coco

𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙.

[koosette]

i'd turn my walls to gold to bring you home again.

hello, and welcome. this is coco — writer, overthinker, collector of emotionally complex daydreams. stay a while, if you like how it feels.

◆

the letters — every story, sorted and waiting.

the full introduction — if you're curious.

◆

18+. everything here is mine (visuals from pinterest). do not repost, translate, or adapt without permission. minors, please look away.

the rest of me lives at @cocostatic.

◆

i post when it's ready — sundays at 11:30 pm ist (1:00 pm est), or fridays at 12:30 am ist (2:00 pm est) when life asks for more time. spicier things might find their way out on friday nights.

[koosette]

SOMETHING LIKE COURAGE

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ summary ⋆˚࿔

you have never wanted children. at least, that's what you told yourself — until you watched your husband feed your niece ice cream like she hung the moon, and something you thought you'd buried a long time ago quietly came back to life.

ᨳଓ ՟ tags/warnings ⋆˚࿔

fluff, established relationship, married couple, husband!jungkook, girl dad jungkook (technically uncle but we know), discussions of wanting children, emotional confession, soft!jungkook, domestic bliss, a child who commits ice cream crimes, happy ending

ᨳଓ ՟ word count ⋆˚࿔

~2.0k

For years on end, you have stifled the desire to raise children. It isn’t a lack of love for the life that could be, but a fear of the world it would awaken to—a place far too jagged for such sweet, cherubic souls.  

But certainty is often non-linear. 

Your gaze follows the careful movements of your husband, tending to his five-year-old niece — Hae-in — with the patience he reserves for your late night musings. 

The little brunette is curled up on his lap with her wondrous doe eyes, tracking the rollercoaster his hand has become as he keeps the spoonful of ice cream just out of her reach, before bringing it to her waiting mouth with a theatrical woosh! noise. And every time, her cheeks flush like peaches under the sun, followed by endearing giggles. 

Jungkook exists the way gravity does — effortless, inevitable, the kind of pull that makes everything orient towards him.  And the moment settles in your heart like an old love letter — tucked way, but never truly forgotten.

However, your body seems to tug you towards the familiar laughter of your lover — bright, unguarded — anchoring you back to the familiar warmth of the living room. Your heart flips at the vision of his head thrown back in delight, eyes turned into tiny crescents that you long to feel under your fingertips. 

Instead, your words come out a little breathless. Fond. “Penny for your laughter, darling?”

Jungkook barely manages to speak up between those melodic giggles, but his head is tilted slightly towards Hae-in, who is now giving him a traitorous glare for painting her button nose with chocolate ice cream, her cheeks puffed up like she’s beyond all this. 

“Oh Christ—” He can’t even finish. Just dissolves back into laughter. 

For the sake of her tiny pride, you stifle your giggle and press your lips together. Instead, your feet take you toward the adorable crime scene. Crouching down to be on eye-level with her, you flash her an understanding smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, your fingers gentle as they swipe away any traces of the sticky sweetness from her offended nose. “We must find a way to get back at your Uncle, hmm?” you cheekily suggest, earning an affirmative nod from her. 

“Yes! Uncle Koo-Koo must be punished!” 

The enthusiasm in her voice coaxes a warm laugh out of you. Though you seem oblivious to the heart-stopping gaze your husband directs at you. It is only when he lets out a soft gasp — realizing the mischief you directed through your niece’s ice cream laden fingers, now painting his nose in chocolate brown  — that pulls your gaze to his reaction with a victorious smirk. 

Yet again, any retort he might have ready on the tip of his tongue is swallowed by Hae-in’s chirp voice echoing in the space between you. “Silly Uncle!”

“Silly?! You wound me, princess.” 

His lower lip juts out in a childish pout for emphasis. 

Hae-in giggles, not fazed in the slightest by his theatrics. If anything, her arms reach up to you in solidarity to which you celebrate your successful revenge by scooping her up and your beloved husband receives the playful image of you sticking your tongue out at him. 

“Oh no, my own wife is teaming up against me!”

“Heh. Gotta back up my princess, after all.”

“Woah—”

Hae-in, always one step ahead, declares smugly: “Aunt Y/N loves Hae-in more than Uncle Koo-Koo!”

