I didn’t go to any of my classes after the confrontation with Anton.
I couldn’t.
I stayed sitting in the last row of my first classroom for almost two hours, staring at the board without really seeing anything. The professor was talking about something —literary analysis of Romanticism, maybe, or symbolism in modern poetry— but his words were just white noise. A constant buzz that filled the silence but meant nothing.
All I could hear was my own voice repeating in my head like a scratched record:
"How many more things are you hiding from me?"
And the expression on Anton’s face when I left him standing there in the middle of the hallway. That mix of shock and pain and desperation that I will never forget even if I live a hundred years.
My phone vibrated in my backpack. Once. Twice. Five times.
I didn’t take it out. I knew who it was. I knew what it would say. And I wasn’t ready to read it.
Because if I read it, if I saw his name on the screen with those desperate messages, I was going to break right there in the middle of class. And I couldn’t afford that luxury. Not in front of all these strangers who didn’t know me and didn’t care.
A classmate passed me a sheet with notes, assuming I hadn’t been paying attention. He was right, but I took the sheet anyway, murmuring a "thanks" that was barely audible.
I looked at the notes. Meaningless words. Sentences that my eyes read but my brain didn’t process.
All I could think was: Twenty-four hours ago I was the happiest person in the world.
Twenty-four hours.
That was all it had taken to go from floating on a cloud of perfect happiness to feeling like the ground had opened up under my feet.
When the alarm rang indicating the end of class, everyone started packing their things with that familiar noise of books closing, backpacks being dragged, conversations overlapping. I stayed seated a moment longer, watching as the classroom emptied.
Finally I stood up like an automaton. Mechanical. One foot in front of the other.
I didn’t go to my next class.
Instead, I walked straight toward the campus exit, ignoring the looks from some students I vaguely recognized. One of them —a guy from my history class— raised his hand to greet me, but I pretended not to see him.
I didn’t have the energy for fake smiles or empty conversations.
I took the bus to the restaurant where I worked. I arrived two hours before my official shift, but I knew my boss wouldn’t mind. We were always short on staff. She always needed extra hands in practically everything.
The bus ride was torturous. Twenty minutes sitting alone with my thoughts, staring out the window while the city passed by in a blur.
A young couple got on at one of the stops. He had his arm around her. She was laughing at something he had said, with that natural and light laugh that only comes when you’re completely comfortable with someone.
I had to look away because it hurt too much.
That was us yesterday. Anton and me. Happy. In love. Or at least, I thought we were.
Now I didn’t know what to think.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I entered through the back door as always. The familiar smell of oil and spices hit me immediately. Normally it felt comforting —this place was my constant, my refuge when everything else felt unstable.
But today it only reminded me that I needed to be here to pay for my things. That I didn’t have the luxury of staying home crying like I probably should be doing.
"Emi" my boss, Hellen, looked up from where she was checking inventory. "You’re early. I thought you had classes."
"I left early" I lied, tying on my apron without making eye contact.
"Perfect. I need help in the kitchen. Nathan is alone and we have orders piling up."
I nodded and headed to the kitchen, grateful to have something, anything, to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted.
But it turned out I couldn’t even do that right.
Nathan passed me an order: two cheeseburgers, one without onion, french fries, Caesar salad.
Simple. I had done it a thousand times.
But when I was preparing the burgers, I grabbed chicken instead of beef. I didn’t realize until Nathan stopped me.
"Emi, those are chicken."
"Shit, sorry."
I threw away the ones I had started and began again, this time with the correct meat. But then I put salt instead of sugar in a drink. And I forgot to set the timer on the oven, so some fries burned.
"Emi" Nathan looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I’m just... distracted. Sorry."
"It shows" he said, but not cruelly. Nathan was a really good guy. He had been working here before I arrived, and he had always been patient with me. "Do you want to talk about something?"
"No" I answered too quickly. "I’m fine. I promise."
But I wasn’t fine. Not at all.
I kept making mistakes. I mixed up orders. I put wrong ingredients. I moved too slow, then too fast, tripping over my own feet.
My head was somewhere else completely. In a university hallway. In a beautiful lake. In the words that girl had said to me in a bathroom.
"Mark punched him straight in the nose."
"He took her home."
"You lied to me."
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear when Hellen entered the kitchen. I didn’t realize she was standing there until she yelled.
"EMI!"
I jumped, almost dropping the plate I had in my hands.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?" her voice was hard, cutting. "We’ve had three wrong orders because of you! THREE! Do you know how much that costs us? Do you have any idea how it makes us look to the customers?"
"I’m sorry" I murmured, feeling the knot in my throat tighten. "I..."
"‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix customer complaints" she interrupted, crossing her arms. "‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t recover the money we lose when we have to remake orders. If you can’t focus, please step out. Seriously. I can’t have this today."
And that’s when everything broke.
The tears I had been holding back since this morning —since I left that bathroom, since I confronted Anton, since I sat alone in that class— finally overflowed.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I was going to sob.
I took off my apron with trembling hands, let it fall on the counter, and walked straight to the employees’ bathroom without looking back.
I heard Nathan say something —"Hellen, don’t be so hard on her"— but his voice was lost when I closed the bathroom door behind me.
I locked myself in one of the stalls, lowered the toilet lid, sat down, and finally, finally, let everything out.
They weren’t pretty, silent tears like in the movies. They were ugly and loud and desperate. Sobs that shook my entire body, making my shoulders tremble. Tears so hot they burned my cheeks. Snot that I had to wipe with rough toilet paper.
I cried for everything.
For Anton lying.
For Wonbin being right.
For feeling so stupid for believing that something good could happen to me without it getting ruined.
For being so broken that I didn’t know how to trust someone without questioning everything.
For ruining my job because I couldn’t keep my personal life separate.
For being weak.
For being too much.
For not being enough.
I cried until there were no more tears left, only that kind of hiccupping breathing that comes after crying too hard. My face felt swollen. My eyes burned. My throat was raw.
And I still had my lunch hour left.
I didn’t want to leave the bathroom. I didn’t want to face Hellen or Nathan or anyone. I wanted to disappear.
But my alarm rang —half an hour for lunch— so eventually I had to go out.
I washed my face with cold water at the sink, trying to reduce the swelling around my eyes. It didn’t work much. It still looked obvious that I had been crying.
I went out the back door to the alley where the employees usually ate. There was a rundown metal bench where I sat, taking out the sandwich I had packed this morning when I still thought today would be a good day.
I wasn’t hungry. Not at all.
But I forced myself to eat because I knew that if I didn’t, I would feel worse.
Every bite tasted like nothing.
I took out my phone for the first time since I left campus.
Twenty-two unread messages. All from Anton.
My finger hovered over his name. Part of me wanted to read them. I wanted to know what he said. What explanation he had. If he really felt sorry or if he was just trying to save his own skin.
But another part of me —the part that was tired and hurt and exhausted— couldn’t handle it right now.
So instead of opening his messages, I opened Instagram. I scrolled without really seeing anything. Photos of happy people. Smiling couples. Carefully curated perfect lives.
Everything felt fake. Empty.
I closed the app and just sat there, staring at the brick wall of the building across the street.
Was this real love? This horrible feeling of having a broken heart? Of not knowing if you could trust the person who was supposed to matter more than anyone?
Because if this was love, I wasn’t sure I wanted it.
Yesterday was magical. Perfect. Like a dream.
But dreams always end. And when you wake up, reality hurts twice as much.
Maybe all of this had been too good to be true from the beginning.
Anton with his perfect family and his bright future and his natural talent for everything.
And me, the broken girl who worked to pay for her things and didn’t know how to process emotions without feeling like she was drowning.
We were too different. That had been obvious from the start.
But I had let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, the differences didn’t matter if you really cared about someone.
How stupid I had been.
My alarm rang again —end of lunch.
I forced myself to stand up, to go back inside, to finish my shift even though every minute felt like an eternity.
Hellen didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. Nathan threw me worried glances but didn’t say anything either.
I worked on autopilot. Washing dishes. Cleaning tables. Taking orders. Smiling at customers I didn’t care about.
When my shift finally ended, it was almost eight at night. I was exhausted in a way that went beyond the physical.
I changed in the employees’ bathroom, put my uniform in my backpack, and left through the back door toward the bus stop.
The sky was darkening. Street lights were starting to turn on one by one.
I waited for the bus alone, with my phone in my hand, watching as Anton’s messages kept arriving every hour.
Two more during my shift. Now there were twenty-four in total.
I still hadn’t read them.
When I got home, I went straight up to my room without making any noise. My mom wasn’t there —probably at work or with some new boyfriend— which was a relief. I didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was fine.
I dropped onto my bed without even changing my clothes. The gerberas on my desk stared at me, still fresh and beautiful.
I hated them for a second. I hated how they reminded me of how happy I had been yesterday. How naive.
But I didn’t have the strength to remove them.
Instead, I curled up in the fetal position, hugging my pillow, and finally opened Anton’s messages.
They started desperate:
Anton: "Please let me explain"
Anton: "It’s not what you think"
Anton: "I love you…"
Then they became more detailed:
Anton: "The girl… I just helped her with a ride. I should have told you but I didn’t think it mattered. It was a mistake not to tell you"
Anton: "And the bruise... I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. I know it was wrong to lie."
And the most recent ones were almost pleading:
Anton: "Please talk to me"
Anton: "I know I fucked up"
Anton: "Just give me the chance to explain everything"
Anton: "I need you"
I read every message twice. Three times.
And I didn’t know what to feel.
Because part of me —a big, aching part— wanted to believe him. I wanted his explanations to be enough. I wanted to forgive him and go back to yesterday when everything was perfect.
But another part —the part that had been hurt too many times, that had learned that people always end up disappointing you— couldn’t simply forget.
Because the problem wasn’t just that he lied.
The problem was that he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.
The problem was that he made me feel doubts, when it turned out I had reasons to have them.
The problem was that Wonbin —damn Wonbin— had been right.
And that hurt more than anything else.
I stayed lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling how the emotional exhaustion finally caught up with me.
I didn’t reply to Anton.
Not because I was trying to punish him or play mind games.
But because honestly I didn’t know what to say.
I loved him. That hadn’t changed, no matter how much I wished it would.
But love wasn’t enough if there was no trust.
And right now, I didn’t know if I could trust him again.
Anton
"It was him, Shotaro. It was Wonbin. He poisoned her head" I said, wiping my face furiously. "If it weren’t for him, we would be fine. Emi wouldn’t have any reason to doubt me."
Shotaro sighed, letting out a heavy breath. He looked at me with a pity that, honestly, hurt more than the punch Mark had given me in the nose.
"Anton, listen to me carefully" he said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. "Wonbin may have opened his mouth, but he didn’t invent the lies. He only handed her the pieces of the puzzle that you yourself left scattered along the way."
"I just wanted to protect her..." I tried to interrupt, but he didn’t let me.
"From what? From the truth? From who you are?" Shotaro shook his head. "Do you really think the problem is who told her? The problem is that she heard it from anyone but her boyfriend. If you had been honest from the beginning, Wonbin’s words wouldn’t have any power. They would just be noise. But now... now those words are the only truth she has."
I froze. The weight of his words hit me in the stomach.
"You’re not fighting against Wonbin anymore, Chanyoung" Shotaro continued, using my real name so I would understand the seriousness of the matter. "You’re fighting against the silence you chose to keep. And silence is a very difficult enemy to defeat if you don’t go and break it with the truth, no matter how ugly it seems to you."
"And what if it’s already too late?" I asked with a broken voice.
Shotaro stood up and held out his hand to help me to my feet. "You’ll only know that if you go. Don’t send her any more texts, Anton. Written words don’t have eyes. Go and let her see yours. Let her see that you’re dying of fear, but that you’re not going to hide anything from her anymore."
It was 9:47 PM.
I had been parked on this side street, half a block from Emi’s house, for almost three hours, with the engine off and the lights off, feeling like a stalker.
But I didn’t know what else to do.
I had arrived at 7 PM —calculating that her shift at the restaurant ended around that time— but clearly I had been wrong or she had left work late.
So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Every time a bus passed by on the main street, my heart raced thinking maybe it was her. But it wasn’t. Over and over, it wasn’t her.
I considered leaving. I considered calling her. I considered simply knocking on her door and begging her to listen.
But every option felt wrong.
Shotaro had told me I needed to talk to her. That I needed to be completely honest. That that was the only way to fix this.
But how could I do that when she wasn’t even reading my messages?
They had gone from "Delivered" to "Read" an hour ago. That meant she had finally opened them.
But she hadn’t replied.
And that was killing me.
I looked at my phone again, rereading our last real conversation —the good morning messages from this morning, when everything was still fine.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
I was about to give up, start the car and go home to drown in my misery, when I finally saw her.
Getting off a bus at the corner. With her backpack over her shoulder. Walking slowly, as if every step required conscious effort.
Even from this distance, I could see that something was wrong. The way her shoulders were hunched. How she looked at the ground instead of straight ahead.
I waited until she entered her house before finally taking out my phone with trembling hands.
I called her.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
I was about to hang up when she finally answered.
"Hello?" her voice sounded muted. Tired. Empty.
"Emi" I said, and my voice came out more desperate than I intended. "How... how are you?"
Silence.
"Tired, I’m tired."
Every word felt like a stab.
"Emi, please. I need to talk to you. I need to explain..."
"I don’t have the energy for this right now" she interrupted, and I could hear the crack in her voice that she was trying to hide. "It’s been a horrible day and I just want to sleep."
"Please" I begged, not caring how pathetic I sounded. "Just... give me ten minutes. Five minutes. Whatever."
"Anton..."
"I’m outside your house."
Absolute silence.
"What?"
"I’m... I’m outside. In my car. I’ve been here waiting for you."
"Are you crazy?" her voice rose a little. "How long have you been there?"
"That doesn’t matter" I said, starting the car. "Please. Come down. Or let me come up. Whatever you prefer. But we need to talk. I need you to listen to me. Just once. And if after that you still don’t want to know about me, I’ll respect it. But please, Emi. Please."
I heard her ragged breathing on the other end of the line.
"I don’t want to..."
"Emi" my voice became firmer, more serious than it normally sounded. "I know you’re hurt. I know I fucked up. But I deserve the chance to explain myself. You deserve to hear the truth. The complete truth. Not through messages. Not through other people. From me. So please, come down or let’s go somewhere. But we have to talk. Now."
More silence.
And then I heard a defeated sigh.
"Okay" she said finally. "You can... you can come up. But you have to be quiet. My mom..."
"She’s not here" I said. "I saw her car leave about two hours ago."
An awkward silence.
"Okay. Wait."
She hung up.
I parked the car right outside her house, my hands shaking so much I could barely turn off the engine.
This was my chance. Maybe the only one.
I couldn’t fuck it up.
I got out of the car almost tripping over my own feet in my hurry to reach the door.
The door opened before I could knock.
And there she was.
She looked... devastated.
Her eyes were red and swollen. Her face was pale. She was wearing wrinkled clothes. She had no makeup. Her hair was in a messy ponytail.
And yet she was the most beautiful thing I had seen all day.
"Hi" I said stupidly.
"Hi" she replied, without making eye contact.
We stood there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to do.
"Do you want... can we go somewhere… to talk?" I asked finally.
She nodded and stepped aside to let me in, gesturing for me to follow her.
We went up the stairs in silence. The most awkward silence of my life.
Her room was exactly as I had imagined it. Small but cozy. Posters on the walls. The gerberas I had given her still in the vase on her desk.
Seeing them gave me a little hope. At least she hadn’t thrown them away.
"You can... sit wherever you want" she said, vaguely pointing toward her bed.
I sat on the edge of her bed, with my hands between my knees, trying to control how much they were trembling.
Emi sat in her desk chair, as far away from me as she could be in the small space.
The silence stretched between us like an abyss.
Finally, she spoke.
"Talk."
Okay. I could do this.
I took a deep breath.
"First... about the bruise. You’re right. It wasn’t Junyoung. It was the bullies. Mark and his friends. They cornered me in the hallway on the day of the rehearsal. I... " my voice was already breaking and I had barely started "I pushed them. Because they were saying things about you. Horrible, degrading, disrespectful things. And I got so angry that I pushed them. And they... it was three against one. I couldn’t defend myself. They hit me. Mark punched me in the nose. There was blood. It hurt like hell. And I felt so... so pathetic. So weak."
Emi didn’t say anything, she just looked at me with that indecipherable expression.
"And I didn’t tell you because... because I was embarrassed. Because they had just hit me for defending you and I couldn’t even do anything about it. What kind of boyfriend am I if I can’t even protect you? If they hit me and I just... just stand there? And we had our date the next day. Our first real date. And I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to see me as... as someone strong. Someone who can take care of you. Not as the weak guy who gets hit without being able to do anything."
The tears were starting to sting in my eyes but I pushed them down.
"And about the girl..." I continued "That was on the day of the rehearsal too. We were playing soccer before. You know I’m terrible at soccer. I accidentally hit a girl with the ball. Her name is Jiwoo. I felt bad. I apologized a thousand times. Her friend was angry. But she was nice about it. She said it was okay. And I thought that was it."
"But that night" I continued, "after the rehearsal, I saw her outside the building. She was trying to get an Uber but none would accept her ride because she lives really far and it was late. And I... I just wanted to help. The way I would have helped anyone. So I offered to take her with my driver. That was it, we talked about random things. Nothing deep. Nothing personal, that was all. There was nothing more."
Emi still didn’t say anything, but I saw how her hands tightened in her lap.
"And I didn’t tell you because... honestly, I didn’t think it mattered. It was a favor. Like letting someone copy your notes or holding the door for a stranger. It meant nothing to me. I didn’t even think about mentioning it because in my mind it wasn’t important. But now I see how it looks. I see why not telling you makes it seem suspicious. Like I was hiding something. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
My voice finally broke completely.
"I should have told you both things. I should have trusted you enough to be honest. Even if it made me feel vulnerable or weak or stupid. Because you deserve the truth. Always. And I... I failed you. Not because I did something wrong with Jiwoo or because the bullies hit me. But because I lied to you. Because I chose to protect my pride instead of being honest with you. And that... that was wrong. So wrong."
The tears finally started to fall and I couldn’t stop them.
"And I know Wonbin was probably the one who told you. And I know he probably did it to cause problems. But that doesn’t matter. Because he could only do that because I left the doors open. I created the doubts. I planted the seeds. He just... just watered them."
I stood up from the bed, not knowing what to do with my hands, with all this pain that was spilling out.
And then I did something I never thought I would do.
I knelt in front of her.
I literally got down on my knees on the floor of her room, looking up at her, completely vulnerable.
"Emi, please" my voice was barely a whisper now. "Please forgive me. Not for the lies, because I don’t deserve to be forgiven for that. But... give me the chance to prove to you that I can be better. That I can be honest. That I can trust you with the ugly parts of me, not just the pretty ones."
I rested my forehead against her bare thighs —she was wearing shorts— and the contact of my cold, sweaty skin against hers made her shiver.
"I love you" I said against her skin. "I love you so much it scares me. And I know that doesn’t fix anything. I know love isn’t enough if there’s no trust. But I want to earn it. I want you to trust me again. Just... just give me the chance to try."
The tears were falling freely now, wetting her thighs, and I couldn’t stop them.
I tried to pull away, to give her space, to not make this more awkward than it already was.
But then I felt her hands in my hair.
And I heard her voice, broken and trembling:
"I’m scared."
I lifted my head to look at her, and she was crying too. Silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I’m so scared" she repeated. "That this will happen again. That you’ll lie to me again. That I won’t be enough for you to trust me. That... that you’ll make me feel this feeling again for doubting when I had reasons to doubt."
"I won’t" I promised, taking her hands. "I swear, Emi. Never again."
"You can’t promise that" she said, shaking her head. "No one can. But I… I love you too. And that’s what scares me the most. Because if it was just attraction or fun or whatever, I could walk away. But this... this matters too much. You matter too much. And losing something that matters this much... I don’t know if I could handle it."
She knelt with me on the floor, until we were at the same level, looking directly into each other’s eyes.
"So if we do this" she said, "if we try again, I need you to be completely honest with me. Always. Even when it hurts. Even when it makes you vulnerable. Because I prefer a painful truth over a comfortable lie. Always."
"I will be" I promised. "I swear on everything I have. I’ll be honest. Completely."
We hugged there, kneeling on the floor of her room, crying together, holding each other as if the other was the only thing keeping us standing.
And maybe it was.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably just a few minutes, I stood up and pulled her up with me.
I carried her —not in a romantic way, but almost desperately— and laid her on her bed, lying down beside her and wrapping her in my arms.
We stayed like that for a long time. Just hugging. Breathing together. Letting the world calm down around us.
Eventually, when the tears dried and our breathing normalized, we started talking.
Really talking.
Emi told me how she had felt when she heard about the bruise. How it had made her feel like she wasn’t important enough for me to trust her. How Wonbin’s words had planted doubts that were already there, just waiting to be validated.
I told her about my conversation with Shotaro. About how he made me realize that the problem wasn’t Wonbin, but me. About how I needed to work on being more open, on not letting my pride get in the way of our relationship.
And we set rules. Boundaries. Expectations.
"If something bothers you, tell me. Immediately. Don’t keep it to yourself."
"If I’m being paranoid or jealous, tell me. But tell me kindly."
"No more lies. Not even the small ones. Not even the ones that seem insignificant."
"We talk about the hard things. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it hurts."
With each agreement, I felt something between us getting stronger. As if we were building something new on the ruins of what had broken.
And then, when silence settled again —but this time a comfortable, healing silence— I leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t like our kisses before. This one was different.
It was hungry but also desperate. As if we both needed to confirm that the other was still there. That this was real. That we hadn’t lost it.
My hands found her waist, pulling her closer. Hers tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me moan against her lips.
The kiss deepened. It intensified.
Her hands moved down my chest, exploring, and I felt every nerve ending in my body light up.
My hands went under her shirt, touching warm, soft skin, feeling her tremble under my fingers.
"Anton" she whispered against my mouth, and my name sounded like a plea.
"Tell me to stop and I’ll stop" I murmured, kissing her neck, her jaw, returning to her lips.
"Don’t stop."
So I didn’t.
I laid her down completely, my body over hers, feeling every curve, every line, every ragged breath.
My hands explored with tacit permission. Her waist. Her sides. Moving up slowly, carefully, waiting for her to stop me.
But she didn’t.
Instead, her hands moved down my back, slipping under my shirt, touching my skin in a way that made me lose my mind.
I let out a low sound, almost a growl, when I pressed closer to her and then she felt it.
My hardness.
Slowly, pressing against her thigh, growing with every kiss, with every brush of my body against hers. Unconsciously I moved over her, seeking more contact, and Emi gasped against my mouth.
"Anton" she whispered.
My big, cold hand rested on her waist, just under her pajama shirt. My fingers slid under the fabric, touching her bare skin. The coldness of my palm made her shiver. She searched for my hand and placed it over hers, guiding it lower, until her fingers closed over her ass.
I squeezed gently, almost with reverence, and Emi let out a shaky sigh against my lips.
"God…" she murmured.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. Just the thin pajama shirt and short shorts. When I pressed closer to her chest, I felt her nipples harden against me. Emi felt it too. Her breath caught and my hand squeezed her ass harder, pressing myself completely against her body.
The kisses became more urgent. Wetter. More desperate. Her tongue brushed mine, slow and deep, and I moaned softly against her mouth. Her hips moved against me, seeking friction, and she could feel how hard I was, how much I wanted her.
My hand slowly moved up her side, under her shirt, brushing her hot skin. My fingers trembled a little. I knew exactly where I was going. Her breasts begged for attention, sensitive and tense. I was about to reach there, about to touch her where she needed it most.
We were both trembling. Until we were on the edge of crossing a line we still hadn’t crossed.
And then a loud noise echoed from downstairs.
The front door closing hard. Stumbling footsteps. Someone’s voice singing off-key.
We froze.
"Shit" Emi hissed. "It’s my mom."
"I thought she wasn’t coming."
