₊˚⊹♡ KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD
you are entirely, embarrassingly gone for vivian hugo.
it's getting a little rude at this point, honestly. your friends can barely hold a conversation with you without you finding some way to circle the topic back to him. the books he reads, those blank notebooks with worn covers where he obsessively maps out his path to becoming the ultimate number two. the way he dresses, all clean lines and muted colors, like he walked out of a magazine spread without even trying. how he laughs at all your jokes, even the ones that land completely flat and make everyone else in the room groan.
sometimes you look at him across a room and feel a sharp, sudden flare of annoyance that you didn’t invent him. it’s not fair that someone just exists like that, walking around, breathing air, being casually perfect. you’ve spent nights lying in bed, scrolling through his photos, studying the curve of his jaw in candid shots his teammates posted. there's something almost obsessive about it, but you’ve made peace with that. you’re past shame.
currently, you’re walking down the corridor of the training complex wearing his oversized jacket. the sleeves swallow your hands completely, and it smells faintly of his cologne, something woody and clean that makes the cold institutional air of the hallways feel a million miles away. he’d given it to you two weeks ago when you’d shivered dramatically outside the training grounds, and you haven’t given it back. he hasn’t asked for it either.
you pause outside the rec room, leaning against the cinderblock wall. honestly, looking at vivian sometimes feels like a left hook to the gut. he has this deeply unfair habit of existing like he’s been ripped from a renaissance painting, completely oblivious to the fact that just standing near him makes you feel dizzy. you’ve thought about kissing him so many times that the fantasy has worn a groove in your brain, and every time you see him, your stomach does this stupid little flip that you’ve learned to hide behind a carefully neutral expression.
you’re just about to push the door open to look for him when you hear his name ring out, followed by a chorus of exasperated groans.
“hugo, i’m begging you. it’s actually painful to watch,” someone says loudly.
“i have literally no idea what you’re talking about,” vivian’s voice shoots back, defensive and sharp in that specific way he gets when he’s caught off guard.
“you stare like a lost puppy,” another teammate chimes in, laughing. “just tell them you’re in love so the rest of us can have some peace.”
“i am doing no such thing! i am being strategic!” vivian huffs, his voice pitching up in that flustered way that makes your heart squeeze. “besides, it doesn’t matter what i do right now. they’re my destiny, and your destiny is to shut up!”
your hand is already resting on the handle, and in your shock, you lean your weight forward. the heavy door swings inward with a loud, betraying creak that echoes through the room like a gunshot.
three of vivian’s teammates are sitting on the benches, halfway through unlacing their cleats, their faces lighting up with the kind of glee that only comes from watching someone’s life implode in real time. vivian is standing in the center of the room holding a water bottle, his posture rigid, his expression frozen like a deer in headlights.
a violent shade of red creeps up his neck, dusting his cheeks, the tips of his ears, even disappearing down beneath the collar of his training shirt.
he looks at you. you look at him.
“so,” one of the teammates whispers loudly, practically vibrating with delight. “destiny, huh?”
vivian looks like he might genuinely throw up. his knuckles are white around the water bottle, and for a second you think he might actually bolt through the emergency exit and never come back. “i’m going to kill you,” he mutters to his teammate, his voice strangled, before scrambling toward the door. his hand finds your elbow, warm, slightly damp from practice, fingers pressing just hard enough to ground himself. “we are leaving. now.”
he marches you down the hallway, his grip firm but not painful, his stride long enough that you have to half-jog to keep up. you pass the equipment room, the coach’s office, the exit sign flickering faintly overhead. he doesn’t say a word, but you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, and when you glance at his profile, his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried about his teeth.
the evening air hits you like a cool drink of water when he shoves the door open and pulls you outside. the sky is just starting to paint itself in shades of dark blue and violet. the parking lot is mostly empty, a few cars scattered near the far end, and a single streetlight flickers to life overhead.
he drops your arm and immediately buries his face in both hands.
“please tell me you didn’t hear that,” he says, his voice muffled against his palms. the tips of his ears are still burning red.
“i heard the destiny part,” you admit, fighting a massive, impossible smile. your cheeks hurt with the effort of not grinning like an idiot, but it's a losing battle. you’ve never seen him like this, unraveled, flustered, completely stripped of his usual composed exterior. it’s making your heart do something dangerous in your chest.
vivian groans, a low, agonized sound that seems to come from somewhere deep in his soul. he peeks at you through his fingers, one dark eye visible between them. “i am going to transfer clubs. i’m moving to the mountains. you will never see me again.”
“that would be a shame,” you say softly.
he lowers his hands slowly, his expression shifting from mortified to something more guarded. vulnerable. he looks so pretty right now it’s almost frustrating, the way the streetlight catches the angles of his face, the slight messiness of his hair, the part of his lips that suggests he’s about to say something else but can’t quite find the words.
you dig into the pocket of his jacket, your jacket now, really, and pull out a pack of mints. “gum?”
he blinks, thrown by the change in subject. then his shoulders drop half an inch, and something that might be relief flickers across his face. he takes a piece, his fingers brushing yours.
the contact is small. barely there. but it sends a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm, and from the way his breath catches, you know he felt it too.