“Oh, you brat—”

You laugh, warm and unguarded. Not even realizing the way your lover’s breath stills with something like realization and longing as you cradle Hae-in snugly to your chest and kiss her temple. Old letters are impossible not to revisit. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

All good things must come to an end — however temporarily — because when Jungsu knocks on your door with a grateful smile and warm hugs, there’s a bittersweet reluctance that makes home in the space between your ribs. More so when Jungkook bribes Hae-in with more ice cream for next time to which the little sunshine responds by sloppily kissing his cheek.

“Uncle Koo-Koo is the best!”

“Oh, is he now?” He chuckles knowingly. 

You, for your part, take it all in with a pensive smile on your lips. The ache in your chest threatens to consume you, but you lock that door and hope, quietly, that Jungkook will find the key. You’ve never been good at saying the thing out loud, but you’re getting better at hoping someone will ask. 

The journey is always unpredictable, but in this moment — observing the same reluctance in your husband’s posture, the way his eyes follow Hae-in until the elevator closes behind them — shows you that maybe, just maybe… you’re not as alone as you think. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

With night comes the blooming scent of jasmine, encompassing the air with floral, creamy notes. It mingles with your own scent of sweet coconut and citrus — washing away everything but the stubborn ache in your chest. 

Occasionally, the ache is stifled when you focus on the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath your ear, your head tucked under his chin. But it returns with an persistence that’s hard to lock away as meaningless. The golden lamplight holds steady. You do not. You ignore it — choosing, instead, to focus on his fingers threading through your hair with tender reverence, his inked arm wrapped around your waist protectively. 

A moment of silence passes. Then another. You sigh. Lifting your head just enough to glance at him, you note his closed eyelids and the tiny, peaceful smile on his plush lips. 

"Koo…?" you call out, soft and hesitant. 

"Mm?" 

He lazily peeks an eye open. "What is it, jagiya?" 

Despite your scattered thoughts, your lips twitch up in fond amusement at his endearing habit. He’s all sharp, beautiful curves framed by the amber glow.

As if sensing your conversational demeanor, his eyes flutter open to meet yours with renewed interest and curiosity. 

“I’ve been thinking…” you start, albeit too careful. “The day passed beautifully because of Hae-in. Don’t you think so?”  

Waiting for his reply, your thumb caresses over his cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his own thumb stroking small circles on your hip. “She’s a delight, really. Got me wrapped around her little finger with a look.” 

He chuckles, then adds: “Even if she loved the ice cream more than me.” 

A warm huff of agreement escapes your lips. But then you go quiet again. Your thoughts drift before you can stop them. “The house seemed to bloom with her giggles,” you muse. 

Jungkook hums low in his throat. His fingers curl around your own as he brings them to his lips for a kiss to each one of your fingers. In-between kisses, he speaks— “Felt like some kind of untainted melody. I was in awe every time she smiled.”

I was in awe of you, you almost say. 

Instead, you let the silence speak for itself. The warmth blooms into something sweeter as you reflect on the afternoon spent with your niece. 

Jungkook props himself up on an elbow this time, his gaze roaming over your face. 

It’s as if he’s trying to peek into your soul. “What?” you mumble.

He smiles knowingly. “You looked really happy with her. And she seemed smitten with you.”

“Eh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“I call it as I see it, jagiya.” A pause, then warmer: “She adores you.”

Your cheeks flush a charming pink. "She does?" 

Jungkook hums, but it comes out more like a disbelieving huff. Almost like he can't comprehend how someone could be so unaware of the way she moves through the world — all quiet care and instinctive warmth, like she doesn't even notice herself doing it. 

“Hyung told me she’s usually very reserved around people, but she immediately teamed up with you—”

That earns him a small laugh from you. He grins, continuing. "So yes, jagiya. She adores you.”

Deep down, maybe the thought had already taken root, but his assurance has made it bloom and settle in your chest like flowers on an endless pathway — briefly lessening the ache. The unknown ache. Where does it lead you?  

You try to make sense of it, but it tangles like a knot the more you do. But as you think back to the time you spent with Hae-in, you’re reminded of the trust and affection she so sweetly directed at you, and it cracks something open in your chest. 

A deep, suppressed melancholy. 