"Me too" she said, quickly pulling away from me and fixing her clothes. "She must be drunk again. When she arrives like this, she goes straight to the kitchen."
We could hear the sounds from below. Cabinets opening. Something falling and breaking. A curse.
"You should go" Emi said, her voice returning to that tension that had been absent for the last few minutes.
"Are you sure? I can stay. Make sure you’re okay."
"No" she said firmly. "If she sees you here, there will be problems. Problems I don’t want to deal with. Please, Anton. You have to go."
I got up from the bed reluctantly.
But before I could reach the door, I pulled her toward me one more time.
"Are we okay?" I asked, needing to hear it.
"We’re... better" she said, and although it wasn’t a complete "yes," it was enough for now.
We stayed talking in low voices for another fifteen minutes. Emi told me more about her horrible day. I told her more about my conversation with Shotaro. We exchanged promises of better communication.
And through it all, my hands couldn’t stay still.
One on her waist. Fingers tracing distracted circles on her stomach over her shirt. Feeling how she shivered with every touch.
"You have to stop" she said, but she was smiling.
"Why?" I asked, kissing her neck.
"Because if you don’t stop, you won’t be able to leave."
"Maybe I don’t want to leave."
"Anton."
"Okay, okay" I surrendered, pulling away with a smile.
She walked me to the door, both of us silent, both aware that this moment was ending.
At the door, I kissed her one last time.
A long, deep kiss, full of all the things I didn’t know how to say with words.
When we separated, my hands found her waist again, sliding down slightly, grabbing her ass for a second before pulling away with a mischievous smile.
"Anton" she protested, but she was laughing.
"I couldn’t help it."
"You’re impossible."
"I’m yours."
The way she looked at me —with those soft, warm eyes full of something that looked dangerously like love— made me want to stay forever.
But I forced myself to leave, to walk to my car, to start the engine.
As I drove away, I saw her standing at the door, with that small smile that had been missing all day.
And I knew we were going to be okay.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But eventually.
Because what we had was worth fighting for.
And this time, I was going to fight the right way.
With honesty. With vulnerability. With everything I had.
Lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling of my room while the morning light filtered through the curtains, I relived every second of the previous day as if it were a movie in slow motion.
Anton ringing the doorbell exactly at two. Me going down the stairs in that purple dress I almost never wear because I felt too exposed, too feminine, too vulnerable. But something in me had wanted to surprise him, wanted him to see me differently.
And the way he looked at me when I came out...
God.
No one had ever looked at me like that in my life. As if he had just seen something sacred. As if I were something precious and fragile and beautiful at the same time.
I brought my fingers to my lips, smiling like an idiot.
My phone was on the nightstand, with the screen lit up. Three messages from Anton that had arrived half an hour ago when I was still asleep.
Good morning, girlfriend…
I dreamed about you last night.
I hope I can have lunch with you at uni <3
Girlfriend
That word made me feel a strange feeling in my stomach. Something warm and completely new. As if someone had turned on a light in a room in my chest that had always been in the dark.
I stayed lying down a while longer, staring at the ceiling, rethinking every detail of the previous day as if it were a movie I could rewind and watch again.
The trip to the lake had been perfect. Well, almost perfect. There were moments where my mind tried to sabotage the happiness, where Wonbin’s words about that girl appeared like uninvited ghosts. I wanted to ask him. The words were there, on the tip of my tongue dozens of times.
"Anton, who was that girl you took home?"
"Why didn’t you tell me you met someone?"
"Is there something you’re hiding from me?"
But every time I was about to say it, he did something. He gave me one of those short kisses at the traffic lights. He squeezed my hand. He looked at me with those eyes that completely melted me. And the words evaporated.
It’s not the right time, I told myself. Don’t ruin this. It’s probably nothing. Trust him.
And when we got to the lake... God, when we got to the lake everything else stopped mattering.
The place was dreamy. Like taken out of a romantic movie I never thought I’d be the protagonist of. The water sparkling under the sun, the trees creating perfect shadows, the feeling of being completely alone in the world.
I blushed just remembering the moment I came out after changing into my swimsuit. The way Anton looked at me, with those huge eyes and his mouth slightly open, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
And then me, being completely obvious staring at his abs. I couldn’t help it, I had blushed so much.
The freezing water. Our laughter. The races that I obviously lost all of because Anton swam as if he had been born in the water. His hands teaching me to float, holding me with so much gentleness that I felt I could trust him completely.
"Trust the water. And trust me."
And I had. I had trusted.
But then...
My hand unconsciously went to the gerberas in the vase on my desk. Orange and white. Joy and optimism.
The flowers no one had ever given me before.
The moment he came out of the water with those flowers and those towels, completely soaked, shivering, with an expression on his face I had never seen before. Nervous but determined. Scared but brave.
His speech.
Oh God, his speech.
It had been a beautiful disaster. Words tripping over each other, voice breaking, sweaty hands that he didn’t want to touch mine but I took them anyway because I needed him to know that I didn’t care. That I wanted him exactly like that, imperfect and nervous and completely genuine.
No one had ever said things like that to me. No one had ever made me feel like that.
As if I mattered. As if I were enough. As if I were something more than the broken girl who worked at a restaurant and didn’t fit in anywhere.
The guys I had been with before... they weren’t like that. They were quick and superficial and easy to forget. There were no flowers or nervous declarations or anything that resembled what Anton made me feel.
This was different.
This was scary.
Because when something is real, when something truly matters, the risk of losing it becomes unbearable.
And when I said yes, when I hugged him so tight that the flowers got crushed between us, I felt something in my chest that I had never felt before.
It was warm. Almost painfully intense. As if something was expanding inside me, filling spaces I didn’t even know were empty.
I didn’t know what that feeling was. I had no name for it.
But it was nice. Terrifying but nice. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump because I trusted he would catch me.
Was this love? Real love?
The kisses afterward. Slow and deep and full of promises. The way he hugged me against that tree, kissing my bare shoulder in a way that made me shiver. The makeout session that almost went too far but we stopped because we both knew it wasn’t the right time.
The conversations under the stars. Sharing things I had never told anyone. My parents. My loneliness.
And him, sharing his own demons. His father. The expectations. The pressure of being perfect.
We had seen each other. Really seen each other.
And it had been terrifying and beautiful and perfect.
The way back had been quiet. Intimate. His hand holding mine. The gerberas in my lap. The feeling that something had fundamentally changed between us.
Although...
Although there were moments where I wanted to say something. Where the doubts came back like waves.
Ask him about the girl.
Ask him if what they told you is true.
Every time I opened my mouth, the words got stuck. Because I was scared. Scared of ruining the perfect moment. Scared that my insecurities would destroy something beautiful.
So I didn’t.
Because I was afraid the answer wouldn’t be what I wanted to hear. Because a part of me thought that if I didn’t ask, the problem didn’t really exist.
There was something else I couldn’t stop thinking about.
That feeling in my chest all day. Warm, constant, almost painfully intense. As if my heart was trying to tell me something my head still wasn’t ready to process.
It was nice but strange. Familiar but completely new.
I didn’t know what it was.
I had no name for what I felt when Anton looked at me, when he kissed me, when he said my name as if it were something precious.
I only knew that it scared me as much as it filled me.
Like when we arrived at my house, both of us at the door before I went inside, under the soft rain that had started to fall, he had told me:
"I love you."
No euphemisms. No beating around the bush. With those exact two words.
And I had answered the same, although the words had come out smaller than what I felt inside.
"I love you too."
Everything else seemed insignificant.
I went up to my room practically floating. I put the flowers in water. I lay down in my bed with a smile I couldn’t wipe off.
I was his girlfriend.
Officially.
Anton was my boyfriend.
And I felt happier than I remembered feeling in years.
I took more care than usual getting ready. I chose clothes that I knew looked good on me. I put on light makeup, something I almost never did. I wanted to look pretty for Anton.
I wanted him to feel the same awe I had seen in his eyes yesterday when he saw me on campus.
I went down to have breakfast still with that smile I couldn’t get off my face. My mom was in the kitchen making coffee, and when she saw me come in, she stopped mid-movement.
"Good morning" she said, looking at me with that expression mothers have when they know something happened but aren’t sure what.
"Good morning" I replied, pouring cereal into a bowl.
"You’re... different."
"Different how?"
"I don’t know. More... happy."
I shrugged, trying to look casual even though inside I was exploding with the urge to tell her everything.
I considered telling her for a second. About Anton. About being his girlfriend. About how happy I felt.
But then I remembered all the times I had told her important things and she had minimized them, ruined them or compared them to any member of my family.
"I just had a good day yesterday."
She looked at me a moment longer, as if evaluating whether to press or not. In the end she decided not to.
During the entire way to the university, I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt the stares of the people on the bus who looked at me strangely, but I didn’t care.
It had been so long since I felt like this. Light. Happy. As if the constant weight I carried on my shoulders had lightened a little.
As if finally, finally, something good was happening to me.
I arrived at campus half an hour before my first class. The place was full but not crowded, with students walking toward their buildings, groups sitting on the grass, the sound of overlapping conversations filling the air.
But before going anywhere, I needed to go to the bathroom.
I had gotten my period that morning, right when I was having breakfast, and although I had had time to put on a pad before leaving, I wanted to change it before sitting in class for two hours.
I quickly went to the bathroom in the main building, which at that hour was relatively empty.
I entered a stall, changed quickly, and came out to wash my hands.
And that’s when I decided to do something I normally wouldn’t do.
I took out my small makeup bag from my backpack. I had brought some makeup—nothing exaggerated, just the basics. A bit of concealer for my dark circles, mascara for my lashes, and my favorite lipstick, a dark reddish tone that I almost never wore but that I liked how it looked.
I was focused on carefully applying the lipstick—trying not to go outside the lines, which required more concentration than it should—when someone stood at the sink next to mine.
A girl I didn’t know, with brown hair tied in a high ponytail, approached to wash her hands at the adjacent sink. She looked at me sideways and smiled.
"Hi" she said, smiling as she washed her hands.
"Hi" I answered automatically, smiling back but without taking my eyes off the mirror. I was almost done lining the lower edge when she spoke again.
"How’s your boyfriend doing?" she asked casually, as if we were in the middle of a conversation.
I frowned slightly but kept focused on my lipstick. She was probably confusing me with someone else.
My boyfriend?
"I think you’re confusing me with someone" I said, putting away the lipstick and turning to look at her.
"No, I don’t think so" she tilted her head, genuinely confused. "Isn’t your boyfriend the tall, serious guy who recently joined RIIZE?"
My heart gave a small jump.
"Well, yes, but..."
"I mean about the punch a few days ago" she continued, closing the faucet. "Mark has always been a jerk and an opportunist. No one likes him, but he keeps doing it because he knows most people won’t report him. He has friends in the administration or something. Your boyfriend... He wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last."
The world stopped.
Punch?
Mark?
"I was there when it happened" the girl continued, apparently unaware of how my world was starting to crumble. "In the hallway. It was horrible. Three against one, and your boyfriend couldn’t even defend himself properly. Mark punched him straight in the nose. He looked terrible, with all that blood..."
Her voice started to sound distant. As if I were underwater.
Blood.
Nose.
The bruise.
The bruise Anton had on his nose during our date. That small greenish bruise he had tried to cover with makeup.
"What happened to your nose?"
"Ah, that. Junyoung and I were playing the other day. He accidentally elbowed me."
Everything clicked at once, like pieces of a puzzle I had been deliberately ignoring.
The girl kept talking—something about how Mark had had problems before, about how the university didn’t do anything, about how it was unfair—but I stopped listening.
Because in my head, everything was connecting in the worst possible way.
He had lied to me.
He had looked me straight in the eyes at that beautiful lake, on our perfect day, and he had lied to me.
The anger started to grow in my chest, hot and sharp. But behind the anger there was something worse: Disappointment. Pain. That horrible feeling that maybe Wonbin had been right. Maybe Anton didn’t trust me enough to be honest.
Maybe I wasn’t as special as he had made me feel yesterday.
"You deserve someone who doesn’t hide things from you."
"If he didn’t mention it, it’s because he’s hiding it like a secret."
The girl. The one he took home and never mentioned.
The punch. The bullies. The lie about his brother.
What else?
What else was he hiding from me?
"...so I hope he’s okay" the girl kept talking. "That kind of bullying is serious. They should report it or something. Your boyfriend shouldn’t have to deal with that alone..."
"Thanks" I managed to say, my voice sounding strange even to me. "I have to... I have to go to class."
I left the bathroom before she could respond, with my legs trembling, my breathing accelerated, a mix of rage and pain and confusion burning in my chest.
He lied to me.
He lied straight to my face.
What if Wonbin was right? What if there was more? What if all this time he had been playing with me? Why didn’t he trust me?
No. No. Anton isn’t like that. Anton is sweet and honest and...
But he lied to me.
The evidence was there, impossible to ignore.
I walked quickly down the hallway, trying to get to my class, trying to process everything, feeling how the happiness of this morning was disintegrating like ash.
And then someone hugged me from behind.
I stopped dead, my body tensing instinctively.
A kiss on my head. The familiar scent of his cologne.
Anton.
"Hi, beautiful" he said with that soft and happy voice, completely unaware of the storm that had just unleashed inside me.
I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet.
He moved to stand in front of me, and I saw how his expression changed when he saw my face.
"Emi? What’s wrong?"
His concern felt genuine. His eyes searched mine with that sweetness that had melted me yesterday.
But now it only made me feel worse.
He stared at me, and I felt the words getting stuck in my throat. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to cry. I wanted him to tell me it was all a misunderstanding.
"Is everything okay?" he continued, gently touching my arm. "Did you have a bad morning? You know that… you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, you can tell me..."
Trust.
That word.
Something inside me broke.
"Trust?" the word came out like a hiss, loaded with all the rage and pain I had been holding back. "How do you expect me to trust you when you keep hiding things from me?"
Anton blinked, clearly surprised by my tone.
"What? I don’t understand..."
"Do you think I haven’t found out?" I continued, my voice rising in volume despite being in the middle of the hallway. "About the girl you took home a few days ago? Or that the bruise on your nose wasn’t because Junyoung accidentally did it “playing”. It was because they hit you. The bullies. And you didn’t tell me. You lied to me. You looked me in the eyes and lied to me."
I saw how his face went pale. How his mouth opened slightly in shock.
"How many more things are you hiding from me, Anton?" my voice broke on his name. "How many more lies? What else don’t I know? What else are you hiding?"
All the pain from the last few weeks came out in those words. The insecurities Wonbin had planted. The doubts I had been trying to ignore. The conversation at work about being cold and distant. Everything exploded like a bomb.
"You asked me to be your girlfriend yesterday. You told me you wanted to go through everything with me. But how am I supposed to do that if you can’t even be honest with me about basic things?"
"Emi, let me explain..." Anton started, his voice desperate, but I couldn’t listen anymore.
"Explain what? Another lie? Another half-truth?"
I tried to read his expression, searching for... what? Guilt? Regret? An admission that Wonbin had been right all along?
What I saw was shock. Confusion. And something else I couldn’t identify.
"How...?" he started, clearly processing. "Who told you...?"
My phone alarm rang. Five minutes until my class started.
Perfect excuse to escape before the tears that were threatening to fall finally did.
"I have to go" I said, my voice trembling.
"Emi, wait, please, let me..."
But I was already walking. Almost running. Moving away from him, from his explanations, from everything.
Because if I stayed one more second, I was going to cry.
And I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
I wasn’t going to let him see me break.
I left him there, standing in the middle of the hallway, with that devastated expression on his face.
And I kept walking, with my chest tight and the urge to cry growing with every step.
How much more is he hiding from me?
The question spun in my head, over and over, without an answer.
I entered my classroom without looking back, ignoring how my vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall.
I chose a seat in the last row, as far away from everyone as possible, and sank into the chair.
My phone vibrated.
Messages from Anton.
I didn’t open them.
I couldn’t.
Because if I did, if I saw his name, if I read his words, I was going to completely fall apart.
And I needed to stay whole.
At least until I got out of here.
At least until I could be alone and finally let everything out.
Anton
Twenty-two hours earlier, I had told the RIIZE guys that Emi was officially my girlfriend.
The group chat had exploded with congratulatory messages.
Sungchan: FINALLY! It was about time!
Shotaro: Congratulations brother 🎉
Sohee: DID YOU ACTUALLY KISS FOR REAL? TELL US EVERYTHING, AAAAAHHHHH
Eunseok: Well done. Treat her right.
Seunghan: Congratulations!!! Love won!!!!
Even Wonbin had replied, although with something short:
Wonbin: Congratulations
Simple. No emojis. But there it was. Wonbin was like that sometimes—reserved, not very expressive. It didn’t mean anything.
I went to sleep that night feeling like everything in my life was finally falling into place.
I woke up early, with that nervous energy that comes from being excited about something. I texted Emi before she woke up, three messages I sent without thinking much, just letting the words flow.
I wrote her good morning like a cheesy boyfriend. Because that’s what I was now.
Her boyfriend.
I went down to have breakfast, greeted my mom with a hug that surprised her. Even Junyoung gave me a strange look when he saw me whistling at breakfast.
"What’s up with you?" he asked.
"Nothing" I replied, but the smile gave me away.
"You’re weird."
"I know."
During the entire way to the university, I couldn’t stop smiling. I arrived at campus earlier than usual, hoping to see Emi before classes. I wanted to kiss her. Hug her. Make sure yesterday had been real and not just a perfect dream.
I saw her in the distance, walking quickly down the main hallway. She had put on makeup. She looked beautiful. She was walking down the main hallway, with her backpack over her shoulder and that way of moving I already recognized from afar. But there was something different about her. Something in her posture, in the way she looked straight ahead without really seeing anything.
She seemed... distracted. Worried.
I quickened my pace, almost running to catch up with her before she entered her class.
"Emi!" I called, but she didn’t seem to hear me.
I ran faster and finally reached her. I hugged her from behind, kissing her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.
"Hi, beautiful" I said, unable to contain the happiness in my voice.
But something was wrong.
She had gone rigid in my arms. She didn’t relax like she usually did. She didn’t turn around to kiss me.
I moved to stand in front of her, and my stomach sank when I saw her expression.
Cold. Hard. As if she had closed all the doors she had opened yesterday.
"Emi? What’s wrong?"
She didn’t answer. She just looked at me with those eyes that yesterday had been full of warmth and now only showed... pain? Anger?
"Is everything okay?" I continued, gently touching her arm, trying to understand what had changed in less than 24 hours. "Did you have a bad morning? You know you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, you can tell me..."
"Trust? How do you expect me to trust you when you keep hiding things from me?" Her words came out like a whip, loaded with venom.
My mind went blank.
"What? I don’t understand..."
And then she exploded.
"Do you think I haven’t found out? About the girl you took home a few days ago? Or that the bruise on your nose wasn’t because Junyoung accidentally did it “playing”. It was because they hit you. The bullies. And you didn’t tell me. You lied to me. You looked me in the eyes and lied to me."
The world stopped.
How...?
Every word was a stab straight to the chest.
"How many more things are you hiding from me, Anton? How many more lies? What else don’t I know?"
Her voice broke on my name, and seeing her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall destroyed me.
"You asked me to be your girlfriend yesterday. You told me you wanted to go through everything with me. But how am I supposed to do that if you can’t even be honest with me about basic things?"
"Emi, let me explain..." I tried, reaching out a hand toward her.
"Explain what? Another lie? Another half-truth?"
My mind was racing at full speed. How had she found out about Jiwoo? That had been almost a week ago. I hadn’t told anyone except... no. Not even the guys.
And the punch? No one knew about the punch. The guys weren’t there. I hadn’t told anyone.
No one except...
Wonbin.
Wonbin had been there when they hit me. Wonbin knew about Jiwoo.
Wonbin.
"How...?" I started, trying to process everything. "Who told you...?"
Her phone alarm rang.
"I have to go" she said, her voice trembling, and I could see how she was fighting to keep the tears contained.
"Emi, wait, please, let me explain..."
But she was already walking. Moving away from me. Escaping before I could say anything, anything at all.
I stood there, in the middle of the hallway, with students passing by as if nothing had happened, as if my world hadn’t fallen apart in the last five minutes.
Students looked at me. Some with curiosity. Others with pity.
I didn’t care.
I could only think of one thing.
Wonbin.
The anger started to grow in my chest, hot and dangerous.
How dare he? How dare he get into my relationship? Tell Emi things that weren’t her business? Ruin everything?
I took out my phone and texted Emi:
Anton: Please, let me explain. We need to talk, please listen to me.
The messages stayed on delivered. Not read.
I tried calling her. Voicemail.
Damn it.
I had to go to class. I had history in five minutes.
But I didn’t care about class. I didn’t care about anything except fixing this.
And before fixing this, I needed to confront Wonbin.
I needed him to tell me why. Why he had done it. What he gained from this.
I walked around campus like a man possessed, looking for him in the usual places. The practice room. The cafeteria. The music studio.
Nothing.
I finally found him in the second-floor lockers hallway, putting books in his backpack, completely calm as if he hadn’t just destroyed my life.
I didn’t think.
I just acted.
I grabbed him by surprise, taking him by the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the lockers with more force than I knew I had.
Wonbin turned, surprised for a second, before that characteristic calm returned to his face.
"Chanyoung" he said, my name sounding almost bored in his mouth. "Good morning to you too."
"Why did you do it?" the words came out more broken than I wanted. "Why did you go tell Emi about Jiwoo? Why are you getting into my relationship?"
Wonbin didn’t even flinch. He took his time, removing my hands from his shirt with a calm that infuriated me even more, and then closed the zipper of his backpack with a slowness that seemed agonizing.
"I didn’t get into anything, Chanyoung" he said finally, looking at me with those eyes that always made me feel small. "I just filled a void you left."
He shrugged, as if this were a conversation about the weather.
"If that girl is just a friend or “someone you took home out of courtesy,” why does it affect you so much that she knows?"
"Because she’s my girlfriend!" the frustration made me raise my voice more than I intended. "I was going to tell her when the time was right. She didn’t have to find out from you and like that. Things got completely misinterpreted."
"Ah, the right time" he repeated with a crooked smile, almost mocking. "And when was that time going to be? After she figured out on her own that you hide things from her because you’re scared she won’t believe you?"
Wonbin took a step toward me, invading my personal space. He didn’t touch me, but his presence was so heavy it felt like a physical blow.
I stayed static, my back almost brushing against the cold lockers, feeling how my height—normally something that made me feel at least physically safe—meant nothing in front of the absolute confidence he emanated.
"Relax, Chanyoung" he said in an almost paternal tone that made my blood boil.
He stretched out his hand and brushed off a nonexistent speck of dust from my jacket. The gesture was falsely kind, condescending.
"If there’s nothing wrong with what you did, why hide it?"
He paused, letting the question float between us while his dark eyes scanned me as if he could see every one of my insecurities.
"Think about it: he continued, his voice soft but lethal. "Maybe you’re not angry at me for telling her... you’re angry at yourself because you know that, if you didn’t tell her anything, it’s because deep down you feel like you’re failing her. I just saved her the time of waiting for an honesty you didn’t dare to give her."
I clenched my fists, feeling the rage burning my throat, but the words got stuck.
Because a part of me—a small, horrible, honest part—knew he was right.
Before I could react, Wonbin gave me two soft, almost mocking pats on the cheek.
"Good luck with the explanation" he said over his shoulder as he walked past me. "You’re going to need it."
And he simply left.
Leaving me standing there, with his perfume still in the air, a bitter emptiness in my stomach, and a thousand unanswered questions.
I didn’t go to class.
I couldn’t.
I walked aimlessly around campus until my legs took me to the green area behind the library. A quiet place where almost no one went.
I let myself fall under a big tree, with my back against the rough trunk, staring at the grass in front of me without really seeing it.
What had just happened?
24 hours ago, we were happy. Everything was perfect.
And now...
Now she thought I had lied to her. That I had hidden things from her. That I wasn’t trustworthy.
And the worst part was that she was right.
I had lied to her about the punch.
