his bicep for balance and immediately regretting it.
His arm flexes under your hand and you can’t help but let your mind wander.
Iwa looks down at where you’re holding him, smirking, “Cold?”
You squint at him, “Freak”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he starts laughing, “What’d I do?!”
“Quit flexing!”
He quirks an eyebrow, toothy little grin on his face now, “You noticed that?”
Before you can respond, Issei’s swimming over, smiling real smooth, “Awww, lemme warm you up” he offers
You feel your heart stutter for a second, “You’re a freak too” you mutter, swimming off toward Oikawa and Makki.
Behind you, Issei lets out a loud laugh.
But you miss the way Iwa’s smile disappears for a second, the way he frowns at the other brunette.
Issei catches it instantly, sending him the most obnoxious grin imaginable.
Iwa clicks his tongue, “Lemme warm you up”, he mocks in an ugly little voice, “Shut the hell up”
Issei just grins wider, “If you’re not gonna make your move, it’s fair game”, he says before smirking and swimming off towards you.
Iwa scoffs, but his eyes drift back to you anyway.
You’re laughing now, the sound warm and light.
Issei starts swimming over and Iwa watches for exactly two seconds before following.
Before you know it, they’re both there.
You blink as Issei appears on one side of you and suddenly Iwa’s on the other.
You glance up to find Iwa frowning at Issei, while he grins back, your eyebrows furrowing.
“You guys good?” you ask.
Oikawa raises an eyebrow immediately, glancing at Makki.
Makki just rolls his eyes.
Idiots.
Iwa looks at you for a second before stepping closer, arm brushing yours in a way that definitely doesn’t feel accidental.
“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on Issei, “He’s just being annoying”
Issei gasps dramatically, then shoots him a shit eating grin.
A second later Iwa splashes him right in the face, a loud gasp escaping him.
Issei bursts out laughing, “Oh, so we’re playing dirty now?”
“Oh come on, just tell me! You’re being such a baby about this”
Oikawa’s been bugging you about your first kiss all afternoon.
It started with a stupid slip up while you were watching some romance movie, a dumb little “first kisses are never that smooth” and the rest is history.
The moment the words left your mouth, Oikawa perked up, “What do you mean by that? Who was it? Was he ugly? Did he have good hair? Was it me from another timeline?”
And now, three hours later, he’s still at it.
You finally let out a long and exhausted sigh, head tilting a little, “Okay, okaaaaaay!”
His eyes light up immediately, feeling like the cat that got the cream.
“You swear you won’t be upset?”
He gasps dramatically, offended hand flying to his chest like you’d just accused him of committing a felony, “Me? Upset? I’m a grown man! A dumb little teenage kiss isn’t a problem”
The confidence in his voice is honestly reassuring.
You huff out a little laugh, shoulders relaxing. Really, why were you so worried about it?
You’re adults.
You’ve been together for years.
This is ancient history.
So you smile sheepishly, “It was Iwa”
And the room immediately goes silent.
His expression is unreadable. He blinks at you, little smile on his face, “…Huh?”
You laugh softly, “It was a dumb dare in high school. Makki and Matsukawa put us up to it” you say airily, waving it off like no big deal.
Oikawa lets out a little laugh, something way too casual and calm for the new vibe in the room, “Cute!” he says, tone way too cheery.
You raise an eyebrow, “Are you good?”
He smiles, way too happily, “Never better!”, he huffs air out of his nose, “give me one sec”
Before you know it, he’s calling Iwa.
The unsuspecting brunette answers on the second ring, a groggily little, “hello?” coming through the speaker.
“YOU HOMEWRECKING WHORE”, your dramatic boyfriend yells before hanging up, cheery little smile still in place as he turns back towards your horrified face.
“Anyways, wanna go out for lunch?” he moves on easily.
You stand there in absolute shock as his phone starts ringing, multiple texts and calls being ignored.
“Why did yo-“, he cuts you off with a peck, and a cheeky little nose scrunch.
“Sooo.. Lunch?”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe.”
The phone never stops buzzing.
“Are you gonna answer that?”
“Nope,” Oikawa says easily, “Maybe I should leak his address online”
“TOORU”
——————————————————————-
A/N: Makki and Matsukawa get phone calls later too & you end up having to explain the situation over group facetime to all 3 men
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
I am a grown ass adult and I still get nausea when I feel like I'm in trouble. They're gonna send me to the principals office and take away my toys for a week. Can you just fucking kill me instead of making me stew in my fucking anxiety
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