Before your mind even catches up to the frown on your lips, or the single tear slipping down your cheek, you’re being cradled against a broad chest. Jungkook’s warmth envelopes you like a shield against your own thoughts — the familiar woody scent of his skin pulling you back from the longing quietly unraveling at the edges of your heart.   

He doesn’t demand, doesn’t offer empty words — just holds you like a delicate, contradictory poem. “I’ve got you, jagiya.” 

“Koo…” you breathe out, your voice shaky at the edges. “I— I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Everything feels tangled up with no loose ends.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s no rush.” 

His lips brush against your temple in reassurance. “Breathe with me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Following the instructions, you repeat it until your heartbeat is far less erratic. 

Even so, your thoughts flow like an endless stream, all pointing to directions you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself. 

But when his arms tighten around you to hold you more snugly, you reach for the bravery you’ve not yet developed. “I…” you start, but trail off soon after. 

“You what, jagiya?” he prompts gently, pulling back slightly to look at your face. He brushes a strand of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and smiles patiently. 

A soft pause and then: 

"Whatever it is—you're not alone, sweet girl," he promises, well aware of how words tend to fail you when it matters most. “Never.”

You search his eyes for something — sincerity? acknowledgement? — and when you find it, the last of your frustration melts away into something like longing. 

“I want to be a mother,” you confess. Your voice comes out too soft, almost like you’re afraid to let the words exist out in the world. 

Jungkook goes still as a statue, his mind working hard to process your current words with the reality of your past ones. A flicker of doubt passes over his features. “Baby—”

“No,” you interrupt gently. “I know what you’re going to say. But, it’s not a temporary ‘baby fever’ because of Hae-in. It’s—” You pause, gauging his reaction. “It’s because of you, Kook. I saw how happy you were with her. And I remember how happy we both were. It made me realize that even when the world is cruel, the softness, the love — it starts with us.”

Jungkook is silent yet again. It lingers in the air like hope and anticipation. You almost take everything back until you notice the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Hey, hey—” You palms cradle his face with reverence preserved for prayers. “What’s wrong, honey? Did I say something wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “No, no. It’s just…” Sighing softly, he leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. “I’m so overwhelmed with emotions, jagiya. That’s all.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer warmly. 

There’s a moment of silence as he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks up, his warm breath ghosts over your lips. 

“I didn’t expect this. I never thought you’d change your mind,” he admits. “And it’s not that I wasn’t happy earlier — it was a mutual agreement, after all — but… if this is what you truly want, there’s no one else I'd rather start a family with, jagiya." 

“I want this, Koo,” you affirm, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “I think I’ve been haunted by the narrative of my own childhood for the longest time. But after seeing how naturally we fit in with Hae-in — it gave me something like courage.”

“You’re not your parents, jagiya. Their patterns are not yours to carry anymore."

“I know that now.” 

[koosette]

i was feeling a little lazy and then jungkook's log dropped. anyway. i'm still lazy but now i'm also feral. what i need is a ten hour loop of his full workout routine. full thing. no cuts. zoom in on the veins. and the sounds. don't look at me.

[balencs]

ℯ𝓂ℴ𝒷ℴ𝓎.

[balencs]

📹🤍.

[koosette]

I used to think Tumblr was a safe place. A place to build community, share what you love, and connect with others who get it. A place where writers could post their work without fear. But apparently, that's not always the case.

There are people determined to witch hunt for AI writers — running fics through broken detectors and accusing real people based on loose patterns and zero verification. And now there are entire blogs created for the sole purpose of hating on authors. Anonymously.

Let's be clear: hiding behind anon to spit venom at someone you don't even know isn't brave or accountable or some kind of meaningful discourse. It's just being mean with a keyboard.

This is the same energy as twisting an idol's every breath into something malicious. Except here, the targets aren't celebrities. They're regular people. Writers. Fans. Human beings who are already vulnerable just by sharing their work online.

I'm just getting started on my own journey as a writer, but I've already had the privilege of interacting with some of the sweetest, most thoughtful authors on this platform. And reading about what some of them have been put through — hate asks, callout posts, even death threats — makes my blood boil.

Because how hard is it to understand that if you don't have anything nice to say, you can simply say nothing? Scroll past. Log off. Touch grass. It's not complicated.