I hadn’t told her about Jiwoo.
And yes, there were reasons for both. Good reasons.
How did Emi find out?
Obviously Wonbin told her about Jiwoo. That was clear. But the punch? No one knew about that. Not even the guys.
It didn’t matter how she found out. What mattered was that I had lied to her.
And Wonbin was right.
That was the part that hurt the most. That that manipulative and meddling dwarf was right.
I didn’t want Emi to know about the bullying because I didn’t want her to see me as weak. Because I didn’t want to ruin our perfect date with my drama. Because I was ashamed to admit that they had hit me for defending her and I couldn’t do anything about it. Ashamed that she would realize I was still the same pathetic guy I had been before meeting her.
But by lying to her, I had only proven that I was still that guy. The coward who hid things instead of facing them.
And Jiwoo... Jiwoo meant nothing. Literally nothing. I had helped a classmate who needed a ride home. A favor I would have done for anyone. There was no flirting. There was nothing suspicious.
But I didn’t tell her.
And that...
That made it look like something I was hiding.
Like it was a secret.
I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with myself.
Why didn’t I tell her?
It would have been so simple. “Hey, yesterday I helped a classmate with a ride home. Her name is Jiwoo. I accidentally hit her with a soccer ball.” That was it. Thirty seconds of conversation.
But I didn’t.
And now Emi thought... what? That there was something between Jiwoo and me? That I was cheating on her?
God.
And Wonbin... damn Wonbin.
The way he had said everything. So calm. So sure of himself.
“If there’s nothing wrong with what you did, why hide it?”
“You’re angry at yourself because you know you’re failing her.”
Was I failing Emi?
I felt the tears starting to sting in my eyes. I held them back hard, clenching my fists against my knees.
I wasn’t going to cry.
Not here. Not now.
But the helplessness was overwhelming. The guilt was eating me alive.
How was I supposed to explain something I didn’t even fully understand myself? How was I supposed to tell her “I lied because I was scared” without sounding like a coward?
But the only thing I could do was stay seated here, under this stupid tree, feeling everything crumble around me.
I took out my phone. My messages to Emi were still unread.
I wrote her another one:
Anton: Please let’s talk…. I know I fucked up.
Delivered. Not read.
Damn it.
And now what?
How was I going to fix this?
How was I going to prove to her that I wasn’t lying to her, that there was nothing with Jiwoo, that the reasons I didn’t tell her made sense?
How was I going to regain her trust when I wasn’t even sure I deserved it?
The tears finally came. Hot and furious, rolling down my cheeks as I sat there, feeling more alone than ever.
Because yesterday I had thought I finally had something good. Someone who saw me. Who accepted me.
And in less than 24 hours, I had lost it.
Not because of Wonbin, even though I hated that he got involved.
But because of me.
Because of my lies. Because of my secrets. Because I wasn’t brave enough to be completely honest with the person I loved.
"Anton?"
I lifted my head abruptly, quickly wiping away the tears.
Shotaro was standing in front of me, with a worried expression.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, sitting next to me without waiting for an invitation. "You didn’t go to class."
"I couldn’t" my voice came out hoarse.
"What happened?"
And there, under that tree, with my friend sitting beside me, I finally let everything out.
I told him about Jiwoo. About the punch. About the lies. About Wonbin. About Emi.
About how I had ruined everything.
Shotaro listened in silence, without interrupting, just letting the words flow.
When I finished, he put a hand on my shoulder.
"There’s a lot I have to tell you" he said simply. "But first, you need to breathe. And then, you need to talk to her. Really talk."
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if Emi would want to listen.
note hiiii! I don't know what's going on with the masterlist, it won't let me add the new chapters! to read the previous chapters, search #midnight rain anton pls!
Anton
6:47 AM. The alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.
I stared at the ceiling of my room, heart already racing even though technically it was still way too early to be awake on a Saturday. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. Not when today was the day.
The date. The real date. The one I’d been planning in my head for days.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, ignoring the messages from the guys in the group chat (probably Sohee sending memes again at 2 AM or collecting for the food we ordered during one of the rehearsals), and opened Google Maps.
I needed everything to be perfect.
I spent the next hour doing exactly that: researching like my life depended on it. Tab after tab in Chrome—reviews of places outside the city, Instagram photos with city hashtags, student forums recommending romantic spots, travel blogs.
I’d considered a fancy restaurant, but it felt too formal, too forced. I wanted somewhere we could actually talk, without waiters interrupting every five minutes or people staring.
The movies crossed my mind, but what was the point of sitting in silence for two hours?
The central park was pretty, but it was always packed in the afternoons—families, kids running around, street vendors. No, I needed something more… intimate. Private.
And then I saw it.
An Instagram photo from a senior student: a small lake surrounded by trees whose leaves were just starting to change color with autumn. The water was so clear you could see the stones at the bottom near the shore. There was a perfect grassy spot for a picnic, and almost no one in the photo—just peace, nature, quiet.
The caption read: “Incredible hidden gem. Best place to disconnect 🏞️”
Perfect.
I read every comment, searched for more photos of the place, checked Google Maps for directions. Easy access, parking available, and according to reviews, Wednesdays were almost empty because most people preferred the bigger, more famous lakes.
We could swim. I’d always loved swimming—it was the one thing I’d actually been really good at as a kid back in Korea. My mom enrolled me in swim classes when I was five, and even though I didn’t do it competitively anymore, water had always been my refuge. My place to think, to feel free.
I wanted to share that with Emi. The idea started taking shape in my head: a picnic by the lake, swimming together, maybe watching the sunset if the weather held. Simple but meaningful. Personal.
I smiled just imagining it.
But then the nerves hit me like a wave.
What if she didn’t like it? What if she thought it was boring? What if she wanted something more… I don’t know, exciting? What if it was cold and the water was freezing and we ended up miserable instead of romantic?
I shook my head. No. I had to trust my gut.
I got out of bed, still in pajamas, and went downstairs to the kitchen with my phone in hand. My mom was already awake (she always got up early to work out), making coffee with that fancy machine my dad bought her last year.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said without looking up. “Why are you up so early?”
“I’m going out with the guys from… the band,” I answered, opening the fridge. “We’re thinking of heading to a lake to hang out.”
“That’s nice,” my mom smiled. “I’m glad you have friends to go out with. Need help with anything?”
“Well… I was going to make sandwiches, but…”
“I’ll help you,” she said immediately, standing up. “You can’t take badly made sandwiches.”
We spent the next hour in the kitchen. My mom made perfectly cut chicken sandwiches, wrapped fruit, packed homemade cookies. I handled the drinks.
Watching her work with so much care, preparing food for “the guys,” I felt a sharp pang of guilt. I was lying to her.
I was going with Emi.
But I wasn’t ready to tell her. I didn’t know how to explain what Emi meant to me when I didn’t fully understand it myself.
When I went back upstairs to change, I looked in the mirror.
The bruise on my nose was still there. Smaller than yesterday, yes… but impossible to ignore. It had turned a sickly yellowish-green, like a wound that no longer screamed but still refused to be silent. It was the mark of that punch. The silent proof of something that should never have happened.
I lied.
To my parents. To Junyoung.
I said I slipped in the shower, that it was clumsiness, carelessness. A stupid fall.
I didn’t say someone had raised a hand to me.
I didn’t say the hit wasn’t an accident.
I didn’t say it hurt more inside than outside.
And now that bruise, even as it faded, seemed to stare back at me every morning like it knew the truth.
Like it was reminding me that lies leave marks too.
I couldn’t let Emi see it like this. I couldn’t explain what really happened. Not today…
I went into my mom’s bathroom and rummaged through her makeup bag until I found concealer. I’d never worn makeup in my life, but I’d seen her do it a few times.
I applied it clumsily over the bruise, blending it with my fingers until it looked… acceptable. Not perfect, but disguised enough that it wasn’t obvious.
Just for today. Just so this day could be perfect.
It was 12:30 PM. I still had an hour and a half before picking Emi up.
I took a long shower, trying to calm my nerves. I changed clothes three times before settling on dark jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a denim jacket in case it got cooler. Nothing too dressed up, but not sloppy either.
I put on a little cologne—not too much, just enough. I combed my hair to the side, then messed it up because it looked too formal, then combed it again.
Junyoung walked past my room and saw me in front of the mirror, clearly lost.
“You’re still getting ready? You’ve been at it for like twenty minutes.”
“Shut up.”
“You look good, bro. Stop stressing.”
“Doesn’t it look too casual? Maybe I should wear a button-up…”
“Anton. You look perfect. And even if you wore a potato sack, she’d think you look good because she likes you. That’s how this stuff works.”
He was right, but I still felt like I was about to take a final exam.
At 1:50 PM I texted her:
Good morning, beautiful. I’ll pick you up at 2.
Bring a swimsuit and something warm. It’s a surprise 💕
Her reply came almost instantly:
Swimsuit? Where are you taking me?
See you at 2 💕
The heart emoji made me grin like an idiot.
Before loading everything into the car, I spent almost half an hour talking to my mom. I had to convince her to let me drive it. It had been way too long since I’d driven; my parents didn’t let me take it regularly because I still didn’t have my full license—I could only use it on very special occasions.
So after promising I’d be extremely careful—and assuring her none of the guys (Emi) had another car to get there—I basically begged. In the end she gave in reluctantly and handed me the keys, not without one last warning.
I packed everything carefully in the car: the basket with the food my mom had prepared, the cooler with sodas and water, the blanket, towels, the sunscreen she insisted on packing even though I told her three times it wasn’t necessary. An extra hoodie in case it got cold at night.
I checked the trunk twice to make sure everything was secure. Then I started the engine.
The drive to Emi’s house took about twenty minutes from mine. Twenty minutes I spent in almost religious silence, hands gripping the wheel tightly, radio off because I couldn’t focus on anything except the pounding of my own heart.
Why was I so nervous?
I was on the secondary avenue when I saw it.
A flower stand on the side of the road, with buckets full of color. The light was red, so I stopped and stared without meaning to.
The bright flowers glowed under the morning sun.
I didn’t think twice. I parked at the next corner, walked back to the stand, and started looking at the bouquets like I knew what I was doing.
I knew nothing about flowers. But I thought it would be a nice touch, I wanted to surprise her.
The woman at the stand was older, hair pulled into a tight bun, apron stained green from stems. She looked at me with that infinite patience people who’ve seen a lot of confused young guys in front of their flowers have.
“Who’s it for?” she asked straight away.
“For… a girl,” I said, feeling completely ridiculous. “A date.”
“First date?”
“Not exactly. But it’s important.”
She nodded like that explained everything and started walking between the buckets.
“Roses are too predictable for a second date,” she said, almost to herself. “Tulips are pretty but too serious.” She stopped in front of a bucket full of round, cheerful flowers in shades of orange, yellow, and white. “What do you think of these?”
“What are they?”
“Gerberas.” She took them with expert hands, forming a small bouquet as she spoke. “They mean joy and admiration. They say: I’m glad you exist. I’m not declaring eternal love, but you matter to me a lot.”
Something about that description felt exactly right.
“I’ll take them.”
The woman smiled, satisfied, and kept building the bouquet. She mixed oranges and whites with some green stems and a big leaf in the back for volume without making it flashy.
“Do you know what you’re going to say when you give them to her?” she asked as she wrapped the bouquet in cellophane.
“No,” I admitted honestly.
She laughed, a short, kind laugh.
“Better that way. The most beautiful things are never planned.”
I paid her, thanked her more times than necessary, and walked back to the car holding the bouquet, feeling a little less lost than before.
I stored the flowers carefully in the trunk, wrapping them in the extra hoodie so they wouldn’t get damaged. I covered them well, like they were a secret.
And I kept driving.
At 1:58 PM I arrived at Emi’s street and parked in front of her house.
I called her.
It rang twice before she answered.
“I’m here,” I said, and my voice came out calmer than I felt. “I’m outside.”
“Coming down.”
I hung up. I got out of the car, leaned against the passenger door, and waited with my hands in my jacket pockets.
Her front door opened.
And I completely forgot how to breathe.
Emi was wearing a summer dress in purple. Not elegant or formal—just light and simple, with thin straps and a skirt that hit a few centimeters above the knee. She’d left her hair loose, falling over her shoulders in that natural way I loved so much. She had a small backpack on her shoulder and flat ballet flats.
It was the first time I’d seen her like this.
I’d always seen her in black, jeans and hoodies, in that armor of dark colors that was so recognizably her. But this was different. The purple looked perfect on her, made her skin glow under the afternoon sun, and there was something about the way she walked toward me— a little slower than usual, like she was nervous too— that twisted my stomach in the best possible way.
I’d never seen her so… feminine. So soft. So Emi, but in a completely new way.
I turned red before she even reached me. I felt it in my cheeks, my ears, my neck.
She stopped in front of me and looked at me with that serious expression she sometimes got when she was processing something internally. Her eyes scanned my face for a second, and something crossed her expression I couldn’t quite read.
I didn’t give her time to say anything.
I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Quick, soft, like a greeting that said everything I didn’t know how to put into words right then.
When I pulled back, her serious expression had softened a little.
“Ready?” I asked.
A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.
“Ready.”
I opened the passenger door for her, waited until she settled in, and walked around the car trying to convince myself I could survive the rest of the day without completely melting.
The drive was exactly what I needed.
The first few minutes were quiet. Emi looked out the window with that distant expression she sometimes had, and I focused on driving without saying anything, letting the silence breathe between us.
I put on music low. A playlist I’d thrown together that morning without overthinking, mixing songs I liked with ones I’d heard her hum. Some indie tracks we’d both mentioned in conversation at some point.
When a song we both knew started playing, Emi turned her head toward me.
“I like this one,” she said simply.
“Me too.”
And something relaxed in the air between us.
We started talking about small things. A movie Emi had watched the night before. A ridiculous message Sohee had sent to the RIIZE group chat at 2 a.m. How much we hated Mondays and how inexplicably good Fridays felt when classes ended.
At some point, without planning it, Emi started singing along to the music.
Badly. Completely on purpose.
She changed the lyrics, made up words when she didn’t remember them, did a ridiculous falsetto on the bridge that almost made me swerve out of the lane from laughing.
“That was awful,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“It was an artistic interpretation,” she replied with total seriousness.
“It was a crime against music.”
“Says the guy who plays bass.”
I laughed so hard I had to wait at the next red light for a few seconds before I could focus again. Emi was laughing too—that genuine, slightly out-of-control laugh she only let out when her guard was down.
At the next red light, without thinking too much, I leaned toward her.
She met my lips halfway.
It was a short kiss, the kind that lasts exactly as long as a red light before turning green. But when I started driving again, we were both smiling at the windshield like idiots.
And that’s how the drive went. Conversation, music, comfortable silences, the occasional stolen kiss at every red light. Emi gradually relaxed—her shoulders dropped, her answers got longer, more spontaneous.
But there were moments, intermittent and brief, when I saw her go still suddenly. Like a word or a silence reminded her of something she was trying not to think about. Her eyes drifted to the window for a second and her expression turned more serious.
“Everything okay?” I asked the first time I noticed.
“Yeah,” she answered, with a smile that arrived a little late. “Everything’s fine.”
The second time, I didn’t ask. I just put my hand over hers on the seat, and she intertwined her fingers with mine without saying anything.
That was enough for now.
When the city streets started giving way to wider roads and buildings turned into trees, Emi sat up a little.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, looking out the window with genuine curiosity.
“We’re almost there.”
“That answers nothing.”
“I know.”
She gave me a mock-exasperated look that made me smile.
Ten minutes later, I took the dirt turnoff I’d marked on Maps that morning. The car moved slowly between the trees, following a narrow path that wound through increasingly dense vegetation.
And then the lake appeared.
The water shimmered like silver under the afternoon sun, surrounded by trees that had started changing color. There was still some green, but also oranges, yellows, and reds reflected on the still surface. The sky was that deep, clean blue that only shows up on perfect days.
There was a flat, shaded area by the shore covered in short grass, perfect for spreading the blanket.
And no one else was there.
I parked and turned to Emi.
Her eyes were wide, staring at the lake through the windshield. Her lips were slightly parted. She wasn’t saying anything.
“What do you think?” I asked, even though her face already gave me the answer.
“Anton…” she said, and her voice came out different. Softer. More genuine. “This is beautiful.”
Something in my chest inflated like someone had blown air into it.
“I wanted a place where there was no one else,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. “Just for us.”
She looked at me for a second with that expression I could never fully decipher. There was something in her eyes that looked a lot like wanting to say something and deciding not to.
But she smiled. And that smile was real.
“You chose well,” she said.
We got out of the car. The air smelled like damp earth and leaves, and the sound of water gently lapping the shore filled the silence in a way that felt alive. Emi stood for a moment with her eyes closed, breathing deeply.
I watched her without saying anything.
Then we spread the blanket together, arranged the food, set the cooler to the side. Emi helped with quiet efficiency, without me having to ask for anything, and seeing her there—in this place I’d chosen, in that purple dress with her hair moving in the lake breeze—made me think that if the world ended right then, I wouldn’t mind so much.
When everything was ready, we stood by the water for a moment.
“Swim first?” I asked.
Emi looked at the lake.
“Is it cold?”
“Probably.”
“And you still want to get in?”
“With you, yes.”
She glanced at me sideways with a smile she tried—and failed—to hide.
“Okay,” she said. “But if I freeze, it’s your fault.”
We changed facing away from each other, with that adorable awkwardness of two people who like each other a lot but are still figuring out the boundaries of shared space. I took off my shirt and jeans without overthinking, left in the navy swim trunks I’d brought.
When I turned around, Emi was still facing away, carefully folding her dress over the blanket.
And then she turned.
The swimsuit was yellow. A bright yellow that contrasted perfectly with her skin, two-piece, simple but making me have to actively remind myself it wasn’t polite to stare with my mouth open.
I looked away immediately. Fixed my gaze on the lake, the trees, the clouds—anything that wasn’t Emi standing in front of me in a yellow swimsuit. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with my stare.
My face was completely red. I knew it without needing a mirror.
“Ready?” she asked, in that casual tone she used when she knew exactly the effect she had and chose to ignore it.
“Ready,” I said, looking at the water.
We started walking toward the shore, and that’s when I heard her make a surprised sound beside me.
“Hey.”
I turned.
She was looking at me. But not at my face.
Her eyes were on my abs, and not exactly discreetly.
She realized I’d caught her exactly half a second after I realized it. Color rushed to her cheeks instantly, and she looked away toward the lake with an expression of forced innocence.
“The water looks nice,” she said, like nothing happened.
“Uh-huh,” I said, smiling.
“Very… clear.”
“Sure.”
“Let’s go,” she said, walking faster toward the water, clearly wanting to bury the conversation.
I dipped my foot in and the cold shot up my leg like an electric shock.
“It’s freezing,” I said.
“You said that already.”
“Yeah, but now I feel it.”
Emi dipped her foot in and let out a sound that was half laugh, half complaint.
“It’s awful!”
“We have to go in fast. All at once.”
“That’s what people say right before they regret it.”
I took her hand.
“Trust me.”
She looked at me for a second. And nodded.
“On three,” I said. “One.”
“Two,” she continued, squeezing my hand.
“Three!”
We jumped together.
The cold was absolute and total. A second of pure panic as the body processed the temperature, then adrenaline, then laughter. Emi surfaced screaming and laughing at the same time, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide.
“You’re insane!” she yelled, splashing me with her hand.
“You said you trusted me!” I said, dodging the water.
“I trusted and now I’m frozen!”
“Move, your body will get used to it!”
We started swimming to warm up, circling each other, splashing mercilessly. The initial cold turned into something more manageable—that refreshing, alive feeling only natural water gives. The sun warmed the surface and the breeze moved the leaves around us.
Emi clung to me like a koala the moment she stopped moving enough.
“You’re warm,” she said, wrapping herself around my arm. “Stay still.”
“If I stay still I’ll freeze too.”
“I don’t care.”
I laughed and let her stay, though I kept moving slowly to keep my temperature up. She had her cheek on my shoulder, arms around my waist, half-floating, eyes half-closed under the sun.
“Bet you can’t beat me swimming,” I said after a while.
She opened one eye.
“Excuse me?”
“A race. From here to that rock”—I pointed to a flat rock sticking out of the surface about twenty meters away. “Winner chooses the music for the drive back.”
She detached from my arm and looked at me with that competitive spark that lit up in her eyes whenever someone challenged her.
“Deal.”
“I’ll give you a head start.”
“I don’t need a head start.”
“Emi, I’ve been swimming since I was five.”
“And I have determination.”
She shot off before I finished the sentence.
She swam with pure energy and zero technique—wide, messy strokes that threw up more water than necessary but propelled her forward with an intensity that made me smile. The determination wasn’t a lie.
But ten years of training wasn’t either.
I caught up calmly, glided past her smoothly, and touched the rock about five seconds before she did.
Emi arrived panting and looked at me with an expression that was half fury, half laughter.
“That wasn’t fair.”
“It was completely fair.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m a monster who gets to choose the music.”
I taught her to float afterward. She’d never done it well, always tensing the moment the water covered her ears, so I held her with one hand under her back and the other under her legs, talking to her slowly, telling her to breathe, not to think about sinking.
“Let go,” she said after a moment.
“I let go a minute ago.”
Her eyes snapped open. She was floating alone, arms spread, hair fanning around her head, staring at the sky.
“Oh,” she said.
“Oh,” I repeated.
She smiled up at the blue sky, that smile she saved for moments when something pleasantly surprised her. And I watched her float for a few seconds I keep like they’re mine.
We played longer than I’d planned. Races I won every time, water wars Emi won through sheer willpower and zero scruples, quiet moments where we just floated together looking at the sky. She kissed me twice in the water—quick, cold, perfect kisses with the taste of the lake on our lips and the sound of wind in the trees.
At one point I lifted her, hands on her waist, and spun her while she clung to my shoulders laughing nonstop.
“Stop! You’re gonna make me dizzy!”
“Five more!”
“One more!”
“Three!”
“One and a half!”
I stopped. Both of us panting, water up to our waists, laughing at nothing and everything.
And for a second I just looked at her.
The afternoon sun hit her from the side, making her wet skin glow and her eyes take on that lighter shade they got in direct light. Her hair was completely soaked and flattened, her morning eyeliner had run a little, and she looked absolutely incredible.
Incredible for real. Incredible in the way that matters.
Something inside me flipped so hard I had to take a deep breath.
“What?” she asked, noticing I was staring.
“Nothing,” I said. “You’re pretty.”
She turned red instantly. Looked away toward the water with that pretend-she-didn’t-hear expression she used when something affected her more than she wanted to show.
“You’re exaggerating,” she murmured.
“I’m not exaggerating at all.”
She didn’t say anything else. But she didn’t move away either.
We got out of the water when the sun was lower, skin goosebumped and lips slightly purple from the cold. Emi hugged herself the second she stepped out, shivering dramatically.
“Stay here,” I said. “I’ll get the towels, I left them in the car.”
“Hurry,” she said, teeth chattering theatrically.
I ran barefoot across the grass to the car, opened the trunk, and there were the towels folded exactly where I’d put them.
And under the hoodie, the gerbera bouquet.
I stood there for a moment, towels in hand, flowers in front of me.
My heart started beating differently. Not exactly nerves. Something more urgent than that.
I took the bouquet. Took the towels. Took a deep breath.
And walked back to the lake.
Emi had already come fully out of the water and was sitting on the blanket, knees pulled to her chest, looking at the lake. The afternoon sun bathed her in golden light that made everything around her look like it came from a photograph.
She saw me coming. Saw the towels. And then saw the flowers.
Her expression changed instantly. Eyes widened, mouth parted slightly.
“What…?”
I knelt in front of her on the grass, still wet and hair dripping, probably looking like the most ridiculous human on the planet, and draped a towel over her shoulders with one arm before holding out the bouquet.
“They’re gerberas,” I said, and my voice sounded calmer than I felt inside. “They mean joy and admiration. The lady at the stand explained it to me.”