“if it makes you feel any better,” you say, looking down at your sneakers. a piece of gravel is stuck in the tread of your left shoe, and you focus on it with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, because if you look at him right now, you might say something you can’t take back. “i’ve been dropping hints for weeks that i’d love it if you walked me home. and maybe held my hand.”
the silence stretches out for a beat. two beats. three.
vivian has stopped breathing, you think. his dark eyes are fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, and there’s something working behind his expression, surprise, maybe, or disbelief, or that thing that happens when someone realizes they’ve been stupid about something for way too long.
“weeks?” he repeats. his voice comes out hoarse.
“maybe longer,” you confess. “i’m not great at being subtle.”
a sound escapes him, half laugh, half exhale of pure relief. the tension in his shoulders melts away, and when he looks at you again, there’s something new in his eyes. something bright and almost reckless, like he’s standing on the edge of a diving board and just decided to jump.
“i’m not good at this,” he says, his voice still rough around the edges. “talking. words. i’m not good at words without it sounding like a threat or a lecture.”
“but you make me feel like i’ve lost my mind. and honestly, it's not fair.”
you take a step closer. the distance between you shrinks to something almost nonexistent. “not fair?”
“i have things i want to know,” he continues, his eyes searching your face like you’re a puzzle he’s been trying to solve for months. “like if you're actually as real as you seem, because sometimes i think i just dreamt you up when i was bored and tired. i want to know if you’d ever want to go anywhere i go, or if you’d just let me walk you home for the rest of the time we have.”
the words hang in the air between you, heavy and sweet like honey dripping from a spoon. your heart is doing something ridiculous in your chest, not racing, exactly, but expanding, filling up every available space until you feel like you might burst.
“i’m here,” you say softly. “i’m not going anywhere.”
vivian reaches out. his hand hesitates for a second, hovering in the space between you, and you watch him make a decision in real time, his jaw tightening, his eyes flicking to yours, then down to your mouth, then back up. when his fingers finally catch yours, his grip is firm, grounding, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
“good,” he says, his voice dropping to a low hum. “because i think i might be in trouble. and i think you might be the reason.”
you laugh, a small breathless sound that gets swallowed by the evening air.“maybe we should go before your teammates come out and make it worse.”
he doesn’t let go of your hand. he starts walking, pulling you gently with him toward the exit gate, past the empty parking lot, onto the quiet street that leads toward your neighborhood. the air is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the training complex, and somewhere in the distance, a dog is barking. someone’s cooking dinner, you can smell garlic and onions drifting from an open window.
“you’re still annoyed about the destiny thing, aren't you?” you tease, glancing at his profile. the streetlights are starting to flicker on one by one, painting his face in alternating stripes of gold and shadow.
“i’m annoyed they heard it,” he admits. his thumb traces a slow circle against the back of your hand, and the casual intimacy of it makes your breath stutter. “but if it got you to stand there and look at me like that, i guess i can forgive them.”
“like you’ve been thinking the same things i have. like you’ve been waiting for me to catch up.”
you squeeze his hand. the weight of the moment settles around you, the way the evening is stretching out, soft and purple and endless, the way he’s walking slower just to keep pace with you, the way his fingers haven’t loosened their grip for even a second.
”you're an idiot, hugo,” you say.
”yeah,” he replies, squeezing your hand back. the corner of his mouth twitches up into something that’s almost a smile, but not quite, something softer, rarer, the kind of expression you want to save and treasure. “but i'm your idiot now.”
the walk home is slow, filled with the kind of comfortable silence that feels heavy with all the things you don’t need to say. it feels like the beginning of something that doesn’t have an expiration date, like waking up on a saturday morning with nowhere to be and no one to impress. it’s just you, him, and the rest of the night stretching out ahead.
when you reach your front door, you stop.
the porch light is on, casting a warm yellow glow across the steps. vivian is still holding your hand, and he doesn’t seem inclined to let go anytime soon. his dark eyes are fixed on your face, tracing the curve of your cheek, the shape of your mouth.
“i’ve been thinking about this,” he says quietly. “for a while now. what you’d taste like.”
your heart stumbles. “yeah?”
“minty, probably. you always have gum.”
you laugh, the sound catching in your throat. “you’re such a—”
it’s soft at first, just the press of his mouth against yours, tentative and warm. his free hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck, and the touch sends a shiver down your spine. he tastes like peppermint and something underneath that’s just him, and when you lean into him, your fingers curling into the front of his training shirt, he makes a quiet sound against your mouth that you want to hear again for the rest of your life.
the kiss deepens. his thumb traces the line of your jaw, gentle but deliberate, and you feel the world narrow down to just this, the warmth of his body, the soft insistence of his lips, the way his breath shudders when you press closer. he kisses like he’s been thinking about it for months, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, like he’s making up for lost time.
when you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks.
“well,” you whisper. “i guess i can’t argue with destiny.”
he laughs, a real laugh, bright and surprised and so full of relief that it makes your chest ache. “you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“absolutely not. i’m telling everyone at your wedding.”
“what? you said it yourself. i’m your destiny.”
vivian pulls back just enough to look at you. his expression is soft in a way you’ve never seen before, all the sharp edges smoothed out, his dark eyes warm and steady on your face. “yeah,” he says quietly. “you are.”
the porch light flickers. somewhere down the street, a car passes with a soft hum of tires on asphalt. and vivian kisses you again, slower this time, sweeter, like he’s got all the time in the world.
THIS REQUEST HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX SINCE FEB 10, IM SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT, HADI! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS FIC!
also can you tell i was heavily inspired by “so american” and “drop dead” by olivia rodrigo while writing this fic
© 2026 @laerrebae — mimicking me is a fucking bore
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