Sending anonymous hate is already cowardly. But death threats? Over someone talking about their struggles? Over their writing style? Over a disagreement about fandom etiquette? That is genuinely disturbing.

I don't know how people like that sleep at night after posting the things they do. And frankly, I don't want to understand.

So to every author who has been targeted — whether through a blog, anon hate, AI accusations, or worse:

You don't deserve any of this. Your writing matters. Your voice matters. And even when it feels like the noise is louder than the support, please know that there are readers and mutuals who see you, appreciate you, and have your back.

Keep writing. Block the hate. Rest if you need to. And don't let the cowards win. 🩶

[chaiibts]

wintrbears is so toxic and disrespectful to her readers. you can not be thirty and shitting on younger audiences.

🫶

[wintrbears]

Thirty, flirty, and thriving baby. Stay mad.

[koosette]

you're absolutely right. so toxic. she always checks in on her readers. replies sweetly to every ask. shares things with us. makes us feel seen. clearly a red flag. 10/10. someone stop her before she shows basic human decency again. 🌻

[koosette]

I just saw a long post someone made about “looking out for AI/ChatGPT lines” in fics, complete with examples pulled from BTS authors. And all I could think was — people really have this much time on their hands?

Here's the thing. Where do you think AI is learning all those words from? Aliens? A secret dictionary no human has ever touched? No. It's learning from us. From decades of literature, fanfiction, forum posts, and published novels. So when a writer uses an em dash or a rhythmic sentence structure or a particular turn of phrase, that's not a sign of a robot — that's a sign of someone who reads. Someone who has absorbed language the way humans have always done.

Also, please stop running fics through AI detectors. Those tools are notoriously unreliable. You could feed them Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, or a angsty drabble from 2013 and they'd confidently tell you it's 98% AI generated. So what now? Did Austen time-travel to use ChatGPT? Did Woolf make a deal with a language model? It's absurd.

The truth is, accusing real writers of being AI doesn't protect anyone from actual AI content. It just makes genuine creators anxious, self-conscious, and afraid to write with any kind of voice. And that's a real loss.

If you don't like a fic, just scroll. You don't have to build a case against it. Let people write. Let people have styles. Let people enjoy things without being treated like suspects in a crime they didn't commit.

[koosette]

When I saw your name pop on my notifs this morning, you have no IDEA how happy I was. I hope you’re doing better and I’ll get to see more of you 🩷 Love you!!

I really struggle with time blindness, so half the time I don't even realize how long I've been away. But the best part of coming back here is seeing you on my feed — that genuinely makes my whole day. So I can't even tell you how happy I am to be (sort of) back.

I'm really excited to eventually read The Wife Trap. I'm trying to juggle a schedule right now, but this is like dessert after a good meal — there's always space for it. So I'll get there very, very soon. 😌☝🏻

Also, you are literally the sweetest person ever. I've decided I'm going to find you in some alternate life and marry you there, since you're already taken in this one. But regardless of that, I love you a lot, and I appreciate your existence so much. 🩶

[wintrbears]

Gosh I relate so bad, my time blindness is insane. But even if you’re only sorta back, I’m always happy to see and hear from you!

Take your time with Wife Trap, it isn’t going anywhere hehe. Although I cannot WAIT to hear your thoughts. Your mind is so spectacular and brilliant that I know you’re going to blow me away with your theories and what you notice.

I’m certain an alternate version of me is patiently waiting for you with a ring already in hand 🩷

[koosette]

You're too kind to me 🥹 I'm glad even my sorta-back presence makes you happy because yours absolutely make my whole day.

And okay good, because I will be coming back for Wife Trap. Slowly but surely. And when I do, you're gonna get a whole document of thoughts. Consider that a promise.

Also — alternate universe us sounds lovely. I hope she's treating you well. Tell her I said hi. 🩶

[koosette]

When I saw your name pop on my notifs this morning, you have no IDEA how happy I was. I hope you’re doing better and I’ll get to see more of you 🩷 Love you!!

I really struggle with time blindness, so half the time I don't even realize how long I've been away. But the best part of coming back here is seeing you on my feed — that genuinely makes my whole day. So I can't even tell you how happy I am to be (sort of) back.