Emi took the flowers slowly, like she was afraid of breaking something. She looked at them for a moment. Oranges and whites, exactly as I’d chosen.
And then she hugged me.
Without a word, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. I wrapped mine around her, still kneeling in the grass, the bouquet crushed between us and the towel slipping off her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured against my neck.
“You like them?”
“I love them.”
I pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were bright. Not crying, but close.
We sat together on the blanket, sharing the towel over our shoulders, the bouquet between us, looking at the lake in silence for a moment.
And that’s when I felt it.
That certainty that doesn’t come from the brain but from somewhere deeper. That now-or-never feeling that has no logical explanation but you recognize the second it appears.
If I didn’t say it today, when?
There was no perfect moment. The flower lady had said it that morning without knowing she was giving me the best advice of my life: the most beautiful things are never planned.
I rubbed my hands on my thighs. They were sweaty. Absurdly sweaty considering I’d been in freezing water two minutes ago.
“Emi,” I said.
“Hm?”
“There’s something I…” I stopped. Started again. “I want to tell you something.”
She looked at me. There was something in her eyes I couldn’t read right then—something between attention and fear.
I rubbed my hands again. She saw and reached for one of them.
I pulled it back gently.
“Sorry, they’re sweaty,” I murmured, completely embarrassed.
“I don’t care, Anton.”
“I do,” I said, because I needed my hands to stop shaking before I did this.
I took a deep breath. Looked at my intertwined fingers in my lap. And started talking before fear could win.
“To be honest, I didn’t plan any of this, really. The flowers I bought on the way because I saw them at a stand and thought of you, and what I’m about to say now wasn’t in any plan either. But if I keep it in one more minute I think I’ll break inside.”
I looked up. She didn’t look away.
“I like you so much that sometimes I don’t know what to do with it. I like you in the way you like something when you can’t imagine not having it anymore. I like you for how you laugh when something’s really funny, without holding back. For how you defend the things that matter, even when they don’t benefit you. For how hard you work without asking anyone for credit. For how you look at me sometimes, like I’m something worth looking at, and that… that’s something no one’s ever made me feel before.”
My voice was shaking. I couldn’t help it.
“I know we’re just starting. I know there are things we still don’t know about each other and things that are going to be hard. But I want to go through all of it with you. Not with someone. With you specifically.”
I paused.
“Do you want… Do you want to be my girlfriend? Official. For real.”
The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough to make me sweat even more.
Emi’s expression was unreadable. Not bad, but not the immediate smile part of me had imagined either. It was something more complex. Like she was processing several things at once, things I couldn’t see.
And then she kissed me.
It wasn’t a quick or soft kiss. It was a kiss that said something, that had weight, that came with both hands on my face and all her focus right there.
When she pulled back, she was slightly breathless.
“Yes,” she said. And then, with a smile that formed slowly, like she was surprised to feel it—“Yes, I want to.”
I laughed. A pure relief laugh I couldn’t control, that came from somewhere in my chest that had been tight since morning.
I hugged her. She let herself be hugged, face against my neck and the gerbera bouquet still in her hand, and we stayed like that for a moment—wet, cold, and completely happy, with the lake shining in front of us and the sun setting behind the trees.
“You’re so cheesy,” she said against my shoulder.
“I’m your cheesy.”
“That sounded worse.”
“I know.”
We laughed together, and that laugh was the best part of the whole day.
We ate when the sun was at its lowest, blanket spread out and food between us. Emi tried the chicken sandwich and closed her eyes dramatically.
“This is incredible. Did you make this?”
“My mom helped,” I admitted.
“Tell her I’ll marry her.”
We kept eating and playing when Emi leaned over to grab a grape, and the sunlight hit my face at the same time.
Her eyes stopped.
“Hey…” she said slowly, frowning. “What’s on your nose?”
My stomach dropped to the floor.
“What? Nothing.”
“Anton.” Her voice was serious now, and she reached out to gently touch the bridge of my nose with her fingers. I tensed involuntarily. “It’s a little swollen. And there’s something… are you wearing makeup?”
“No… it’s nothing,” I repeated, pulling my face away slightly.
“What happened?”
The way she asked—direct but soft—made my chest tighten. I could have told her the truth right then. I could have told her everything: the bullies, the punch, the blood on my shirt, the message I sent lying that I was sick.
But I couldn’t. Not today. Not on this day I wanted to be perfect.
“It was Junyoung,” I said, forcing a smile. “We were messing around at home and he accidentally elbowed me in the face. He’s always moving around.”
Emi looked at me for a second longer than felt comfortable, like she was weighing the story.
“You sure?”
“Positive. It hurt my pride more than my nose, I swear.”
She let out a small laugh and went back to her food, though I noticed she gave me a quick glance before she did.
I smiled, grabbed a sandwich, and tried not to think about how easy it had been to lie to her.
How easy and how awful it felt at the same time.
I decided to keep playing with her to distract her and make her forget what she’d just noticed. We stole chips from each other’s plates, threw strawberries, invented a ridiculous game where you had to guess the secret ingredient in the sandwich with your eyes closed. Emi cheated by opening one eye and I pretended not to notice.
There were moments when I saw that thoughtful expression on her again. A second of distance that disappeared as quickly as it came. Like there was something spinning in the back of her mind that never quite came out.
I wanted to ask. But I also wanted to protect what we had in that moment, that perfect bubble, and I wasn’t sure asking was the right thing.
So I waited.
What came next was the part I wouldn’t know how to describe precisely, even if I tried.
We lay back on the blanket when the food was gone, looking at the sky that was starting to darken. The first stars appeared timidly, one by one, like they were waiting for someone to invite them.
Emi was lying on her back, arms at her sides. I was propped on one elbow beside her, looking at her more than at the sky.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“That I don’t remember the last time I was in a place with no noise,” she said, eyes still on the stars.
“You like it?”
“A lot.”
Silence.
“Hey,” she said after a moment. “When was the last time you did something just for you? Not for your family, not for RIIZE, not to look good for anyone. Just for you.”
The question caught me off guard.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “A long time ago.”
“Why?”
I thought about how to answer that honestly.
“Because in my house there’s a right way to do things,” I said slowly. “My dad has a very clear idea of what my life should be. What to study, what to achieve, how to behave. And for a long time I did it. Or tried to. Be the right son, the right student.”
“And music?”
“Music was the first thing I did for myself. The first time I said: this is what I want, not because someone expects it from me.”
Emi turned her head to look at me.
“Does your dad know?”
“He knows I play in a group. He doesn’t know how much it matters to me.”
“Why don’t you tell him?”
“Because when things really matter, I’m scared someone will break them.”
She kept looking at me for a moment. Then looked back at the stars.
“I get it,” she said quietly.
“Your family…?”
“My parents divorced when I was little,” she said, and her voice was flat, without drama, the way you talk about things you’ve already processed to the bone. “It wasn’t a peaceful separation, though to this day they sometimes… go back? Quiet was never a thing in my house. Growing up like that teaches you that love can turn into something that hurts if you’re not careful.”
“Is that why…?”
“Why I’m like this?” she finished. “Probably. At least partly.”
I moved a little closer. She didn’t pull away.
“Are you scared this will break too?” I asked.
It took her a while to answer.
“I’m scared I’ll break it,” she said.
I took her hand. This time she let it stay.
“You won’t break it,” I said.
“You can’t know that.”
“No, but I can believe it.”
We stayed quiet a while longer, hands intertwined on the blanket and the sky fully starry above us. The wind moved the leaves with a soft, steady sound, and the lake kept shining dark a few meters away.
And then Emi turned toward me.
The kiss that followed had none of the urgency of the earlier ones. It was slow and deliberate, the kind with no rush because there was nowhere else to go. Her fingers tangled in my hair and mine found her waist, and we stayed like that, lost in that quiet space where nothing else existed.
The kiss deepened gradually and naturally, like a tide rising without you being able to pinpoint the exact moment it started. She turned more toward me and I pulled her closer, and the world shrank to the sound of the lake and the warmth of having her near.
And then we both, almost at the same time, stopped.
Not because anything was wrong. But exactly the opposite.
Because something was very right, and we both knew it, and neither of us wanted to rush it. There was no need to say it out loud; we both understood.
We pulled apart slowly. Her eyes were still closed, and when she opened them she looked at me in that way of hers that always left me speechless.
And she smiled. That was one of the best moments of the day.
We packed up when the stars were many and the night cold started settling on our shoulders. We folded the blanket together, packed the food remnants, shook crumbs off the grass.
Emi carried the gerberas carefully through the whole process, like they were something she didn’t want damaged.
The drive back was different from the way there. Quieter. Fuller. Emi leaned back in her seat, flowers in her lap, head slightly tilted toward the window, watching the city lights get closer.
The music was low. I drove with one hand and held hers on one of her thighs with the other.
We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to.
But sometimes I caught her looking out with that expression I couldn’t fully decipher. Like there was something she wanted to say and kept choosing not to.
And I kept choosing not to ask.
When we reached her street, I parked in front of her door. The rain that had been threatening all afternoon finally started falling, soft and fine, drawing slow lines on the windshield.
I got out before she could say anything, walked around the car, and opened her door.
“Always doing that,” she said, stepping out and smiling at me shyly.
“Get used to it.”
We walked to her door under the light rain and the tiny drops wetting her hair. She still held the flowers against her chest.
At the door, I took her hand and gently turned her toward me.
“Today was the best day I’ve had in a long time,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Me too.”
And again that shadow in her eyes. That unspoken thing floating there.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Anton.” She smiled, and this time the smile was real, even if there was something more behind it. “I’m fine.”
I kissed her slowly, rain falling softly on both of us and the gerberas crushed between our bodies, and I felt like I could have stayed there all night without complaining.
When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead against hers.
“I... I love you...” I said. For the first time with those exact words. No euphemisms, no beating around the bush.
She closed her eyes for a second.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
I watched her go inside. Waited until the light in her room turned on. And only then did I go back to the car, under the rain, with a smile I couldn’t wipe off even if I wanted to.
We were boyfriend and girlfriend. Emi was my girlfriend.
The world could do whatever it wanted with that. I didn’t care.
note hello there! I don't know what's going on with the masterlist, it won't let me add the new chapters! to read the previous chapters, search #midnight rain anton, pls!
Emi
Hot water ran over my hands as I scrubbed a plate harder than necessary. Steam rose from the industrial sink, fogging my safety glasses a little, but I didn’t care. I was lost in my thoughts, replaying that morning’s scene with Anton over and over.
In the background, I could hear two coworkers talking. Rei, the afternoon-shift waitress, was speaking with Renjun, the cook, while she chopped vegetables for the daily special. Her voice carried that particular kind of frustration that only builds after months of holding something in.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore, Renjun,” she said. I could hear the knife hitting the cutting board harder than needed. “I feel like Daniel doesn’t really love me. He’s so… distant. So cold with me.”
Renjun sighed, and I heard the sound of a pot being stirred.
“Distant how?”
“Like he never tells me what he feels. Always with that invisible wall, you know? I say ‘I love you’ and he just nods. I hug him and he gets all stiff. It’s like hugging a statue. Like it’s hard for him to show affection, like… like he doesn’t actually care.”
My hand froze mid-motion. The plate slipped slightly between my soapy fingers.
“Maybe that’s just how he is,” Renjun replied in that tone people use when they’re trying to be optimistic but don’t fully believe it. “Some people just aren’t demonstrative.”
“But how do I know if he actually cares about me?” Rei’s voice cracked a little. “Relationships don’t work when one person is warm and the other is an iceberg. I feel like I’m loving alone, you know? Like I’m giving everything and he… nothing.”
I stood completely frozen, plate dripping in my hands, hot water burning my fingers without me really feeling it.
Cold. Distant. Iceberg.
The words rang in my head like alarm bells.
That was me with Anton.
Exactly like that.
Always pulling my hand away when he tried to hold it in public. Tensing up when he hugged me by surprise. Giving him quick cheek kisses instead of real ones. Laughing but never fully letting go, keeping that distance that made me feel safe, protected.
But protected from what? From him? From myself?
The knot in my stomach tightened until it almost hurt physically.
Was Anton feeling the way Rei felt? Did he doubt what I felt for him because I didn’t show it enough? Did he think I didn’t really love him, that I was only with him out of… what? Habit? Convenience?
“You should talk to him,” Renjun continued. “Tell him how it makes you feel. Maybe he doesn’t realize.”
“Or maybe he does realize and just doesn’t care,” Rei murmured, her voice sounding so tired, so defeated.
I set the plate in the drainer with trembling hands and grabbed another, scrubbing mechanically while my mind spiraled.
Maybe that was why Anton still hadn’t asked me to be his official girlfriend. We’d been acting like a couple for weeks— the whole campus saw us together— but he’d never said the words. Never made it official.
Was it because he thought I didn’t love him enough? Because he felt like he was giving more than he was getting?
My chest tightened with a mix of guilt and panic.
But I did love him. I loved him so much it scared me sometimes. So much that I didn’t know how to handle it, how to express it without feeling like I was exposing myself too much.
I grew up in a house where love was a weapon. Where “I love you” came with slammed doors and yelling. Where hugs were so rare that when my grandfather hugged me, I didn’t know what to do with my arms.
Of course I was cold. Of course I kept distance. It was the only way I knew to protect myself.
But Anton… Anton wasn’t my parents. Anton wasn’t my grandfather. Anton was different.
And maybe… maybe I needed to be different with him too.
I finished washing the dishes in silence, hands red from the hot water, mind full of questions I didn’t know how to answer.
Why was it so hard for me to open up? Was it just because of my parents, their constant chaos and toxic love? Or was I naturally like this— defective at love, incapable of giving what someone like Anton deserved?
When I left work, the afternoon sun hit me full in the face, blinding me for a moment. I blinked, adjusted my backpack on my shoulder, and walked toward campus with slow steps.
I needed to see Anton. I needed… to show him that he did matter to me.
The university entrance was packed with students leaving afternoon classes. I scanned for Anton, hoping to find him at our usual spot near the benches.
And there he was.
But he wasn’t alone.
He was waving goodbye to someone, a kind smile on his face. It was a girl with short black hair cut in a perfect bob that swayed gracefully when she turned her head. She wore clothes that looked expensive but not flashy— a brown sweater that probably cost more than my weekly paycheck— and she had a sweet, almost shy smile.
She looked… elegant. Refined. Like the kind of girl who would naturally belong in Anton’s world.
For a second, something cold stabbed through my chest. But I pushed it down.
Don’t be ridiculous, Emi. She’s probably just a classmate. Or from the music club. Anton has friends now. That’s good. That’s healthy. You can’t be jealous of every girl he talks to.
The girl walked away with light steps, and Anton stayed there, watching her go with that same kind expression he always had. There was nothing suspicious about it. It was just Anton being Anton: polite, nice to everyone.
I decided not to make a big deal out of it.
I approached from behind, feeling that sudden impulse again— the same one from this morning. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his back, inhaling the scent of his cologne mixed with a hint of sweat.
He tensed for a second, surprised, before turning in my arms.
“Emi,” he said, his voice full of that warmth that always melted me. His eyes lit up when he saw me, like I’d just given him the best gift in the world.
He gave me a soft kiss on the lips— shy, careful, like always in public. But this time I wasn’t satisfied with that.
I kissed him for real. Deep. Like I wanted to erase any doubt he might have about how I felt.
Anton froze for a moment, clearly shocked. His eyes widened before closing, and then he kissed me back with an intensity that stole my breath.
When we pulled apart, both of us were flushed. I could hear murmurs around us— students passing by, some whistling, others laughing.
“Wow,” Anton murmured, touching his lips like he couldn’t believe what just happened. “What… what was that?”
“I just wanted to kiss you,” I said, shrugging, trying to sound casual even though my heart was pounding like crazy.
His smile was so wide I thought his face might split.
“Do it more often then,” he joked, but there was something in his voice— a vulnerability— that made me realize how much those small gestures meant to him.
We walked to a bench under the cherry blossom trees, still holding hands. This time I didn’t pull away. I let it stay there, intertwined with his, warm and safe.
“How was work with the shift change today?” he asked, settling beside me so close our thighs touched.
“Fine. Boring,” I lied, because I didn’t want to talk about the conversation that had left a knot in my stomach. “And your classes?”
“Interesting. Well, some of them. Math was a disaster as usual,” he laughed, running his thumb over my knuckles in a distracted gesture that made me shiver. “But I’m excited for tonight’s rehearsal. I think Wonbin and Shotaro finally agreed on the arrangement.”
He mentioned Wonbin so casually, but something twisted in my stomach.
“Is Wonbin still acting weird?”
Anton hesitated for a second.
“A little, yeah. I don’t know what’s up with him lately. It’s like… I don’t know, like he’s upset about something but doesn’t want to say what.”
I nodded, not knowing what to say. Wonbin had always made me feel… uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, but in a way I couldn’t name.
“Hey, want to have lunch together after my last class?” Anton asked, squeezing my hand. “There’s this new Turkish food stall I want to try.”
“Sure,” I answered, smiling genuinely.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t look for an excuse to avoid spending more time with him. For the first time, I just wanted to be with him.
He walked me to my classroom, moving slowly like he didn’t want the moment to end. At the door, he gave me another kiss— shorter this time, but just as sweet.
“See you soon, pretty,” he whispered against my lips.
I watched him walk down the hallway, his stride more confident since joining the music club. He was no longer the hunched, solitary boy I met at the beginning of the semester. Now he walked with his head up, greeting some classmates as he passed.
Everything seemed perfect.
Almost too perfect.
Anton
The hallway was packed with students leaving afternoon classes, a sea of backpacks and overlapping conversations. My mind was still on Emi, on that kiss she’d given me.
That kiss had been different. More intense. More… public. Like she’d decided to break through some invisible barrier she always kept between us.
I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. Some classmates gave me weird looks as they passed, but I didn’t care.
Maybe things were finally changing for the better. Maybe Emi was finally opening up to me.
I was so lost in thought I almost didn’t see them.
But there they were.
The usual bullies, leaning against the wall near the bathrooms, laughing at something on one of their phones. Three of them: Mark, the only one I could identify by name, the leader with his rat face and cruel smile; the huge one who looked like a walking wardrobe; and the skinny one who always had something stupid to say.
I tried to walk past without looking, head down, praying they wouldn’t notice me.
But of course they did.
“Look who’s coming,” Mark said, pushing off the wall to block my path. “The Asian rockstar.”
I stopped, feeling my stomach drop.
“Let me through,” I muttered, trying to go around them.
Mark blocked the other side.
“Feeling popular now that you’re in a loser band?” he continued, with that fake smile I hated so much. “Look at him, he has friends now. How cute. And even a girlfriend.”
My jaw clenched. I didn’t answer, staring at the floor.
“Hey, serious question,” the big one said, stepping way too close, his breath smelling like cigarettes. “You already hitting that?”
The world stopped for a second.
“What?” I barely managed to say.
“Your girlfriend. The one who defended you like you’re her little puppy,” Mark laughed, and the others joined in. “She probably only wants you for that, to feel like she’s ‘protecting’ you. Like a little boy with his mommy.”
“Or the other way around,” the skinny one added. “You’re using her to save your ass when we beat you up.”
Something hot and dark rose in my chest. My hands curled into fists.
“Don’t talk about her,” I said, my voice coming out lower and more dangerous than I intended.
“Or what?” Mark stepped closer, so close I could see the red veins in his eyes. “You gonna cry? Run to your little girlfriend so she can defend you again?”
“I bet she’s using him,” the big one said with a disgusting laugh. “A girl like that, with that ‘I don’t care about anything’ attitude… she probably just wants a submissive Asian guy who does whatever she says. Bet she’s wild in bed though. Those types always are.”
I didn’t think.
My body reacted before my brain could catch up.
I shoved Mark with all the strength I had, sending him stumbling backward.
“DON’T TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT!” I yelled, and my voice sounded strange even to me— desperate and furious.
For a second, everyone froze. The big one stared at me with wide eyes, shocked that I’d actually pushed him.
And then everything exploded.
The skinny one grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall so hard the air rushed out of my lungs. My back hit the concrete, sending waves of pain up my spine.
“Big mistake, china man,” Mark hissed, stepping closer.
I tried to push them off, to defend myself, but there were three of them and one of me. They were bigger, stronger, and they knew how to fight.
I didn’t.
The big one pinned me against the wall while Mark approached, that cruel smile still on his face.
“You know what? I think you need to learn a lesson about respecting your superiors.”
The fist came so fast I barely saw it.
It hit my nose with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded across my face, hot and sharp, radiating to my eyes and forehead. I felt something warm running over my upper lip.
Blood.
A lot of blood.
My eyes filled with involuntary tears from the impact. I tried to cover my face, but I only felt someone holding my arms.
“That’s for being an idiot,” Mark said, shaking out his hand. “And this…”
He raised his fist again, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the next hit.
But then I heard voices.
“What’s going on here?”
“Hey, teachers are coming.”
“Shit, let’s go.”
The big one released me so suddenly I almost fell. The three of them scattered quickly, muttering curses, disappearing into the crowd of students starting to pour out of a nearby classroom.
I stayed there, against the wall, nose bleeding onto my white shirt, gasping, trying not to throw up from the pain.
Some students glanced at me as they passed— some concerned, others with morbid curiosity— but no one stopped. No one asked if I was okay.
I touched my nose with trembling fingers. It was already swelling, hot and throbbing. Probably not broken, but it hurt like hell.
What the hell just happened?
I felt humiliated. Weak. Pathetic.
Three against one and I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even defend myself. Just stood there like a punching bag while they hit me.
And all because they mentioned Emi.
Emi.
Shit.
We were supposed to have lunch together. She’d be waiting for me in half an hour.
But I couldn’t let her see me like this. Not now. Not with my face swollen and bloody, shirt stained red, pride in pieces.
Not when in a few days we had our special date. Our first real date… I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted her to see me strong, confident, like the kind of guy who deserved to be with her.
Not this bloody, trembling mess.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, smearing blood on the screen. It took three tries to unlock it properly.
I typed the message quickly, before I could change my mind:
“Emi, sorry, I suddenly started feeling really sick. I think I ate something bad at breakfast and threw up.
My stomach hurts a lot.
Can we just meet Wednesday for our date instead? I’m really sorry 😞 I wanted to spend time with you today so bad but I feel awful.”
I read it twice. It sounded believable, right? Detailed but not too much. Concerned but not alarming.
I hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots that would show she was typing.
They appeared after a minute.
“Are you okay?
Want me to come see you?
I can bring you medicine or something”
My chest tightened with guilt.
“No, but thank you so much, I really appreciate it. I just need to rest. I’ll text you later, okay? 💕”
“Okay… take care of yourself. Let me know if you need anything”
“I will. Thanks, pretty.”
I put the phone away and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, not caring about the curious stares from passing students.
How much longer? How much longer could I keep doing this— lying, hiding, letting these assholes make me feel like nothing?
I left campus alone, nose still bleeding, pride shattered, carrying the weight of the lie I’d just told the girl I loved.
Emi
Anton’s message came right as I was leaving my last morning class, backpack barely zipped.
I read it once. Then twice. Then three times.
“Emi, sorry, I suddenly started feeling really sick. I think I ate something bad at breakfast and threw up.
My stomach hurts a lot.
Can we just meet Wednesday for our date instead? I’m really sorry 😞 I wanted to spend time with you today so bad but I feel awful.”
I frowned, confused.
Feeling sick? Threw up?
I’d seen him perfectly fine less than an hour ago. Smiling, kissing me, excited for our lunch together. There hadn’t been the slightest hint that he felt bad.
And now, suddenly, he was sick?
I offered to go see him, bring him medicine, anything. But he replied no, that he’d rather rest.
Something about the message felt… off. Too explanatory. Too detailed. Like when someone’s trying really hard to convince you of something.
Why didn’t he want to see me? Was it something I did? Had the kiss this morning been too much? Had I made him uncomfortable?
Or maybe… maybe he really was sick and I was overthinking everything.
I didn’t want to dwell on it. I decided to trust him. But the conversation I’d overheard at work crept into my mind like toxic smoke.