I'm really excited to eventually read The Wife Trap. I'm trying to juggle a schedule right now, but this is like dessert after a good meal — there's always space for it. So I'll get there very, very soon. 😌☝🏻

Also, you are literally the sweetest person ever. I've decided I'm going to find you in some alternate life and marry you there, since you're already taken in this one. But regardless of that, I love you a lot, and I appreciate your existence so much. 🩶

[wintrbears]

OK this is a follow up to my last post about authors formatting their fics here on Tumblr.

This:

Is not the same as

This:

The top one only shortens your posts for people who have that featured turned on, so to ensure your posts are nice and short for everyone, you HAVE to use the second feature when formatting fics.

Again, you do that by using this button:

IF YOUR POST LOOKS LIKE THE TOP PHOTO AND NOT THE BOTTOM ONE, YOU NEED TO FIX IT.

I really don’t want to, but I might start blocking authors who can’t format their posts correctly, because I can’t keep scrolling past 10k+ word fics.

[koosette]

yes, please guys. it only makes your posts more accessible. this + a normal font size? that's the ultimate reading experience. no squinting. no zooming in like a grandma. just pure, easy, lovely reading. 🩶

[koosette]

Hi babygirl!! I miss you and hope you’re doing well 🩷

this made my whole day, honestly. i've been dealing with some stuff and took a step back for a bit, but i'm slowly finding my way back. thank you for checking in on me, it means more than you know 🫂🩶 i love you and i miss you too. hope you're doing well <3

[vl-tnt]

😬

[koosette]

i need tumblr to have a proper bookmark feature specifically for fics i want to read later. because likes? useless. they just disappear into the void. i scroll through my likes like a archaeologist digging for a single link while the fic i actually wanted to read is buried somewhere between a shitpost and a photo of a frog. please. just let me save things.

[koosette]

YEARNING

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ summary ⋆˚࿔

you have loved him since scraped knees and mismatched socks. you have never once stopped. and you have never once said a word.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ tags/warnings ⋆˚࿔

unrequited love, best friends to nothing, pining, she loves him so much it's embarrassing, he doesn't know, she'd rather watch him be happy than confess, bittersweet ending, no happy ending disguised as closure, this is just a feeling that needed somewhere to go ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ word count ⋆˚࿔ ~0.6k

In books and movies, childhood best friends fall in love, get married, live their happily ever after in soft focus and golden hour lighting. But you are not in a book. You are here, on a cracked sidewalk, watching sunlight paint the side of Jeongguk's face like something holy, his head thrown back in the kind of laughter that poets would kill to transcribe.

It is the most melodic sound you have ever heard. And you are not the one making him laugh.

She is. Her with her perfectly timed jokes, her with her easy, unearned privilege of hearing that sound every morning, every night, every lazy Sunday that belongs to her and not you. You are just his best friend. That is all you have ever been. That is all you will ever be.

And the irony sits in your throat like a stone you cannot swallow—you cannot even hate her. Because all you have ever wanted, with the raw, bleeding devotion of a person who has loved someone since they had scraped knees and mismatched socks, is for Jeongguk to be loved. To be held. To be cherished until the end of his bones. And she is doing that. She is doing it so perfectly, so seamlessly, that it makes you want to scream into your pillow at 2 a.m.

But you swallow it. You swallow it all. You paste a smile across your face like a Band-Aid over a wound that will never close. You laugh along with them. Your voice does not crack. Your hands do not shake. You have learned this performance by heart.

Because sometimes this is what love looks like. Not grand gestures or running through airports. Sometimes love looks like letting the person who holds your entire heart laugh in the arms of someone else. Sometimes love looks like standing six feet away from everything you have ever wanted and deciding, quietly, that his happiness is worth more than your confession.

So you watch. You watch from a distance that feels like a canyon. You create a thousand scenarios in your head—what if you had spoken sooner, what if you had been braver, what if the timing had been different—and you write them all down in a journal with a cracked spine. You hope, somewhere in the quiet, desperate part of your chest, that one day someone will love you the way you loved him. Not more. Not less. Just the same.

Because you would rather watch him be in love for the rest of your life than take that away from him. Even if it means you stay beside him as only a best friend. Even if it means you never get to be the one he comes home to. That is just destiny. That is just the way the cards fell. That is just how things are going to play out.

And one day—maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but one day—it will not hurt this much. One day you will sit across from someone who laughs at your jokes, who reaches for your hand without you having to ask, who looks at you the way you always looked at him. And you will laugh together, easy and unforced, and the world will feel soft around the edges.

And then you will look at Jeongguk. You will look at the smile he directs at his lover—the one that crinkles his eyes, the one that has always been your favorite—and it will crack your heart open all over again. Split it right down the middle, like an apple broken in two.

But for once, for the first time, it will be worth it.

[wintrbears]

Do u have any favorite bts writers or readers u’d want to shout out?? 😁

Hi! Thank you so much for asking!! As for readers, I could never choose favorites bc I love anyone and everyone who takes the time to read my stories 😊.

And as far as writers go, I gotta shout out my babygirls:

@taegularities @chateautae @dreamersparacosm @seokbite @jeonstudios @jincapableoflove @mrsvante @taevescence @chryblossomjjk @koosette @ggukivrse @spideyjimin @bratkook

(If I missed anyone especially a moot I’m so sorry I promise I love you I just have a bad memory)

[koosette]

this is so kind, i'm genuinely so soft right now 🤍

[koosette]

YEARNING

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ summary ⋆˚࿔

you have loved him since scraped knees and mismatched socks. you have never once stopped. and you have never once said a word.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ tags/warnings ⋆˚࿔

unrequited love, best friends to nothing, pining, she loves him so much it's embarrassing, he doesn't know, she'd rather watch him be happy than confess, bittersweet ending, no happy ending disguised as closure, this is just a feeling that needed somewhere to go ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ word count ⋆˚࿔ ~0.6k

In books and movies, childhood best friends fall in love, get married, live their happily ever after in soft focus and golden hour lighting. But you are not in a book. You are here, on a cracked sidewalk, watching sunlight paint the side of Jeongguk's face like something holy, his head thrown back in the kind of laughter that poets would kill to transcribe.

It is the most melodic sound you have ever heard. And you are not the one making him laugh.

She is. Her with her perfectly timed jokes, her with her easy, unearned privilege of hearing that sound every morning, every night, every lazy Sunday that belongs to her and not you. You are just his best friend. That is all you have ever been. That is all you will ever be.

And the irony sits in your throat like a stone you cannot swallow—you cannot even hate her. Because all you have ever wanted, with the raw, bleeding devotion of a person who has loved someone since they had scraped knees and mismatched socks, is for Jeongguk to be loved. To be held. To be cherished until the end of his bones. And she is doing that. She is doing it so perfectly, so seamlessly, that it makes you want to scream into your pillow at 2 a.m.

But you swallow it. You swallow it all. You paste a smile across your face like a Band-Aid over a wound that will never close. You laugh along with them. Your voice does not crack. Your hands do not shake. You have learned this performance by heart.

Because sometimes this is what love looks like. Not grand gestures or running through airports. Sometimes love looks like letting the person who holds your entire heart laugh in the arms of someone else. Sometimes love looks like standing six feet away from everything you have ever wanted and deciding, quietly, that his happiness is worth more than your confession.

So you watch. You watch from a distance that feels like a canyon. You create a thousand scenarios in your head—what if you had spoken sooner, what if you had been braver, what if the timing had been different—and you write them all down in a journal with a cracked spine. You hope, somewhere in the quiet, desperate part of your chest, that one day someone will love you the way you loved him. Not more. Not less. Just the same.

Because you would rather watch him be in love for the rest of your life than take that away from him. Even if it means you stay beside him as only a best friend. Even if it means you never get to be the one he comes home to. That is just destiny. That is just the way the cards fell. That is just how things are going to play out.

And one day—maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but one day—it will not hurt this much. One day you will sit across from someone who laughs at your jokes, who reaches for your hand without you having to ask, who looks at you the way you always looked at him. And you will laugh together, easy and unforced, and the world will feel soft around the edges.

And then you will look at Jeongguk. You will look at the smile he directs at his lover—the one that crinkles his eyes, the one that has always been your favorite—and it will crack your heart open all over again. Split it right down the middle, like an apple broken in two.

But for once, for the first time, it will be worth it.