“He’s so distant, so cold. How do I know if he actually cares about me?”
Was that me? Was I so cold that when I finally tried to be affectionate, Anton pulled away?
No. That was ridiculous. He was sick. That was all.
I decided not to go to my afternoon classes. I didn’t have the head for it anyway. Instead, I went to the burger place near campus— the one with the best greasy, unhealthy burgers that always lifted my mood.
I ordered my favorite with extra cheese and fries, sat at an outdoor table, put on my headphones with my melancholic playlist, and tried to enjoy the moment.
The burger was delicious. The music was fine. The weather was perfect.
But something still felt wrong.
Suddenly, someone sat down across from me.
I didn’t hear them approach because of the headphones. One second there was nothing, the next a soda cup was placed in front of me, and when I looked up…
Wonbin.
My heart did a strange jump in my chest— a mix of surprise and something else I didn’t want to name.
He was dressed casually— black jeans, plain white t-shirt, leather jacket— but somehow managed to look like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. His hair was perfectly messy, falling over his eyes in a way that probably took him half an hour to achieve but looked completely natural.
I pulled out one earbud, forcing a smile.
“Fries?” I offered, pushing the plate toward him, trying to act normal even though my pulse had sped up for no reason.
He took a few fries with those long, elegant fingers, never breaking eye contact. He never looked away. That was one of the things that threw me off about Wonbin— the way he looked at you like he could see straight inside.
I suddenly felt intimidated. Exposed.
“Everything okay?” I asked, taking out the other earbud and setting my phone on the table.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, in that voice of his.
It was true. Ever since Anton and I started… whatever we were, Wonbin and I had talked less. He was always with the group, sure, but never alone.
“How are classes going?” he asked as he took a sip of his soda.
And we started talking about random things: classes, the RIIZE festival, the weather. But I noticed how his gaze kept drifting to my lips every now and then, distracting me. Then there was a silence, and I— without knowing why— let out something that had been spinning in my head since work.
“Wonbin… do you think I’m really cold?”
I don’t know why I asked him. Maybe because I didn’t have anyone else to ask. Maybe because Wonbin always seemed to see things other people didn’t.
He stopped chewing for a second. Looked at me in that long, direct way of his, like he was checking if the question was real or rhetorical.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“I don’t know. It’s how I feel sometimes.”
Wonbin leaned back a little in his chair, with that relaxed posture that made everything he said sound more casual than it was.
“I don’t know much about you,” he said finally. “But from what Anton’s told us, and the little I’ve seen… I don’t see someone cold. I see someone who learned how to protect herself.”
Something about those words hit me straight in the chest.
“It’s not the same,” I murmured.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But it’s close enough that people confuse the two sometimes. Even you.”
I looked at him, not knowing what to say.
“And what does that make you?” he asked, leaning forward a little. “Cold? No. It makes you brave. An incredibly brave woman, actually.”
I froze. No one had ever said something like that to me with such certainty.
“Why brave?”
“Because moving forward when no one ever taught you how… that’s not coldness. That’s survival.” He paused, took another fry. “You work, right? For a long time.”
I was surprised he knew.
“Since I was sixteen,” I said. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it once, I think. Or Anton did. I don’t remember.” He shrugged, but something in his eyes said he remembered perfectly. “I’ve worked since I was a kid too. I know what that’s like. I know what it’s like to have to grow up early because the world doesn’t give you another choice. We’re more similar than you think, pretty.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. Wonbin, with that leather jacket and the way he moved like the world owed him something, didn’t fit the image I had of someone who’d had to earn everything.
“Does that surprise you?”
“A little, yeah.”
Something crossed his face. Not exactly pain— something more controlled than that. Like when someone knows exactly what they want to show and what they don’t.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he said simply.
“And why did you work?”
Wonbin looked at me for a second that felt longer than normal. Then, very slightly, he smiled in that way that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Because there was no other choice,” he said. And in his voice I recognized something I’d heard in my own many times: the end of a story he wasn’t willing to tell.
I looked down at my fries, feeling a lump in my throat. That similarity scared me and drew me in at the same time. I wanted to know more, wanted to ask about his story, but Wonbin seemed to regret showing that crack in his armor. His eyes regained that ironic glint and he settled back in the chair, changing the tone completely.
“But anyway…” he said out of nowhere. “I didn’t know that on top of being brave, you weren’t jealous either. Or that you didn’t care if your boyfriend has female friends.”
I looked up, confused.
Boyfriend? Anton and I weren’t official yet, but… what was he talking about?
“Anton isn’t my boyfriend,” I said automatically, even though the words hurt coming out. “We’re not… official yet. And what are you talking about? What friends?”
Wonbin raised an eyebrow, with a smile that was half amusement, half something darker.
“Oh… so he hasn’t told you.”
Something cold settled in my stomach.
“Told me what?”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those dark eyes that always seemed to see too much.
“The girl from yesterday… Did he mention anything about her?”
I shook my head slowly, not understanding where this was going.
Wonbin nodded, like he’d just confirmed something he already suspected.
“Thought so. Look, I don’t want to cause trouble or anything, but… I think you should know. Yesterday at the soccer field, Anton was playing with us. You know how he is— total disaster with balls,” he laughed a little, but there was no humor in his eyes. “He hit a girl with the ball.”
“Okay…” I said slowly. “It was an accident, right?”
“Yeah, an accident. But here’s the thing—” he leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Anton was super embarrassed. Apologized like a thousand times. The girl was fine, but he insisted he wanted to ‘make it up to her’ somehow.”
My stomach twisted.
“And?”
“And that night, after our rehearsal, Anton ran into her outside. She couldn’t get a ride home because it was already pretty late. So Anton offered to drive her.”
“That… that’s just being nice,” I said, but my voice sounded weak even to me.
Wonbin started nodding repeatedly at my answer, while an ironic smile slowly formed on his lips.
“Did he mention any of that to you?” Wonbin asked, and there was something in his expression— a mix of concern and satisfaction— that turned my stomach. “Did he say, ‘Hey, I met a girl yesterday and drove her home’?”
His words landed like stones in my stomach. The air got stuck in my chest and I started overthinking everything. If he’d just driven her home, if it meant nothing… why did it feel like there was something I should worry about?
I shook my head slowly, feeling smaller and smaller.
“No,” I whispered. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
Wonbin nodded, with that half-pity, half “I told you so” expression.
“And you know what else? This morning, when you just got to campus, you were talking to Anton, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Did you see the girl he was saying goodbye to before you got there?”
My blood ran cold.
The short-haired girl. The sweet smile.
“That was her,” Wonbin said softly. “The same girl he drove home last night.”
I was speechless.
Why hadn’t Anton told me? Not last night, not this morning when he kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Why had he hidden it?
“Look, maybe it means nothing,” Wonbin said, but his tone said the opposite. “Maybe he’s just being nice. But… I don’t know, Emi. Don’t you think it’s weird that he didn’t mention it? Not once. Like it’s some kind of secret.”
“Maybe he just forgot,” I said weakly, clinging to any explanation that would make this hurt less.
“Forgot?” Wonbin tilted his head. “Forgot he saw her this morning right before seeing you?”
I had no answer for that.
Wonbin sighed, stood up from the seat across from me, and before I could process what was happening, he sat right beside me.
Too close.
I could feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne— something dark and woody that made me a little dizzy.
He draped an arm over my shoulders, casual but possessive at the same time. With his other hand, he gently brushed my chin, turning my face to look at him.
His fingers were incredibly soft as they grazed my skin. Warm. Careful. So different from Anton’s hands, which were always a little cold, a little shaky.
“Emi,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “Look at me.”
I did. I couldn’t not do it.
His eyes were locked on mine, intense, piercing. And then they dropped to my lips.
They stayed there.
My breathing sped up.
“You deserve better,” he whispered, his thumb brushing my lower lip with a softness that made me shiver. “Not someone who hides things from you.”
His hand moved from my mouth to my hand, intertwining our fingers. He leaned closer. So close I could count his eyelashes.
“You deserve someone who sees you,” he continued, his other hand still on my shoulders, keeping me close. “Really sees you, Emi. Not just the version you show the world. Someone who knows that behind all that strength there’s a girl who just wants someone to choose her first for once.”
His voice became even softer, almost painful in its gentleness.
“Someone who rescues you when you’re in danger, like I did that time. Who protects you. Who defends you. Who would do anything for you.”
Our faces were centimeters apart now. I could feel his breath mixing with mine, warm and slightly sweet from the soda.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it.
It felt like we were about to kiss.
His lips were right there, so close that I could close the space between us by leaning just one more centimeter.
And for a second— one terrible, confusing second— I wanted to.
I wanted to let it happen. I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss someone who wasn’t Anton. Someone who seemed so sure, so decided, so… present.
But then Anton’s image hit me. His eyes when he looked at me. His shy smile. The way he trembled slightly every time he kissed me, like he couldn’t believe I let him touch me.
I stood up so abruptly my chair almost tipped over backward.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice shaky, breathless.
Wonbin stayed seated, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“For what?” he asked, and there was something in his voice— something vulnerable— I’d never heard before.
“For telling me. About Anton and… the girl.”
He stood up slowly, like a predator who doesn’t want to scare his prey. He stepped closer, took a strand of hair that had fallen over my face, and tucked it behind my ear with a tenderness that made me tremble.
Then he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to my cheek.
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate, soft, intimate in a way that made my skin prickle.
When he pulled back, he smiled at me. That smile that was so… Wonbin. Half arrogant, half tender, completely dangerous.
“You’re welcome, pretty,” he said, his voice like velvet. “Think carefully about what I said. Think about what you deserve. About who would give you everything without hesitation. About who wouldn’t hide anything because he respects you too much to lie to you.”
And then he just walked away, moving between the tables with that natural grace, leaving me standing there, trembling, his kiss still burning on my cheek.
I didn’t go back to class.
I couldn’t. Not with my head spinning, my heart broken, and Wonbin’s words echoing in my mind like bells.
“You deserve better.”
“Not someone who hides things from you.”
I walked home on autopilot, barely noticing the path. Thoughts swirled in my head like a tornado.
Why hadn’t Anton told me?
That was the question I couldn’t stop asking. Over and over and over.
If it really was just an innocent favor, why hide it? Why not mention it casually? “Hey, yesterday I helped a classmate who needed a ride.” That was all he had to say.
But he didn’t.
He kissed me this morning like I was his entire world, and didn’t say a single word about spending an hour alone with another girl.
What else wasn’t he telling me?
My mind started creating scenarios. Images I didn’t want to see but that appeared anyway.
Anton and the girl in the car. Talking. Laughing. Connecting in the way he and I never seemed to fully do. Her being warm and open in the way I couldn’t be. Giving him what I was too broken to give.
She’s prettier than me. More elegant. More refined. From the same world as Anton, not like me— the girl who works as a waitress to pay for things.
Has Anton finally realized I’m not on his level? That that girl, with her expensive clothes and perfect smile, would fit much better in his life?
“He’s so distant, so cold. How do I know if he actually cares about me?”
Rei’s words echoed in my head.
Maybe Anton had finally realized. Maybe he was tired of waiting for me to open up. Maybe he met someone by chance who didn’t make him work so hard for every bit of affection.
And Wonbin…
God, Wonbin.
The way he’d looked at me. Touched me. Spoken to me.
Like I was something precious. Something that deserved to be taken care of.
So different from how I’d been feeling with Anton lately— always worried about being too cold, not enough, that one day he’d realize he deserved better.
But with Wonbin… with Wonbin I felt seen. Understood. Like my coldness wasn’t a flaw but just part of who I am.
Was it wrong that I almost kissed him? Was it wrong that a small, confused, hurt part of me wanted to— just to see if someone else could make me feel what Anton made me feel?
I got home without even remembering the way. The house was empty— my mom working, probably, or who knows where. I collapsed onto my bed, backpack still on my back.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Anton.
“Hi pretty ❤️
How was your afternoon?
I’m feeling a little better already. I think I just needed to rest.
Can’t wait for Wednesday 😊”
I stared at the message for long minutes.
Wednesday. Our date.
A few hours ago I’d been excited about it. Nervous, yes, but happy. I felt like we were finally getting somewhere.
But now…
Now I didn’t know what to feel.
Did I really want to go on that date? Sit across from him, smile, and pretend everything was fine when inside I felt like I was breaking apart?
Or should I confront him first? Ask about the girl, why he didn’t tell me, what else he was hiding.
But if I asked, I’d sound jealous. Insecure. Exactly the things I’d been trying not to be.
And maybe Wonbin was right.
My finger hovered over the keyboard, not knowing what to reply.
Finally, I wrote:
“Glad you’re feeling better.
See you Wednesday 💕”
Simple. Casual. Revealing nothing of the chaos inside me.
But as I put the phone away and stared at the ceiling, the tears finally came.
Tears of confusion. Of pain. Of insecurity.
Am I not enough for him?
Was I ever?
And the most terrifying question of all:
What if Wonbin is right… and I deserve someone who doesn’t make me doubt so much?
pairing— y/n as a Jihyun x Psychologist!Seunghan x Manager!Sungchan
wc— 3.3k~
masterlist
note: hello!:)) I had not had time to translate my fanfic, but today I started working on it <3
After a long sleepless night where endless thoughts kept tormenting me, I don’t remember at what point sleep finally overcame me, but when my alarm went off, it felt like I had just closed my eyes. I find myself at the office, ready to start a new day in the best way possible, but I feel as if there’s a weight on my eyelids, my head is foggy, trapped in a kind of mist that makes it hard to think clearly.
I decide to look for Taeyeon to thank her for her help. I mean, I’ve only had one session, but going to see Seunghan with her recommendation made me feel a support and calmness that, until now, nothing and no one had been able to give me. With every step I took toward her office, the tiredness reminded me of its presence, but I set off anyway, letting myself be carried along by routine while the world moved a little slower than normal.
Standing outside her office, I see the door is slightly ajar. I wonder for a few seconds whether I should knock or peek in; without thinking, I poke my head in a little and, upon seeing me, she smiles.
“Hi Taeyeon, are you busy?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Hi Jihyun, a little, but come in and sit down please. Would you like coffee? Tea?” She gets up from her seat and heads to a counter where she starts checking what else she could offer me. I’m surprised by her kindness; I knew she was a hospitable person, but I never thought I’d receive this level of attention from her.
“No, Taeyeon, I don’t want to take up more of your time, but thank you… I just wanted to tell you—or rather, thank you—for sharing the psychologist’s contact with me. I went to see him… and honestly, it helped me more than I imagined. The way he listens and his advice… made me feel like maybe there is a way out of what I’m going through.” I give her a smile and she immediately mirrors it.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Jihyun. I’m really glad to hear you’re feeling better and that it helped you. Whenever you need to talk or if you feel like going out to distract yourself—whether shopping or grabbing coffee—don’t hesitate to tell me. I know what it’s like to go through tough times.” She smiles at me with understanding, and I can see genuine relief in her eyes.
“Thank you, Taeyeon. You have no idea how much it means to me to know I can count on someone like you.” I say, feeling an unexpected warmth in my chest.
We say goodbye with a smile, and I promise myself I’ll try to accept her invitation someday.
The day at the office goes by quite calmly; there aren’t many pending tasks, so I allow myself the luxury of going to the cafeteria to get something for breakfast. It might seem ordinary, but usually I don’t take the time for my meals—I would use it to keep working so I could leave half an hour earlier. Even though only a week has passed, things haven’t gotten any easier. His memory still haunts me in everything I do, I still break down and get lost in my thoughts from time to time. I can’t help but feel the need at night to read our conversations and look at our photos together. It’s become a bad habit I want to stop, because it hurts me a lot.
While in the cafeteria, I greet Luhan and Sehun from afar; they return the greeting, surprised by my action toward them and by the fact that I’m in that place. Without meaning to, I found out about a rumor saying these two have been a couple for years. I wouldn’t be surprised; I’m not a very observant person, but you don’t need to be to notice the loving looks they give each other, and adding that in every free moment they have, they’re together, keeping each other company.
I enjoy my breakfast in the tranquility of the cafeteria. In the conversation I had yesterday with Karina, among everything she told me, she also suggested that I try doing new things even if I didn’t feel motivated—that I might surprise myself if I step a little out of my comfort zone, and that it’s necessary to do so from time to time. I think it’s not a bad idea, since I just did it and I’m having a pleasant time with my own company.
The day at the office goes by quite quickly; I even left an hour early. So before heading home, I decide to stop by the supermarket for a quick grocery run of supplies I need for the week. Maybe filling the cart with things I really need will also help me organize my head.
While walking down one of the aisles looking for a bag of frozen shrimp, I feel someone’s gaze on me. I turn to my left and, to my surprise, I see Eunseok—the guy who returned my wallet to me the other day at the park. His eyes recognize me instantly and a smile spreads across his face.
“Jihyun! What a coincidence seeing you here,” he says, approaching with a big smile.
“Eunseok! Wow, yeah, this is a surprise.” I return the smile, feeling a little more comfortable than I expected. “How are you?”
“Good, well, I’m just getting used to the city. I just got transferred here and I still feel like I get lost at every corner,” he says with a soft laugh that makes me laugh too.
“Oh! I didn’t expect you weren’t from this city. I’m not from here either. What brought you to Incheon?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“I work at a tech company and they offered me a better position here; I couldn’t turn it down. Though honestly, I don’t know anyone. It feels like I’m starting from zero…” he admits with a slight sadness.
“I understand… I don’t have friends here either. I moved here to go to university and was also offered a job at a big company, but I still don’t really feel at home.” His words resonate with me and I can’t help but feel identified.
“So we’re two of us. How about we call a truce and share a meal? That way, at least for today, we stop being alone in this city.”
His proposal catches me off guard, but his friendly and genuine tone makes me accept without hesitating too much.
“Sounds perfect, Eunseok.”
After finishing the shopping, we walk to a nearby Italian restaurant at Eunseok’s request—he wanted to try it. We order two pasta dishes: ragù and four cheeses; we couldn’t resist also ordering a margherita pizza. We decide to pair our meal with a white wine recommended by the waiter.
The conversation starts light: he tells me he’s from Ulsan and didn’t used to leave his city very often. Then we move on to small talk about the weather and daily routines, but soon it becomes deeper.
“So the only thing that convinced you to move here was your job?” I ask, remembering he mentioned something about his work.
“It’s a somewhat complicated story. They transferred me for a project that, according to my boss, only I could handle since I have the most experience. I like my job, but I didn’t expect to have to start over in a place where I don’t know anyone.”
“I understand… I think we’re in similar situations. I also moved for work, but I never thought adapting would be so hard. Before, everything revolved around one person, and when that person left, I realized I didn’t have anyone else here.”
“It’s like realizing that sometimes we end up alone because we close ourselves off. I’ve also let many friendships slip away along the way. Maybe because I always thought work had to be my priority and everything else could wait.” He nods and I notice an understanding in his gaze that makes me feel less alone.
“Do you regret taking that path?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Sometimes, yes. I think it’s easy to forget that at the end of the day, we’re more than our work or our goals. That’s why sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by accepting this transfer… but well, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you, and I’m glad I did.” He sighs and I notice his gaze softens as his cheeks blush again.
“Thank you, Eunseok. It’s funny how sometimes a conversation with someone you barely know can make you feel more understood than anything else.” I smile, feeling a sincere connection with him.
During the meal, we discover we share certain tastes, like music and quiet places to read. The conversation flows easily, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I’m really opening up to someone.
When we finish eating, he offers to pay the entire bill. We leave the restaurant and Eunseok carries the bags with the groceries I bought earlier. He apologizes because his car is in the shop and he can’t drive me home, but we both brush it off and decide to use that time to walk home while continuing to talk about our hobbies—those little things that make us happy. We end up discovering that we both share a love for classical music and science fiction books.
“Thank you for accepting this meal, Jihyun. I didn’t expect to find someone I could connect with so quickly in this city.”
“Thank you, Eunseok. I really appreciate this.” I give him a smile, feeling that for the first time, maybe Incheon isn’t as lonely as it seemed.
In the end, we exchange phone numbers with the promise to keep in touch, and when we say goodbye, I feel like I’ve gained someone valuable in my life.
I hurry to drop off the groceries at home and head out again. I had completely forgotten that today I had a session with Seunghan—if he hadn’t texted me half an hour ago to confirm I was coming. I go almost running, hoping not to be too late. In my mind I try to come up with a believable excuse; I didn’t manage my time well and this is the consequence.
Definitely, I haven’t even had time to feel depressed.
Thanks to that little marathon, I manage to arrive on time. Seunghan greets me with his usual calm. After the usual greetings, I sit on the same couch as always, though today I feel a little different.
“Tell me, Jihyun, how have you been feeling this week?”
“Well…” I take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. “I’ve tried to pick up some things I used to do before. I went to the park to walk, though I’m still avoiding the places I used to visit with… him.”
Seunghan nods and I notice his eyes reflect understanding.
“That’s completely normal, Jihyun. Sometimes we need to create new spaces for ourselves before facing those that are so loaded with memories.”
“I also… met someone,” I admit, a little nervous. I’m not sure why I mention Eunseok, but something about his kindness made me feel less alone.
“Those moments of connection are important. Not because someone else is going to fill the void, but because they remind us that we still have room in our life for new experiences and people.” Seunghan smiles softly.
After a few minutes of initial conversation, he asks me an unexpected question.
“Jihyun, have you ever wondered why you chose to stay so alone?” he asks in a soft but direct voice.
I take a moment to think about his question and finally answer.
“I think at the time, I didn’t think I needed it. I felt that Sungchan was enough, that he was my only priority. I didn’t want him to feel like he wasn’t the most important person in my life. I didn’t realize I was pushing everything else aside until I was left alone.”
Seunghan nods, understanding my words.
“It’s natural to feel that devotion toward someone we love. But Jihyun, we all need more than one single connection to feel complete—more people around us who can hold us up. Clinging exclusively to one person can make our happiness depend only on them, and that’s not healthy.”
“I guess I never saw it that way. I always thought giving everything was a proof of love.” I nod slowly; his words hit me hard.
“Love can be beautiful, but it also has to be balanced. You don’t have to give everything to the point of losing yourself. This is part of what we’ll work on together. I want you to feel safe having friendships and connections besides a relationship. And speaking of balance, have you been using the journal I recommended?”
“Yes, it’s been helpful… when I write, I feel like I release a bit of what’s inside.” I nod, remembering the pages full of thoughts and feelings I’ve written in the last few days.
“I’m glad to hear that.” His expression turns serious but warm. “The journal will help you see how you evolve; it will also allow you to understand yourself better throughout this process. It’s like a reflection of your emotions and thoughts, a way to measure your progress.”
I pause, thinking about everything I’ve learned so far. And then Seunghan decides to share something personal.
“There was a time in my life when I locked myself into my studies and my work. I believed that was the only thing that mattered, but over time I realized I was isolating myself. Even I needed that network of people to support me, even if it was hard to admit. That’s when I understood that we always need to balance our personal and professional lives.”
His words fill me with a strange peace, as if he’s speaking to me not just as a professional, but as someone who truly understands what I’m going through.
“I want you to open yourself to the possibility of meeting more people, Jihyun. Not because you have to replace what you’ve lost, but because in every connection we create we find a small reflection of who we are and who we want to be—everything is a learning experience.”
As I finish processing Seunghan’s words and stand up from the couch to say goodbye, a sudden dizziness overtakes me. The office seems to spin around me and a cold sweat runs down my forehead. I try to hide it, but my legs feel weak and I can barely take a step before everything becomes blurry.
“Jihyun?” Seunghan notices right away and moves toward me with concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”
I try to answer, to tell him I’m fine, but the words stick in my throat and I feel my knees weakening even more. Before I can react, a pair of strong arms surround me, holding me firmly to keep me from falling to the floor. The warmth of his presence envelops me and although I’m embarrassed, I can do nothing but lean on him.
“I’m sorry… I think it was…” I murmur weakly, struggling to stay conscious. My voice is barely audible and I feel like I’m running out of air. “I haven’t eaten anything these days, until today…”
I’m barely aware that Seunghan nods; through my blurry vision I can see his expression full of concern. He holds me carefully, adjusting his grip so I feel secure.
“Your blood pressure must have dropped, Jihyun. Don’t worry, I’m going to take you home.”
“I don’t want… to bother you, I can… take a taxi,” I try to say, though every word feels like a monumental effort.
“It’s no bother; you were my last scheduled patient of the day. I want to make sure nothing else happens to you on the way. I’ll be calmer if I take you home, so don’t worry.” He looks at me without letting go for a moment and shakes his head, keeping a soft but firm tone.
Too weak to protest, I nod slowly. I give him my address in a barely audible voice; I’m too exhausted to do anything for myself. He reinforces his hold on my waist and carefully guides me to his car, making sure I don’t stumble as we walk. He helps me sit in the passenger seat, buckles my seatbelt before getting behind the wheel. Every gesture of his is full of attention and care that surprises me despite the state I’m in.
During the ride, the silence in the car is comfortable. I close my eyes and feel the calm his presence brings. My breathing is still somewhat irregular and the dizziness persists, but his closeness is comforting. He checks on me from the corner of his eye several times, as if to make sure I don’t get worse.
Finally, we arrive at my building. Seunghan turns off the car and turns to me.
“Do you think you can walk alone?” he asks kindly, but his expression shows concern.
“No… I don’t think so,” I admit, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. I even feel weaker than minutes ago; I don’t even have the strength to feel ashamed of how vulnerable I am.
Without another word, he gets out of the car, walks around it, and opens my door. With steady movements he lifts me into his arms, holding me with an ease that surprises me. I feel my face flush, but I have no energy to resist. Somehow, his closeness and warmth envelop me in a feeling of relief I hadn’t felt since Sungchan left.
He walks through the building entrance without letting go, keeping me close as we enter the elevator. The serenity in the elevator and the soft sound of his breathing calm me, and for a moment I close my eyes, allowing myself to rest in his arms.
“Can I know the code to your apartment?” he asks quietly when we reach my door.
With effort, I murmur the code and he enters it easily. When we finally enter my apartment, he carries me to my bedroom and gently places me on my bed. The contact with the cool sheets is a relief, but at the same time a strange feeling of vulnerability washes over me.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” he says softly, and I notice the firmness in his tone.
I nod, too exhausted to say anything else. Seunghan disappears for a few moments into my kitchen, and when he returns, he offers me the glass and a pack of cookies I had just bought.
“You should eat something light,” he says kindly. “It’s not good to go so long without eating. Your body needs energy to deal with everything you’re going through.”
I feel embarrassed, but his words are kind, full of understanding. I take a sip of water and bite into a cookie, though I have to make an effort to eat.
“Thank you, Seunghan. Really…” I murmur, unable to hide the gratitude in my voice. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“It’s the least I could do; I want you to take care of yourself, Jihyun, to take the time to do things for yourself. You don’t have to do everything alone.” He looks at me with a light smile and I notice a glimmer of softness in his gaze.
Silence stretches for a few minutes. I’m so exhausted I can barely stay awake, but his words resonate in me, filling me with a calm I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“It’s not always easy when someone becomes our everything,” he says finally as he sits on the edge of the bed. “We tend to forget ourselves in the process. Maybe part of this moment is for you to become a priority for yourself again.”
Once Seunghan makes sure I’ve stabilized, only then does he prepare to leave. He tells me to message him if anything else happens or if I need something, and that he’ll keep an eye on me through chat until our next session. I offer to walk him to the door, but he insists I not get out of bed and keep resting. He gives me the name of some vitamins to add a bit more strength to my body due to all the nutrients I’ve lost.
He turns to say goodbye, showing me his characteristic warm smile.
I still feel very exhausted and it’s hard to fully process his words, but something about them comforts me. I tend to think no one can really understand me, but in this moment, his voice and his gaze make me feel that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.
well, well, what an honor:0 an anonymous user (always so incredibly brave, aren't we?) coming here to reveal my best-kept secret: that my writing is ai-generated.
you’ve totally caught me, because as everyone knows, people who use artificial intelligence famously take 5 months to post while balancing a job and a degree. it makes perfect sense, honestly, if i had a robot writing for me, this blog would have new content daily, not just when my brain (that organic thing that actually functions) decides it’s ready to create.
the sad part of your comment isn't even the accusation (which is both false and pathetic), it’s that you can’t conceive of someone writing for the pure love of the craft, using nothing but imagination and their own free time. i truly pity you; it must be so limiting to live thinking that anything you don't understand or can't do yourself must be the product of a machine.
that being said, i’ll leave you to your mystery and your faceless bravery. i’ll be right here, updating whenever life and inspiration (the human kind) happen to align. if my style overwhelms you that much, i invite you to stop torturing yourself: the exit has always been open, and the block button works for anonymous users too 🤗💗
warnings— emotional manipulation, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, jealousy, toxic codependency, mature/suggestive content (no explicit but implied intimacy), emotional dependency, mental health struggles (anxiety, loss of identity), gaslighting elements, stockholm syndrome themes, angst, slow burn toxicity, emotional hurt, power imbalance, obsessive love, dark romance elements.
wc— 5.8 k
note— hiii! I'm planning to write a series of riize drabbles or one-shots inspired by 1D songs ;) i hope you like it!!
I. THE GIRL WHO NEEDED NO ONE
You were never the type to wait.
Not for texts at 2 a.m. Not for explanations. Not for anyone to make you feel whole because you already were.
Your friends used to joke about it—how you'd leave parties early without saying goodbye, how you never checked your phone during conversations, how you seemed perfectly content in your own universe of one.
"You're like a cat," your roommate once said. "Affectionate when you want to be. Gone when you don't."
And you liked it that way.
Independence wasn't something you fought for. It was simply who you were. Built into your DNA like brown eyes or a crooked smile.
So when Sungchan invited you to some house party on a Friday night, you almost said no.
Almost.
"Come on, it'll be fun. Besides, I want you to meet some people from the music program."
You went. Not because you needed to. But because you wanted to.
The party was exactly what you expected: too many people in a small apartment, bass thumping through cheap speakers, the smell of cheap beer and expensive cologne mixing in the air.
You knew some faces. Eunseok waved from across the room, beer in hand. Sungchan was already laughing too loud at someone's joke.
And then you saw him.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, dark hair falling into his eyes, hands in his pockets. He looked bored. Detached. Like he was physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely.
Someone called his name. "Wonbin, come on!"
He looked up. And his eyes landed on you.
Not a sweep. Not a casual glance.
A study.
Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he hadn't been given the pieces to yet.
You looked away first. Because you didn't need that kind of attention. You never did.
An hour later, you were on the balcony, escaping the heat and noise.
"Running away?"
You turned. It was him.
"Just needed air," you replied, not moving from your spot against the railing.
He stepped closer, not crowding your space but close enough that you could smell his cologne—something woody and clean.
"You came with Sungchan?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I live here."
Of course he did.
Silence stretched between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was... expectant.
"You're not like the others," he said finally.
You raised an eyebrow. "Is that your line?"
He laughed—a real one, surprised. "No. Just an observation."
"And what makes you think that?"
He tilted his head, studying you again with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"You don't need to be here. But you are. That's interesting."
"Maybe I just like free alcohol."
"Maybe." He stepped closer. "Or maybe you like being somewhere no one expects anything from you."
Your breath caught. Because he was right. Dangerously right.
"You don't even know me."
"Not yet."
The way he said it—low, certain, like a promise—made something shift in the air between you.
You don't remember who moved first.
Only that suddenly you were inside, in a hallway away from the crowd, his mouth on yours and your hands fisted in his shirt.
There was no preamble. No "should we?" or "are you sure?"
Just heat. Urgency. The kind of chemistry that doesn't ask for permission.
His room was dark. Clothes hit the floor. His hands mapped your body like he was memorizing it, and when he looked at you—really looked at you—it felt like being seen for the first time.
Not as a conquest. Not as a notch on a belt.
As something rare.
After, you didn't cuddle. Didn't stay wrapped in his arms.
You got dressed. Found your shoes.
"You don't have to leave," he said, propped up on one elbow, watching you.
"I want to."
And you did. Because this was just one night. Just chemistry. Just physical.
Nothing more.
He didn't stop you. Just watched you go with an expression you couldn't read.
You closed the door behind you and didn't look back.
II. "JUST THIS ONCE"
You didn't expect to hear from him.
That was the unspoken rule, wasn't it? One night. No strings. No follow-up texts.
So when your phone buzzed at 2:47 a.m. three days later, you were surprised to see his name.
Wonbin: did you get home okay that night?
You stared at the screen.
You: three days later?
Wonbin: better late than never
You: i'm fine. thanks for checking
You put your phone down. Tried to sleep.
It buzzed again.
Wonbin: can't stop thinking about you
Your heart did something stupid. Something you told it not to do.
You: it was just one night
Wonbin: i know
Wonbin: doesn't change the fact
You didn't respond. Because responding felt dangerous. Like opening a door you'd worked hard to keep locked.
But the next weekend, when Sungchan mentioned another party, you went.
And when Wonbin's eyes found yours across the room, something in your chest tightened.
III. THE THING THAT WASN'T A RELATIONSHIP
It became a pattern.
Parties. Stolen glances. Conversations that started casual and ended with his mouth on your neck in some empty room.
No labels. No expectations. No "what are we?"
Just... this.
You told yourself it was perfect. Easy. Uncomplicated.
He never asked for more than you could give. Never pushed for definitions or late-night relationship talks.
You'd meet up. Laugh. Touch. Leave.
Simple.
Except.
Except for the way he'd find you in a crowd. The way his hand would settle on your lower back when you talked to other guys. The way his jaw would tighten when Sungchan made you laugh too hard.
"You okay?" you asked him once, at someone's rooftop party.
"Fine," he said, but his eyes were on Eunseok, who had his arm around your shoulders in a friendly, platonic way that clearly didn't register as platonic to Wonbin.
That night, he was different. Rougher. More intense. His hands gripped tighter, his mouth more demanding.
Afterward, when you were catching your breath, you asked: "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"You were... different."
He looked at you, expression unreadable in the dark.
"Did you want me to stop?"
"No."
"Then does it matter?"
It should have. But it didn't.
It kept happening.
Every time you talked to one of his friends—just talked, nothing more—he'd find a way to pull you aside later. To remind you, wordlessly, that whatever this was, it was his.
You noticed. Of course you noticed.
But you also noticed the way your stomach flipped when his name appeared on your screen. The way you started checking your phone more often. The way parties felt less interesting when he wasn't there.
You were slipping.
And you didn't even realize it.
IV. THE SHIFT
It started with voice messages.
After practice. Late at night. His voice rough with exhaustion.
"Just got home. Today was brutal. Thought about you during the break though. Helped."
You'd listen to them on repeat, analyzing the tone, the pauses, the way he said your name.
Then came the phone calls.
Not every night. But enough that you started expecting them. Started staying awake a little longer, just in case.
He'd tell you things. About his day. His frustrations. His dreams. Things he said he didn't tell anyone else.
"Why me?" you asked once.
"Because you listen. Really listen. Not because you have to, but because you want to."
"How do you know I want to?"
"Because you're still on the phone."
He was right.
One night, he fell asleep on the call.
You could hear his breathing, slow and steady. And instead of hanging up, you stayed.
Listening to him sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When you woke up the next morning, the call had ended. But there was a text.
Wonbin: sorry i fell asleep on you
You: it's fine
Wonbin: no really. that was rude
You: wonbin. it's fine.
Wonbin: you stayed though
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.
You: yeah. i did.
Wonbin: why?
You didn't answer. Because you didn't know how to explain that hearing him breathe made you feel less alone.
Then came the day he didn't text.
No good morning. No voice message. No "how are you?"
Nothing.
You told yourself it was fine. That you didn't need constant communication. That this wasn't even a relationship, so why would you expect it?
But you checked your phone anyway. Every few minutes. Every hour.
By evening, you felt sick.
Not because something was wrong. But because you realized something terrifying:
You'd been waiting.
Your whole day had been shaped around the absence of his messages. The silence felt louder than any noise.
You'd become dependent on something you swore you'd never need.
And that realization hit you like a truck.
When he finally texted the next day—just a simple "sorry, busy day"—you felt relief so strong it scared you.
You: it's fine
Wonbin: you sure?
You: yeah why wouldn't i be
Wonbin: idk. just checking.
But he knew. Somehow, he knew.
And that was the first crack in your armor.
V. THE CONFRONTATION
It took you two weeks to work up the courage.
Two weeks of internal arguments. Of telling yourself you were being ridiculous. Of trying to convince yourself that what you had was enough.
But it wasn't.
Because you'd started planning your days around his schedule. Started declining other invitations in case he wanted to see you. Started feeling a hollowness when he wasn't around that terrified you.
So you texted him.
You: can we talk?
Wonbin: sure. come over?
His apartment was quiet when you arrived. No party. No music. Just him, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just woken up from a nap.
"What's up?" he asked, settling on the couch.
You stayed standing. If you sat, you'd lose your nerve.
"I think we should stop this."
He didn't react. Just looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Okay."
"Okay?" You'd expected... something. Surprise. Resistance. Anything but calm acceptance.
"If that's what you want."
"It's not about what I want, Wonbin. It's about what's healthy. This—" you gestured between you "—isn't healthy."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm starting to need you. And I never needed anyone."
"Is that so bad?"
"Yes." Your voice cracked. "Because you don't need me back."
He stood then, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between you.
"Who says I don't?"
"You do. Every time you disappear for days. Every time you only call late at night. Every time you act like I'm yours but never actually make me yours."
"Would you want that?"
The question hung in the air.
"It doesn't matter what I want. This isn't real. It's just... physical."
"Is it?" He was close now. Too close. "Because I've never told anyone else the things I tell you. Never stayed on the phone until I fell asleep with anyone else. Never needed to know someone got home safe the way I need to know you did."
"Then what is this?" you whispered.
He cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
"It's you. It's me. It's whatever we make it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
You closed your eyes. "I can't keep doing this, Wonbin. It's killing me."
"Then leave."
Your eyes snapped open.
He dropped his hand but didn't step back.
"I'm not going to beg you to stay. If you want to go, go. But don't lie and say it's because I don't need you. Because I do. I just don't know how to show it the way you need me to."
"You're making this harder."
"Good. It should be hard. Because walking away from something real always is."
"This isn't real."
"Isn't it?" His voice was soft. Dangerous. "Are you sure?"
And that question—that simple, devastating question—shattered every certainty you had.
Because no. You weren't sure. You weren't sure of anything anymore except that leaving him felt like leaving a part of yourself behind.
"I hate you," you whispered.
"I know."
"I hate that you did this to me."
"I know."
"I hate that I can't leave."
"I know."
He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. Because despite everything, despite knowing this was probably a mistake, you couldn't walk away.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
VI. THE SPACES BETWEEN
After that night, things didn't change.
Not really.
You still only saw him in private. His room. His car. The empty practice room he had access to.
Never in public. Never where his friends could see. Never where it could become real in a way that demanded definition.
At parties, he was the same—charming, easygoing, the guy everyone wanted to be around.
But with you, in those closed spaces, he was different. Intense. Raw. Possessive in ways that both scared and thrilled you.
"Why do we only meet here?" you asked once, lying in his bed at 3 a.m.
"Because out there, I have to share you."
"I'm not yours to share or keep, Wonbin."
He looked at you then, really looked at you.
"Aren't you?"
And you had no answer. Because the truth was, you were. Had been since that first night. You just hadn't wanted to admit it.
He controlled everything.
When you'd meet. How long you'd stay. When he'd touch you and when he'd pull away.
"This isn't fair," you told him once, frustration bleeding through.
"Then leave."
Always that. Always those two words that he knew you'd never follow through on.
"You know I can't."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah. It does. Because 'can't' means I'm trapping you. 'Won't' means you're choosing to stay."
You looked away. "I hate when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Make it sound like I have all the power when we both know I don't."
He pulled you closer, lips brushing your ear.
"You have more power than you think. You just don't want to use it."
"Why?"
"Because leaving me would hurt you more than staying. And you know it."
He was right. Devastatingly, completely right.
The worst part wasn't the control. Wasn't the secrecy. Wasn't even the way he could disappear for days and leave you drowning in silence.
The worst part was that you'd started to crave it.
The uncertainty. The intensity. The way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.
You'd become addicted to the feeling of being chosen by him, even if it was only in the dark, only in private, only on his terms.
Your friends noticed.
"You've been different lately," Sungchan said one afternoon.
"Different how?"
"Distant. Like you're always somewhere else in your head."
You forced a smile. "Just stressed with school."
He didn't look convinced but dropped it.
If only he knew. If only any of them knew that you spent your nights waiting for a text that might never come. That you'd stopped making plans because what if Wonbin called? That you'd given up the independence you'd prided yourself on for the chance to exist in his orbit.
One night, you tried to take back control.
"I think we should see other people," you said.
He was silent for a long moment.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"If that's what you want."
"It is."
"Then do it."
You waited for more. For jealousy. For resistance.
Nothing.
He just looked at you with those infuriatingly calm eyes, like he could see right through your bluff.
"You're not going to fight for this?" you asked, hating how small your voice sounded.
"Would you want me to?"
"I—" You stopped. Because what could you say? That yes, you wanted him to fight? To prove that you mattered?
That would mean admitting how far gone you were.
"I didn't think so," he said softly.
He pulled you close, and you let him, because you always did.
"You can see whoever you want," he whispered against your hair. "But we both know you'll come back to me."
"You're so sure of that?"
"Yeah. I am."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the only one who sees you. Really sees you. And you've been looking for that your whole life."
Your throat tightened. Because he was right again. Always right. Always knowing exactly which buttons to push, which words would keep you tethered.
You didn't see other people. Of course you didn't.
Because no one else felt like him. No one else made you feel like you were burning and drowning at the same time.
VII. THE REALIZATION
It hit you on a random Tuesday.
You were sitting in class, staring at your phone, waiting for a text that hadn't come in two days.
Your friend was talking, but you weren't listening. Couldn't listen. Because all your thoughts were consumed by him.
Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking about you?
When did you become this person?
The girl who waited. Who worried. Who shaped her entire existence around someone else's attention?
You used to be independent. Used to pride yourself on not needing anyone.
Now you couldn't go two hours without checking your phone.
The realization was crushing.
You'd become exactly what you swore you'd never be. And the worst part? You didn't know how to stop. Didn't know if you even wanted to.
Because the high of his attention—when he gave it—was worth every low in between.
At least that's what you told yourself.
That night, he called.
Not a text. A call.
"Hey."
"Hey," you echoed, hating how relieved you sounded.
"Miss me?"
The honest answer was yes. Desperately. Pathetically. But you'd learned to protect yourself in the only way you could.
"Should I have?"
He laughed, low and knowing. "Come over."
"It's midnight."
"I know. Come anyway."
"Wonbin—"
"Please."
That word. He so rarely used it. And when he did, it felt like being granted access to something precious.
You were out the door in ten minutes.
When you arrived, he pulled you inside immediately, mouth finding yours before you could even speak.
This was how it always went. Desperation disguised as passion. Need masquerading as want.
But this time, after, when you were both catching your breath, he held you differently.
Tighter. Like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"What's wrong?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"Wonbin."
He was quiet for a long time. Then:
"Do you ever think about leaving? Really leaving?"
Your heart stuttered. "Why?"
"Just answer."
"Yes," you admitted. "All the time."
"Why don't you?"
Because I love you. Because I've never needed anyone until you. Because you've ruined me for everyone else and I don't know how to exist without you anymore.
But you said none of that.
"I don't know."
He exhaled, pulling you closer. "Good. Don't figure it out."
Your friends stopped inviting you out. Your grades started slipping. You stopped doing the things you used to love because nothing felt worth it when he wasn't involved.
You were disappearing into him. And part of you knew it. Screamed against it.
But the other part—the louder part—craved it.
Because with Wonbin, you felt alive in a way you never had before. Even if it was slowly killing you.
One night, Eunseok cornered you.
"We need to talk."
"About?"
"About whatever's going on with you."
You tried to deflect. "Nothing's going on."
"Bullshit. You're different. You're... faded. Like someone turned down your brightness."
The accuracy of it stung.
"I'm fine."
"Are you?" He studied you carefully. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like someone's taking pieces of you and you're just letting them."
Your throat tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? I've seen this before. Someone gets involved with someone who..." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "Someone who takes more than they give."
"That's not—"
"Is it Wonbin?"
The world stopped.
"What?"
"I've seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. And I've known him long enough to recognize when he's fixated on something."
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, you've become a ghost of who you used to be. And that only happens when you're giving all of yourself to someone who's only giving you crumbs in return."
You wanted to defend Wonbin. To defend yourself. To say that Eunseok was wrong.
But you couldn't. Because deep down, you knew he was right.
That night, you didn't respond to Wonbin's texts.
Not because you were trying to prove a point. But because you were tired. So deeply, bone-achingly tired.
Your phone rang. You ignored it.
It rang again. And again.
Finally, you picked up.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me. Why aren't you answering?"
"Because I needed space."
"From me?"
"From everything."
Silence. Then:
"I'm coming over."
"No—"
But he'd already hung up.
He showed up twenty minutes later, tension radiating off him.
"What's going on?"
"I told you. I needed space."
"That's not an answer."
You laughed bitterly. "You want answers? Fine. I'm tired, Wonbin. Tired of waiting. Tired of being your secret. Tired of feeling like I'm drowning and you're just watching me sink."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You call when you want. Leave when you want. And I just... sit here. Waiting. Like my entire life revolves around you."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I can't do this anymore. I can't be this person."
He stepped closer. "What person?"
"The person who needs you. Who can't function without knowing you're thinking about me. Who's lost herself completely."
"You haven't lost yourself."
"Haven't I? Look at me, Wonbin. Really look. Do I seem like the same person you met at that party?"
He did look. And for the first time, you saw something crack in his expression.
Guilt. Maybe. Or recognition.
"I never meant—"
"Didn't you? Isn't this exactly what you wanted? Someone who would always be there. Always waiting. Always yours without you having to actually claim them?"
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it true?"
He didn't answer. Because they both knew it was.
"I need to be without you," you said quietly. "Just for a while. To remember who I was before you made me need you."
"And if I don't want that?"
"It's not about what you want. Not this time."
For once, he didn't have a response. Didn't have the right words to pull you back in.
You opened the door for him. "Goodbye, Wonbin."
He hesitated. Then walked through.
But at the threshold, he turned back.
"You think you're strong enough to stay away?"
"I have to be."
"We'll see."
And with that, he was gone.
IX. THE AFTERMATH
You lasted four days.
Four days of silence. Of not checking your phone every five minutes. Of trying to rebuild the pieces of yourself that had scattered.
On the fifth day, he texted.
Wonbin: i miss you
Simple. Direct. Devastating.
You stared at those three words for an hour. Debated whether to respond.
Didn't.
The next day:
Wonbin: i know you're reading these
Wonbin: i know you miss me too
Wonbin: just say the word and i'll stop
You blocked his number. Blocked him on everything.
Because you had to. Because if you didn't, you'd break.
Two weeks passed.
You started feeling like yourself again. Started going out with friends. Started laughing genuinely instead of faking it.
Eunseok noticed. "There she is."
"What?"
"The real you. Been a while."
You smiled. "Yeah. It has."
Maybe you could do this. Maybe you could actually break free.
Then you saw him at a party.
You should have known. Should have asked who was hosting. Should have stayed home.
But you didn't. And there he was.
Leaning against a wall, drink in hand, talking to some girl who was clearly interested.
Your heart clenched.
His eyes found yours across the room. And everything—all your progress, all your healing—evaporated.
Because the way he looked at you. Like you were the only person in the world.
Like he'd been waiting for you to come back.
The girl next to him said something. He didn't even glance her way.
Just kept his eyes on you.
You should have left. Should have walked away while you still could.
Instead, you found yourself moving toward him. Like a moth to a flame. Like you were programmed to self-destruct.
He met you halfway.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi."
"You blocked me."
"I had to."
"Did it help?"
You wanted to lie. To say yes. To protect yourself.
But with him, you'd never been able to lie.
"No."
Something in his expression softened. "I tried to stay away."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I missed you. And I'm done pretending I don't need you just as much as you need me."
"Wonbin—"
"I know. I know I fucked up. I know I took more than I gave. I know I made you feel like you were disposable when you're the furthest thing from it."
Your eyes stung. "Then why did you do it?"
"Because I was scared. Because I've never needed anyone the way I need you and that terrified me. So I kept you at a distance to protect myself. But all I did was hurt you. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
A tear slipped down your cheek. "You made me lose myself."
"I know. And I'll spend however long it takes helping you find her again. If you'll let me."
"This isn't healthy."
"Maybe not. But it's real. And I'd rather have something real and messy than something perfect and empty."
"What if we can't fix this?"
"Then we'll break together. But at least we'll break honestly."
You closed your eyes. "I can't go back to how it was."
"I don't want you to. I want more. I want real. I want you in daylight, not just in darkness. I want everyone to know you're mine because I'm yours. If you'll have me."
When you opened your eyes, he was looking at you with such raw vulnerability that it hurt.
"Say yes," he whispered. "Please."
You should have said no. Should have protected yourself.
But maybe some people are worth the risk of breaking for.
"Okay," you breathed. "But if you hurt me again—"
"I won't. I swear to god, I won't."
He pulled you into his arms, and you let yourself believe him.
Maybe it was naive. Maybe you were making a mistake.
But as he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
Because sometimes, love isn't about making the right choice.
Sometimes it's about making the choice that feels right.
Even if it's the choice that might destroy you.
X. EPILOGUE: SIX MONTHS LATER
You still fight sometimes.
Still struggle with the ghosts of how you started.
But now, when he pulls away, he comes back faster. When you spiral, he's there to catch you. When you need space, he gives it without making you beg.
It's not perfect.
But it's real.
And on the days when you catch him looking at you like you hung the moon, you remember why you stayed.
Why you keep staying.
Not because you need him to survive.
But because choosing him—the real him, flaws and all—feels like choosing yourself too.
Your phone buzzes.
Wonbin: lunch?
You: always
You smile. Because it's not about the destination anymore.
It's about showing up, every day, and choosing each other.
Even when it's hard.
Especially when it's hard.
And maybe that's what love is.
Not the easy kind. But the kind that makes you better.
what would each RIIZE member do for Valentine’s Day with you
pairing— all riize x fem!reader
content and warnings— fluff, comfort, suggestive, steamy, sexual tension, sensual overload, praise/degradation light.
wc— 2.4 k
note— hi! I was planning to upload this yesterday, unfortunately I didn't have much time because I didn't plan my schedule well! I hope you like it, please let me know if you notice any mistakes!
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ shotaro:
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the sweetest wake-up in the world.
your phone buzzes exactly at 8:00 am. you open your eyes and there it is: a message from Shotaro with a photo of him just waking up; messy hair, sleepy smile, and a little handwritten sign that says “happy valentine’s day, my favorite person ♡”. seconds later comes a voice note. his voice is raspy, with a nervous giggle:
“uh… i practiced this like five times but i forgot everything, i just… just wanted you to know you were the first thing on my mind when i woke up. like always.”
tou can hear him covering his face in embarrassment. you can picture him bright red. you melt before you even get out of bed.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ active date (with excuses to touch you)
ge picks you up mid-morning with that pure shotaro energy.
“do you trust me?”
he takes you to a dance studio he rented just for the two of you. plays a soft playlist: r&b mixed with some bieber vibes. teaches you a simple move, but every time you “mess up” (even if it’s on purpose), he comes up behind you, hands on your waist, adjusting your posture with firm but gentle grip.
“like this… feel the rhythm with me.”
his breath near your neck. his chest against your back. you’re not thinking about the steps anymore. neither is he. the song ends and you stay like that, breathing together, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“you know… i think you dance perfectly when you’re close to me.”
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the letter that breaks you (in the best way)
at night, he hands you an envelope decorated with stickers and little doodles. inside, a letter written in a mix of japanese and english, in his careful handwriting. he talks about how every day with you feels like his favorite song on repeat. gow your laugh is his safe place. how he wants to make you happy every single day like it’s february 14th. he stares at you intently while you read, biting his lip, nervous. when you finish and look at him with shiny eyes, he gives a tiny smile.
“was it okay?”
he doesn’t get to say anything else because you kiss him first. and that’s it, he’s done for. melts completely against you, sighing your name like it’s the only thing he needs to know how to say.
♡ྀི ₊ when he loses control (gently)
the kiss deepens. his hands, always so gentle, grip your waist with more urgency. he guides you backward until your back hits the wall. he pulls away just enough to look at you, breathing heavily, eyes darker than usual.
“i… i don’t want this to end yet.”
his voice sounds different. deeper, more desperate. he kisses your neck slowly, leaving a trail of soft kisses that make your skin tingle.
“tell me you’ll stay..."
he whispers against your skin. his hands slide up your sides, exploring, memorizing. when you thread your fingers through his hair, he lets out a quiet moan against your neck.
“you drive me crazy.”
and that night you discover that shotaro the sweetest one can also be the most intense when it comes to you.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ eunseok
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the cool guy who doesn’t fool anyone
eunseok shows up at your door with hands in his pockets, that “it’s no big deal” face. but he’s holding a gorgeous minimalist bouquet (white roses, eucalyptus, very artsy) and a box of those super expensive chocolates you mentioned once months ago.
“ah, this… i was just passing by.”
liar. he’s been planning this since january. when you hug him, his shoulders finally relax. “happy valentine’s, baby,” he whispers against your hair, voice in that low register that shuts your brain off.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊fancy dinner with THAT stare
takes you to a low-light restaurant, dark aesthetic, jazz in the background. eunseok looks INSANELY hot. black shirt half unbuttoned, hair styled but not too much, that scent you always use as an excuse to get closer. the whole dinner he barely talks. but he looks at you. god, the way he looks at you. like he’s reading every single thought, every little movement, every time you bite your lip. you try to keep the conversation going, but he just smirks, props his chin on his hand, and says things like:
“keep talking. i love the way your eyes light up.”
it’s not fair.
he knows it.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊the moment that changes EVERYTHING
when he walks you home, he walks slower than usual. he doesn’t want it to end. ay your door, he doesn’t leave. stays there, close too close. his hand finds your waist and holds it with purpose. looks into your eyes, then your lips:
“stay with me a little longer.”
it’s not a question. It’s a plea disguised as a command. and when you kiss him, he takes over. slow, but intense. presses you against the door, other hand on the back of your neck, whispering between kisses:
“you have no idea how much i want you.”
spoiler: yes you do. you feel it in every touch.
♡ྀི ₊ no filter
you step inside your place. the tension is thick. eunseok pulls you to him on the couch, but this time there’s zero space between you. he settles you on his lap, firm hands on your thighs.
“i've wanted to do this all day,”
he confesses in that voice that completely unravels you. he kisses you deep, possessive, like he wants to imprint himself in your memory. his hands slide up your back, under your top, skin on skin.
“you’re mine, right?”
he whispers against your lips, sounding so intense you can only nod. he lays you back on the couch, positions himself over you, his weight deliciously present. he kisses your neck, your collarbone, leaving soft marks that will remind you of this night tomorrow.
“i want you to wake up tomorrow thinking about me...”
he says between kisses.
“only me.”
mission accomplished, eunseok.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ sungchan:
♡ྀི ₊over-the-top and adorable
sungchan shows up with a GIANT plushie. like, a bear the same height as you. It barely fits through the door. he laughs at his own ridiculousness.
“too much? yeah, i thought you’d say that. but look at it, isn’t it cute? it looks like me when you’re not around: sad and huge.”
you throw the plushie at him. he catches you instead.
“better hug me, no?”
and that’s how the day starts: laughter, play-fighting, stolen kisses.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊golden retriever in full love mode
the whole day is a sungchan-in-love festival. weird-angle selfies of both of you making faces. surprise kisses on your forehead, nose, cheek.
“wait, one more here.”
and another. and another. takes you to a park, buys cotton candy, wins every game but lets you win the last one.
“i didn’t give it to you, okay? you won fair and square.”
(lie). every time you look at him, he’s already looking at you with that HUGE smile.
“what? do i have something on my face?”
“yeah, love.”
“what?”
“literally all the love I feel for you.”
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the unexpected emotional hit
at the end of the day when you’re both tired, he pulls you to him on the couch. Wraps you completely in his arms, your head on his chest, his chin on top of your head. Goes quiet for a moment. Unusual for him. Then, in a low, almost shy voice:
“you know I’m crazy about you, right? like… for real. not just today. every day. sometimes inget scared of how much.”
you look up. his eyes are glossy, sincere.
“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
and there, no jokes, no games (just sungchan loving you with everything), he kisses you slow, deep, endless.
♡ྀི ₊when the golden retriever has other intentions
the kiss shifts. it turns hungrier. sungchan adjusts you better on his lap, his big hands holding you by the waist, the thighs.
“come here”
he murmurs, voice suddenly raspy. he kisses you like he can’t stop, like you’re his oxygen. His hands slip under your clothes, warm and slightly trembling.
“sorry, it’s just… i need you closer.”
he laughs nervously but doesn’t stop. he kisses your neck, softly bites your shoulder, and when you let out a small moan, he MOANS back.
“i love that sound.”
his hips move instinctively against you and you feel EVERYTHING. He blushes but holds your gaze.
“do you want…?”
he doesn’t finish the question. he doesn’t need to. your answer is in the way you pull him back to you. and sungchan—with all his height and sweetness—gives himself completely.
bonus: takes a thousand photos of you sleeping in his arms. next day his wallpaper: you hugging the giant plushie, wearing his hoodie.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ wonbin:
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the song that’s “not for you” (but totally is)
wonbin sends you a soundcloud link.
“listen to this when you have time.”
ut’s a new song. acoustic guitar, his soft voice, cracking a little in some parts. the lyrics are about someone who changed his life without trying. smiles that stay in his head. hands that fit perfectly. doesn’t say your name. but every word is YOU. you text him:
“is this for me?”
he takes forever to reply. three dots.
“it’s always for you.”
your heart doesn’t survive.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ aesthetic night walk
picks you up at sunset. you walk aimlessly, neon lights reflecting in puddles, city alive but you two in your own bubble. wonbin never lets go of your hand. fingers laced, thumb stroking your skin. every now and then he stops under a pretty light.
“wait.”
pulls out his phone, takes a photo of you. “so i can remember.”
“remember what?”
“how you looked the exact moment i realized i’m way too in love.”
says it so casually.
so him.
you’re speechless.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the kiss that stops time
when wonbin kisses you, he’s in no rush. holds your face with both hands like you’re the most precious thing. lips move slow, exploring, memorizing. pulls back just a few millimeters, sharing the same air, foreheads together.
“i love you,” he whispers, and it sounds so real it hurts.
“i love you in a way that scares me.”
kisses you again, deeper this time, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. the world disappears. it’s just the two of you, breathing together, existing together.
♡ྀི ₊ the dark side of the romantic
you arrive at his place. wonbin closes the door and pins you against it before you can even turn on the light.
“i've been thinking about this all day...”
he confesses, voice barely a murmur. he kisses you differently. more urgent, more needy.his hands roam your body with purpose, tracing every curve like it’s the first time. he guides you to his room, the faint outside light barely illuminating his features. he lays you on the bed, positions himself over you, and looks at you with those eyes that undress you without even touching.
“let me love you right”
he whispers, kissing your neck, your collarbone, moving down slowly. his hands are artists—they know exactly where to touch to pull sighs from you.
“so perfect”
he murmurs against your skin. and that night wonbin proves that his love isn’t just written in songs, it’s felt in every single caress.
bonus: leaves his hoodie with you “because it smells like me and you won’t miss me as much.” he just wants to see you in his clothes.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ sohee
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ nerves on full display (adorable)
sohee rehearsed EVERYTHING. what to say, how to say it, when to laugh. but when he sees you, the whole script disappears.
“i… you… happy— i mean, happy valentine’s!”
laughs at himself, runs his hand through his hair, completely red. you just want to eat him up with kisses.
“i brought something.”
pulls out a little box. Inside is a bracelet he made himself. with colored beads that mean something:
“this color is your favorite, this one’s mine, and this… well, it’s for when we’re together.”
he’s dying of embarrassment. it’s PERFECT.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ rhe gift made with love
takes you to a small, quiet cafe. tells you he spent the whole week working on your gift. it’s a homemade photo album. pictures of you two, tickets from dates, little notes he wrote you, kinda weird but cute drawings. every page has a memory.
“i wanted you to know that… every moment with you i keep right here.”
touches his chest.
“but i also wanted you to have it.”
you tear up a little. he panics.
“you didn’t like it?! i can—” you shut him up with a kiss. problem solved.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the hug that says everything
when it’s time to say goodbye, sohee hugs you SO tight. Buries his face in your neck and stays there. Arms wrapped completely around you. Silent for a few seconds. then, tiny voice:
“i like you so much. like… so so much.”
pulls back just enough to look at you. eyes shining, sincere, vulnerable.
“like… I don’t even know how to explain it.”
you smile.
“me too, sohee.”
his smile is so pure it lights up everything. when he gains a bit of confidence and kisses you again, there’s a little more intensity. hands on your waist, pulling you closer.
“can i… a little more?” he whispers.
dangerous.
♡ྀི ₊ sohee discovering what he wants
“stay,” he says suddenly, sounding almost desperate. he leads you to his room, nervous but determined. he sits on the bed, pulls you toward him.
“i don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admits with a shy laugh, “but i want to be close to you. CLOSER.”
he kisses you, and this time there’s less shyness and more desire. his hands tremble a little when they touch your skin, but he doesn’t stop.
“is this okay?”
he asks between kisses, always checking. And when you give him the green light, Sohee transforms. Deeper kisses, bolder hands, whispers of
“i need you”
against your ear. he lays you down, settles between your legs, and the way he looks at you… vulnerable but starving.
“teach me,” he whispers.
“teach me how to make you feel good.”
and with every moan you let out, his confidence grows. sohee learns fast. VERY fast.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ anton:
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ chill but meaningful date
anton plans something low-key but perfect. morning coffee, walk through an art gallery, deep talks about everything and nothing. he’s the type to ask:
“what really makes you happy?”
and waits for the real answer. looks at you like every word you say matters. because to him it does. you share a dessert. he steals a sip of your drink.
“it just looks better when you drink it.” soft smile. head over heels in love.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ listening is his love language
all day, Anton never takes his attention off you. asks questions no one else asks. about your dreams, your fears, that one song that makes you cry. doesn’t interrupt. just listens, nods, smiles when you smile.
“i like the way you think...” he says suddenly. “i like the way you see the world. you make me want to see it that way too.” says it so seriously you feel truly SEEN. completely understood.
ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ the electric goodbye
when it’s time to part ways, anton doesn’t rush. takes his time. tucks your hair behind your ear slowly, fingers brushing your cheek. his gaze drops to your lips. says nothing. just leans in. slow. giving you time to decide. but you want it too. and when his lips meet yours, it’s ELECTRIC. Soft but intense. hands on your waist, pulling you closer. pulls back just a bit.
“i want more days like this with you,” whispers against your lips. “every day.” kisses you again, this time with more certainty, more desire, more of everything.
♡ྀི ₊ anton with no brakes
“don’t go yet” he says, and there’s something in his tone that stops you. he leads you inside, closes the door, and suddenly you’re against the wall with anton DEVOURING you. his kisses are deep, almost desperate, like all the restraint from the day explodes at once.
“i've been holding back” he confesses between kisses.
“all day wanting to touch you like this.” his big hands roam your body with confidence, no hesitation. he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carries you to his room. he lays you down carefully but looks at you with pure hunger.
“you’re so beautiful" he murmurs, kissing every inch of exposed skin. his hands, his mouth, EVERYTHING works in perfect sync to unravel you. And when he finally gives in completely, it’s with a quiet but overwhelming intensity. anton loves in silence, but when his body speaks, it says A LOT.
bonus: sends you a playlist titled “14.02 with you”. all songs that remind him of you. the last track is a voice note from him:
warnings— nsfw (+18), smut, power dynamics (reader takes control / dom!reader, sub!anton vibes), injury description (graphic but caring depiction of blistered fingers), dirty talk, soft aftercare / fluff at the end.
The low, obsessive hum of the electric bass greeted you like a persistent heartbeat before you fully closed the door. It wasn’t a song; it was a riff repeated to exhaustion, the same musical phrase hammered with stubbornness, as if Anton were fighting himself.
The party had been fun—laughter, strobe lights, one too many drinks—but now you only wanted silence, his warmth, and to fall asleep pressed against him. Instead, you found the amber glow of the desk lamp bathing his hunched back, dark hair stuck to the nape of his neck with sweat, shoulders tense under his old t-shirt. He didn’t hear you come in; he was lost in the fretboard, fingers flying over the strings with a precision that already bordered on violence.
“Anton,” you whispered.
He startled, turned, and the mask of concentration melted into an exhausted but radiant smile.
“You’re here…” he murmured hoarsely, carefully propping the bass against the amp with reverent care.
He wrapped you in an embrace that smelled of clean effort, warm wood, and him. He kissed your forehead, then your mouth: slow, deep, reconnecting as if days had passed instead of hours. Your hands slid up his rigid arms, feeling the built-up tension, and you sought to intertwine your fingers.
He hesitated, pulling his left hand back for just a second.
“What’s wrong?” You parted your lips and looked down.
Under the light, his left hand was a wreck: the tips of his index, middle, and ring fingers swollen, red, burst blisters with whitish raised edges, dry cracks that must have burned like hell.
“Baby…” you sighed, voice full of tenderness and just a hint of affectionate scolding. “How many hours?”
“As many as it took,” he tried to downplay it, but his voice came out tired. He tried to pull you closer with his good hand. You had already made up your mind.
“Practice is over for today.” You took his uninjured wrist and led him to the bathroom.
You sat him on the edge of the tub. He let you, obedient, fascinated. The hum of the bass had already faded when you entered, but the echo lingered in the air, as if the room still vibrated with his obsession. Anton sat on the edge of the tub, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on you as you prepared the first-aid kit. The bathroom’s white light made him look even more vulnerable: faint dark circles, messy hair, t-shirt clinging from hours of sweat.
“Come here, let me see properly,” you murmured, kneeling in front of him to meet his level.
You took his left hand in both of yours, as if it were something fragile and precious. You turned it carefully under the light, inspecting every inch. The fingertips of his index, middle, and ring fingers were a battlefield map: red, swollen, burst blisters with whitish edges, small dry cracks that must sting with every breath.
“My poor baby…” you sighed, voice soft as a caress. “Look how you’ve punished yourself.”
He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
“It’s worth it…”
“No, love. You’re worth it. Anything else can wait.”
You started with warm water and neutral soap. You soaked a soft gauze and passed it gently over each fingertip, cleaning the dirt and dried sweat. Anton closed his eyes every time the water touched an open wound, a short hiss escaping between his teeth.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” you asked softly, kissing the back of his hand before continuing.
“A little,” he admitted hoarsely. “But your hands hurt less.”
You smiled and, without letting go, brought his injured index finger to your lips. A soft kiss, barely a brush, over the reddened skin. Then the middle. Then the ring. Slow, warm kisses, as if you could heal with your mouth. He let out a shaky sigh, his whole body relaxing just a bit.
“Better?” you whispered against his skin.
“Much better…” he murmured, voice deeper. “Keep going.”
You did. Kiss on every burst blister, kiss on every dry crack, kiss on the base of each finger. Between kisses, you passed the antiseptic gauze, blowing gently afterward to ease the sting. He bit his lower lip, eyes half-closed, watching you like you were the only real thing in the world.
When it was time for the ointment, you put it on your index finger and began spreading it in slow circles, massaging carefully. The cold cream against his hot skin raised goosebumps; a shiver ran up his arm and into his neck.
“Fuck…” he gasped quietly. “Your fingers are magic.”
“Your fingers are what I’m worried about right now,” you replied, but you kept massaging, sliding up and down each phalanx, occasionally brushing his palm with your thumb. He opened his eyes and stared at you, the intensity building.
“Don’t stop,” he asked in a low voice.
“I won’t stop until you’re bandaged and kissed to exhaustion,” you promised, leaning in to kiss his wrist, the inside of his forearm, the crook of his elbow. Each kiss was slower, more deliberate.
Finally, the gauze and tape. You wrapped each finger precisely, leaving room so it wouldn’t squeeze. When you finished, you lifted his bandaged hand and kissed it completely: palm, knuckles, every wrapped finger.
“All done, captain. Though… these aren’t the sexiest bandages in the world,” you joked, looking up.
He gave a weak smile. He tried to wrap his bandaged hands around your waist. You stopped the movement with your palms on his chest. “Ah, no. Not today, captain.”
“No?” He raised an eyebrow, voice deeper, challenging.
“No.” You lowered your voice to a loaded whisper. “Your fingers are on strike. Today I’m in charge… and you surrender.”
You led him to the bedroom with a gentle push. He let himself fall back onto the bed, eyes wide, a mischievous smile peeking through. He tried to unbutton the first button of your blouse; the clumsy bandages only brushed the fabric without success. He let out a low, frustrated growl.
“Let it go,” you ordered sweetly, straddling his hips. “Look how useless your hands are today… good thing I know exactly how to use mine.”
You kissed each bandage slowly, deliberately, soft lips over the rough gauze. You moved up the inside of his forearm, over his tense bicep, to his neck that smelled of salt and him. You kissed him deeply, controlling the rhythm, nibbling his lower lip until he moaned into your mouth.
You took off his t-shirt slowly, nails grazing his chest, abs contracting under your fingers. You slid down his sides, along the trail of soft hair disappearing under his waistband.
“I want you to feel every touch,” you whispered against his ear, nibbling the lobe. “I want you to go crazy knowing you can’t touch me the way you want.”
You unbuttoned his pants, slid them down along with his boxers. You took him in your hand, slow, feeling him harden instantly, hot and heavy against your palm. Long strokes, squeezing just at the base.
Anton arched his back, letting out a hoarse moan.
“Fuck… please…”
“Please what, baby?” you teased, stroking up and down with torturous calm. “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck… yes…” he moaned. “Touch me… please, touch me harder.”
“Shh,” you teased, moving with torturous calm. “Today it’s my pace. You’re going to feel every caress… and you’re going to beg so prettily.”
“I want to touch you… I want to slide my fingers inside you… I want to feel you…”
“But you can’t,” you whispered playfully, leaning in to lick a slow line up his neck. “Today you can only feel. And moan prettily for me.”
You took off your clothes slowly, letting him watch, letting him ache without being able to have. When you straddled him again, you guided him inside you inch by inch, so slowly he trembled all over, a long moan escaping his throat.
“Look at me,” you ordered softly.
He opened his eyes, dark and glassy. “You’re… fuck, you’re too much.”
You started moving slowly, up and down, feeling every detail: the heat, the pressure, how completely he filled you. Every time he tried to thrust his hips faster, you stopped completely.
“Stay still,” you whispered, pinning him with a look. “Today you don’t speed up. Today it’s my rhythm… and you’re going to hold on until I say so.”
His bandaged hands gripped the sheets hard, knuckles white. He tried to touch your chest; the clumsy fingers only brushed the skin without precision. He let out a frustrated growl that turned into a moan when you clenched around him.
“You’re killing me…” he gasped. “Please… faster…”
“Not yet.” You sped up just a little, then slowed again. “I love seeing you like this: desperate, surrendered, all mine. Do you like it when I take control when you can’t do anything, Anton?”
“Yes… fuck, yes,” he confessed between gasps. “It drives me insane… only you can do this to me.”
Your hands on his chest, his neck, sliding down to touch yourself while keeping him on the edge. The bandages occasionally brushed your skin, rough, reminding you how vulnerable he was.
“Yes… yes… like that… I’m coming… I’m coming for you… fuck, I love you… I love you so much…”
When you felt he was at the limit, you finally sped up: hard, deep, merciless. He tensed completely, neck arched, a muffled scream against your shoulder as he let go, trembling beneath you, repeating your name like a broken prayer.
You followed seconds later, clinging to his shoulders, waves of pleasure crashing through you as his ragged breathing warmed your neck.
Afterward, you lay tangled in the darkness. His head heavy on your shoulder, breathing slowly calming. He lifted his bandaged hand and looked at it for a second under the dim light.
“They’ll hurt less tomorrow,” you murmured, kissing his damp temple.
“I don’t care,” he replied softly, voice still rough with pleasure. He brushed his lips against yours. “The practice… the pain… it was all worth it if this is what happens when you stop me.”
You smiled against his mouth, knowing that sometimes injured fingers were the perfect excuse to discover a new melody: the one of being cared for, dominated, and loved until nothing but total surrender remained.
hiii! i missed being here so much! so sorry for the delay, it’s been almost 4 months... these days have been pretty heavy and chaotic, and sometimes i barely have time for myself since i’m working and studying at the same time. but, i’ve promised myself to be more active and organize my time better so i can get everything done and get back to writing, which is something i missed so much! 🌿
it’s been almost a year since i started my blog and everything i’ve experienced here has been amazing! that’s why i really needed to write again, reconnect, and meet new people! ☁️🧸 i have so many projects and series planned that i’ll be telling you about soon! i just need to get everything organized to start sharing them with you. thanks for still being here and welcome to all the new faces! 🏹🤍
btw, i’m having some trouble updating the midnight rain masterlist!🥀 so, to find the chapters while i fix it, try searching for them like this: #midnight rain anton :)
"Just aim for the goal, Anton! It's not that hard!" Sungchan shouted from the other side of the field, hands on his hips and that "¿really?" expression.
"I'm trying," I murmured, wiping the sweat from my forehead and feeling my cheeks heat up from embarrassment.
We'd been playing for an hour, and I had managed the impossible: to be worse at soccer than the first time I played. Eunseok and Sohee laughed every time I touched the ball, while Sungchan tried to teach me the basic technique for the tenth time.
"Look, it's simple," Sohee said, taking the ball. "You just have to..." He did a perfect demonstration, sending the ball straight into the goal. "See? Like that."
"Yeah, super easy," I replied sarcastically, but I smiled, even though my face was still red from frustration. Despite being a disaster, it was fun.
Wonbin was sitting in the bleachers, guitar on his lap, playing soft chords that could barely be heard over our shouts. Every now and then he looked up to watch us, but he seemed more interested in his music than in the game.
"Anton, your turn," Eunseok said, passing me the ball.
I took a deep breath, feeling my hands start to sweat. This time I would do it right. This time I wouldn't end up sending the ball into the bleachers or, worse, into the trees.
I ran toward the ball with more confidence than I actually had, but my heart was pounding like crazy. My foot made contact, and for a glorious moment, I thought I had finally done it.
The ball flew through the air before I could stop it. I had tried to hit it softly, like Sungchan had explained a hundred times, but my foot had its own ideas.
"Watch out!" Sohee shouted, but it was already too late.
The ball hit someone at the edge of the field, followed by a high-pitched yelp. I froze, heart in my throat and feeling completely mortified.
"I'm sorry!" I ran toward the figure staggering, holding her arm, my face getting redder by the second.
It was a girl with short, dark, shiny hair cut in a perfect bob that framed her delicate face. She wore a beige sweater and jeans that looked expensive, all combined with a natural elegance that made me feel like a complete sweaty savage. Next to her, another girl, with her hair in a high ponytail and an expression that could have melted steel, glared at me.
"What's wrong with you? Watch where you're kicking!" the friend snapped, clearly annoyed, approaching her companion like a personal bodyguard.
My stomach twisted with embarrassment and nerves.
"Carmen, come on, it's fine," the short-haired girl said, with a soft but firm voice. She looked at me and gave a shy smile. "I'm okay, really."
Her voice had something... I don't know how to describe it. It was sweet, but not cloying. Calm, but with a warmth that immediately made me feel less nervous, even though I was still completely blushing.
"No, it's not fine," Carmen insisted, crossing her arms. "You could have seriously hurt her."
The guys approached, and I could hear their stifled giggles behind me.
Great.
Now I had an audience for my humiliation. I turned even redder, if that was possible.
"I'm really sorry," I repeated, feeling like an idiot and stumbling over my words. "Does it hurt? Do you need to go to the nurse? I... I can take you, or call someone, or..."
"No, seriously, I'm fine," she said, flexing her arm to prove it worked perfectly. "It was just the surprise."
There was something about her, an elegant calm, that completely contrasted with Carmen's chaotic energy. The way she spoke, how she moved, even how she smiled... everything seemed thought out, refined. Like one of those people who never has a hair out of place.
"I can... I don't know, make it up to you somehow?" I offered, desperate to do something to fix the situation, though my voice came out a little higher than normal from nerves.
"You should at least ask her for coffee!" Eunseok joked from behind, earning a murderous look from Sungchan.
That made me completely red up to my ears.
"Eunseok!" I hissed, turning toward him with a mortified expression.
The girl shook her head, smiling a little more, and I think she noticed how embarrassed I was because her expression softened.
"It's not necessary," she said, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. It was a brown leather backpack that looked expensive, but not flashy. "It was an accident."
"Come on, Carmen, let's go," she said, gently pulling her friend's arm.
Carmen gave me one last reproachful look, muttering something about "irresponsible boys," before following her. And I stood there, watching them walk away across the wet grass of the field, still completely red-faced.
"Good shot, Anton," Sohee said, patting me on the back. "Next time aim for the field, not the girls."
"Very funny," I murmured, but I barely heard their jokes.
There was something about that girl that had caught my attention. It wasn't just that she was pretty—though she definitely was—. It was something more subtle. The way she had handled the whole situation with so much grace, how she had calmed her friend, how she had smiled at me despite me just having hit her with a ball.
"You okay, bro?" Sungchan asked, waving a hand in front of my face. "You zoned out like a zombie."
"Yeah, I just... feel bad for hitting her," I replied, touching my still-hot face.
"She was cute," Eunseok commented with a mischievous smile. "Did you like her?"
"What?! No," I protested immediately, turning red again. "My heart belongs completely to Emi. I just felt bad, that's all."
The guys exchanged mocking looks, and I sank deeper into my embarrassment.
After another hour of soccer —or, in my case, tripping over the ball and occasionally making accidental contact—, I decided to go find Emi. The guys stayed on the field, now playing seriously without my "help," but I couldn't concentrate anymore.
I just wanted to see Emi. Hug her. Hear her voice. Have her tell me I was an idiot in the affectionate way only she could.
I found her in the library, bent over a comparative literature book, with a strand of hair falling over her face. She had that wrinkle of concentration between her eyebrows that appeared when something really absorbed her. I approached from behind, enjoying the moment of being able to watch her without her noticing.
My heart raced just seeing her. It always happened when I saw her after being apart, even if it had only been a few hours.
Very cautiously, I wrapped my arms around her before she could notice me, inhaling the soft scent of her shampoo.
"Anton!" she hissed, turning with a mix of surprise and amusement. "You're all sweaty!"
"Does it bother you?" I asked, blushing a little, but moving closer just to make her laugh and also because I genuinely couldn't stay away from her.
"No, but..." she looked around, where a couple of students gave us "be quiet" looks. "We're being noisy. Let's get out of here."
We left the library laughing like idiots, and ended up walking through the university gardens. The air smelled of recent rain and wet grass, and the lawn glistened under the afternoon sun filtering through the clouds.
Very shyly, I tried to take her hand, a gesture I wanted to feel natural for me but that still made me nervous.
But Emi gently pulled away.
"I'm hot," she said, but she didn't look at me when she said it.
I felt a pang in my chest, but tried not to make a big deal of it. Sometimes she was like that, a little physically distant. I knew she wasn't used to constant displays of affection, and I tried to be patient, but I couldn't help wanting to be close to her all the time.
"Hey, I'm staying until ten today," I told her as we sat on a bench under a cherry tree, keeping a respectful distance. "We have rehearsal with the guys. It's for our first live performance."
"Really?" her eyes lit up, and that reaction filled my chest with warmth. "That sounds amazing. Do you already have the song ready?"
"More or less. Shotaro and Wonbin can't agree on the arrangement, as always," I laughed, though I got a little nervous when I mentioned Wonbin. "Wonbin wants something more... I don't know, intense. And Shotaro prefers to keep it light."
"And what do you think?"
"I just play what they tell me," I admitted, blushing a little for admitting my lack of confidence. "But I think Wonbin is right this time. The song needs more... depth."
Emi nodded, but I noticed something strange in her expression when I mentioned Wonbin. A subtle tension that hadn't been there before.
"Everything okay?" I asked, worried.
"Yeah, of course," she replied too quickly. "It's going to be incredible to see you play."
While she spoke, a cherry blossom petal fell and got tangled in her hair. Without thinking, very slowly and very carefully, I reached out to remove it, my fingers trembling slightly as they gently brushed the strands near her temple.
"Can I...?" I murmured before touching her, my face turning red.
Emi tensed immediately at the contact, like an involuntary reflex. Her muscles stiffened and I could see her eyes widen a little more, as if she hadn't expected me to touch her.
"It was just a petal," I murmured softly, showing her the small pink petal between my fingers, completely blushing for causing that reaction.
"Oh... thank you," she whispered, and I could see the pink color rising to her cheeks.
I loved when she blushed like that. It was one of the few moments when her composure cracked a little, when she let that sweet vulnerability she normally kept hidden show through.
"Will you come see us?" I asked, shyly moving a little closer on the bench, but without touching her.
"Obviously," she replied, giving me a playful shove that made me smile like an idiot and turn even redder. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."
She started talking about her literature class, something about an essay she had to turn in, but I got lost looking at her. The way her lips moved, how she gestured with her hands when she got excited talking about something she cared about.
Without thinking too much, but with my heart pounding like crazy, I leaned very slowly and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, interrupting her sentence midway.
"W-what was that?" she stammered, touching the cheek where I had kissed her.
My face turned completely red.
"I just... I just wanted to," I said, my voice coming out softer than normal from embarrassment. "Keep talking."
She looked at me for a moment, clearly embarrassed, as if she didn't know whether to get mad or smile. In the end, the smile won, but she looked away, pretending to be very interested in her hands.
"You were saying something about the essay," I encouraged her, still with hot cheeks.
"I... oh, yes," she cleared her throat. "It's about metaphors in contemporary poetry..."
As she continued explaining, I noticed how she gradually relaxed. Her shoulders dropped, her gestures became more natural. But every time I made any movement toward her—like when I shyly tried to adjust her hair, or when I wanted to touch her hand, or when I moved closer—that small tension returned.
It wasn't rejection. It was more like she didn't know what to do with the attention, as if it were something new to her.
"And then I have to analyze how the author uses nature to represent..." she continued, gesturing with more confidence now.
Gathering all my courage, I kissed her cheek again, this time a little closer to the corner of her mouth. My heart was beating so hard I thought she would notice.
"Anton!" she protested, but she was laughing. "I'm trying to tell you something important."
"And I'm listening," I lied shamelessly, completely red but smiling. "Go on."
"You're impossible," she murmured, but her cheeks were completely pink now, and there was a smile she couldn't hide.
The way she blushed, how she got shy but didn't pull away... I loved it. It made me want to provoke that reaction again and again.
"You know what?" I said, very shyly taking her hand, hoping she wouldn't pull away. "I love seeing you like this."
"Like what?" she asked, but didn't remove her hand.
"Blushing. Shy. It's adorable."
Now she was completely red, and she covered her face with her free hand.
"You're terrible," she murmured through her fingers.
"But you like it," I said, very gently kissing her knuckles, my face burning from the audacity.
I wanted to really kiss her then. The way the sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell on her face, how she looked when she smiled like that... it was perfect.
But just as I leaned very slowly toward her, completely nervous but determined, her phone alarm rang.
"Oh," she said, checking the screen. "I have to go to class."
She stood up quickly, maybe too quickly, as if she had been waiting for an excuse to break the moment.
She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek —quick, as if afraid to linger too long— and left almost running, leaving me on the bench with a stupid smile, cheeks still hot, and the scent of her perfume floating in the air.
Emi was everything I needed. I knew she felt something for me too. I knew it. So why did my mind keep doubting when she acted like that? And why every time I tried to get closer, did she find a way to keep that subtle distance?
The rehearsal with the guys was more intense than usual. We had been practicing for our first live performance for weeks, and the pressure was in the air.
Wonbin was quieter than normal, playing his guitar with almost obsessive concentration. His fingers moved over the strings with a precision that always impressed me, but there was something in the way he held his shoulders, in how he frowned, that told me it wasn't just the music occupying his mind.
"Can we try the bridge again?" he asked for the fifth time in ten minutes.
"Wonbin, bro, it already sounds perfect," Sungchan said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"It can sound better."
Eunseok and Shotaro exchanged looks. It was rare to see Wonbin so... obsessive. He was usually the most relaxed of all of us.
During a break, I gathered the courage to approach him. I always got nervous confronting someone, but I was worried.
"Are you okay?" I asked, nervously playing with the strings of my bass.
He looked at me for a moment, and for a second I thought he was going to say something. But then he just nodded and returned to his guitar.
"I'm fine. I just want it to sound perfect."
His answer left me with more questions than answers, but I didn't dare press further.
The rest of the rehearsal continued in that strange tension. I limited myself to following instructions, playing the bass as best I could, though my fingers trembled a little from nerves. Music had always been my refuge, the place where everything made sense, but that night it felt... different. Like there was an underground current I couldn't identify.
"Anton, can you play that line again?" Shotaro asked. "But this time with more confidence. Like you really believe in the music."
I blushed, aware that my insecurity showed even in how I played.
"Sorry," I murmured. "I'll try..."
"Don't apologize, bro," Sungchan said with an encouraging smile. "Just... let yourself go. Music is about feeling, not perfection."
I nodded, took a deep breath, and played again. This time I tried to think of Emi, of how she had looked that afternoon with cherry petals in her hair, of her smile when I told her I wanted her to come see me play.
The music flowed better after that.
When we finished, it was almost ten. The university was practically deserted, and a light drizzle had started to fall, creating golden halos around the campus lights.
"Good rehearsal, guys," Eunseok said, putting away his drumsticks. "See you tomorrow."
"You sure you're okay?" Shotaro asked Wonbin as he packed his guitar.
"Perfectly," Wonbin replied, but his voice sounded tense.
We said goodbye at the main entrance. Sungchan left with Shotaro, Eunseok and Sohee took the night bus, and Wonbin muttered something about walking for a bit before leaving.
I stayed waiting for my driver, checking my phone to see if Emi had written. I had a couple of messages from her wishing me luck with the rehearsal, and that made me smile despite the strange vibe of the night.
And then I saw her.
The girl from the field, the one with short hair, was standing under a streetlight near the science building, talking on the phone with a clearly frustrated expression. She had the same leather backpack, but now wore a denim jacket that looked too thin for the weather.
It was strange to see someone so late on campus. Students usually left much earlier, especially with the rain.
I hesitated whether to approach or not. I didn't want to be nosy, but something told me I should make sure she was okay. After all, I had already hit her with a ball once today.
Very nervously, I approached.
"Everything okay?" I asked, stopping a few steps away, my voice coming out a little softer than normal from nerves.
She looked up, surprised, and hung up the phone.
"Oh, hi," she said, and I immediately recognized that soft voice. "You're..."
"Yeah... the guilty one from a few hours ago," I admitted, smiling a little and scratching the back of my neck nervously. "Problems?"
"Yeah, just... no Uber accepts my ride, and I lost track of time studying. I live pretty far, and apparently the drivers don't want to drive that far at night."
She looked tired, and the rain had started to wet her hair, making it stick to her face in a way that, honestly, made her look cute.
"That doesn't sound good," I said, feeling more and more nervous. "Look, my driver is on his way. I can give you a ride, if you want. I owe you for... you know, the ball hit."
She laughed, a light sound that made me smile without meaning to and turned me a little red.
"It's not necessary, really. I don't want to bother you."
"It's no bother," I insisted, though my heart was beating fast for offering like that—, right when the lights of my family's car appeared at the entrance. "Besides, it would be wrong of me to leave you here in this rain."
She hesitated, looking at her phone and then at the approaching car. Finally she sighed.
"Okay, thank you. But only if you're sure it's not a problem."
"Not at all," I replied, heading toward the car, though inside I wondered if I was doing the right thing.
When I opened the door for her—a gesture my dad had always taught me but that made me nervous doing—, I turned to say goodbye to the guys who were still nearby. Most had already left, but Wonbin was still there, standing under the rain as if he didn't feel it.
Our eyes met for a moment. He looked at me with an indecipherable expression, as if trying to figure something out that he couldn't understand. There was something in his gaze... disapproval? Curiosity? I couldn't tell.
"Are you coming or what?" I shouted, feeling uncomfortable under his stare.
He shook his head and walked away slowly, hands in his pockets and head down.
Something about the whole scene gave me a chill that had nothing to do with the rain.
"Everything okay?" the girl asked from inside the car.
"Yeah, everything perfect," I lied, getting in after her, though I felt strange.
In the car, I told the driver to follow my "friend's" directions. She gave an address that, according to the GPS, was almost an hour from the university, in a neighborhood I didn't know.
"I'm sorry for making you go so far," she said, settling into the black leather seat. She looked small in the spacious interior of the car, but not intimidated. Just... careful.
"It's nothing," I replied, shrugging, though I was nervous about being alone with a girl who wasn't Emi. "Besides, it gives me an excuse not to go straight home."
"Don't you like being home?"
The question caught me by surprise. It was direct, but not intrusive. Like she genuinely wanted to know.
"It's not that," I said slowly, playing with my hands. "It's just that... sometimes it's too quiet. My parents work a lot, and when they're around, they're usually busy with their things."
She nodded, looking out the window as the rain drew lines on the glass.
"I understand that. I live alone with my mom. It can be very quiet too."
The ride continued like that, with a conversation that flowed naturally between comfortable little silences. At first, she was quiet, a little shy, but little by little she started to open up. We talked about classes, teachers we hated, music.
I stayed nervous, aware that I was talking to another girl so naturally, but it was also... easy. I didn't have to think so much about every word like sometimes happened with Emi.
"Do you play any instrument?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
"Piano," she replied. "Since I was little. I'm not very good, but I like it."
"I'd love to hear you play sometime," I said, and immediately blushed for how it sounded. "I mean, I've always liked the piano."
She looked at me with surprise, as if she hadn't expected that comment.
"Really?"
"Really," I replied, my face still a little hot.
There was something about her—a calm, a natural elegance—that made me want to know more. The way she spoke, how she chose her words carefully, how she laughed softly when something amused her. She was different from the girls I had met.
Emi was fire and contained passion, energy that sometimes didn't know where to go. This girl was like still water, deep and serene.
Not better than Emi. Just... different.
"By the way," I said when we were already close to her house. "I don't know your name."
She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand in an adorably shy gesture.
"You're right. How rude. I'm Jiwoo."
"Anton," I replied, feeling a little stupid for not having introduced myself earlier.
"I know," she said, with a smile warmer than I expected. "I heard your friends yelling at you on the field."
"Ah, great. My most heroic moment of the day," I said, completely red.
She laughed again, and the sound filled the car in a way that made me feel strangely happy.
When we arrived at her house—a simple but well-kept building in a quiet residential neighborhood—, she lingered a moment before getting out.
"Thanks for the ride, Anton," she said, and there was something in her voice, a sincerity that made me pay full attention. "And... sorry for making you drive so far."
"And I'm sorry for hitting you with a ball," I joked, making her laugh one last time.
"I think we're even," she said, opening the door.
Very shyly, I added:
"See you at uni."
"See you," she replied, and there was something in the way she said it, a soft promise, that made me think maybe I would see her again soon.
I watched her walk to her door under the light rain, moving with that natural grace I had noticed from the start. She didn't hurry, didn't run. She just walked with sure steps, as if the rain was something she had decided to accept instead of fight.
When she disappeared inside the house, I told the driver we could go.
The whole way back, I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation I had with Jiwoo. Her shy smile, the way she had handled the whole day with so much elegance, how she had made a simple conversation feel... interesting.
She was a good girl. Someone who had clearly been raised with good values, who knew how to behave with grace even when an idiot hit her with a ball. She had that natural elegance some people just possess, and I couldn't deny she was beautiful in a classic, refined way.
But thinking about her made me feel... guilty.
I hadn't done anything wrong. I had just given a university classmate a ride home when she had trouble getting transportation. Any decent person would have done the same. I hadn't flirted, hadn't crossed any line.
And yet, here I was, feeling like I had done something I shouldn't.
Because Emi was everything to me. She was the girl who made me smile effortlessly, who made me want to be a better person, who filled my days with a light I didn't know had been missing from my life. She was the girl I had completely fallen for.
So why did I feel like this? Why did an innocent conversation with another girl make me question something?
I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with myself. Maybe it was because Jiwoo had been so... easy to talk to. I hadn't had to worry about every word, every gesture. I hadn't felt that constant pressure to be perfect.
With Emi, despite how much I wanted her, there was always that little voice in my head asking if I was doing the right thing. If I was enough. If she really wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with her.
I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. It wasn't fair to compare. Emi and I were just starting to navigate this new thing between us. It was normal to have nerves, insecurities.
I hadn't done anything wrong. Jiwoo was just a classmate who needed help. Period.
When I got home, I went straight to my room and took out my phone. I had to focus on what really mattered.
Anton:
Hi little one ❤ just got home.
What day do you have free this week?
I have a special plan for just the two of us!
I sent the message and stared at the screen, waiting for her reply with a shy smile.
Her response came fifteen minutes later:
Emi:
Hi 💕 I'm free Wednesday afternoon.
What do you have planned?
Anton:
It's a surprise 😊 But I need you to dress comfortably.
We're going to walk a lot.
Emi:
Mmm mysterious... I like it How was the rehearsal?
Anton:
Great! Wonbin was a bit weird, but the music sounded incredible.
Can't wait for you to see me play :D
Emi:
I can't wait either 💕 Now go to sleep, it's late.
Anton:
Good night, beautiful. Dream of me;)
I immediately blushed for writing something so cheesy, but I had already sent it.
Emi:
I always do 💕
Her reply made me smile like an idiot and turn completely red. I stared at the screen for several minutes, rereading the conversation.
Emi was my present and my future. Everything else was just noise.
But as I fell asleep that night, a very small part of my mind wondered why texting with Emi, despite how much I wanted her, sometimes felt like walking through a minefield.
I pushed that thought away before it could take root.
The next day, I woke up with a strange feeling in my stomach. It was Tuesday, which meant one day left until my special plan with Emi, and although I was excited, I was also incredibly nervous.
I had planned everything carefully: a picnic at the viewpoint where we had confessed our feelings, with homemade food I was going to ask my mom to help prepare. I wanted it to be perfect, but the pressure of it going well had my stomach in knots.
At breakfast, Junyoung immediately noticed my state.
"Why do you look like you're about to have surgery?" he asked, pouring cereal into his bowl.
"I don't look like anything," I murmured, playing with my oatmeal without really eating it.
"Anton, bro, you're completely pale," he insisted. "What's wrong?"
I sighed, dropping the spoon.
"Tomorrow I have a date with Emi. Well, it's not officially a date, but... you know. And I'm nervous something will go wrong."
Junyoung smiled with that wisdom that sometimes surprised me coming from someone younger.
"You know what girls like most?"
"What?"
"When you're yourself. When you don't try to be perfect all the time."
His words hit the nail on the head in a way I didn't expect.
"That's easy to say," I murmured.
"And easy to do too," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Emi already likes you, remember? You don't have to impress her. You just have to be the Anton she fell for."
At university, I tried to focus on my classes, but my mind kept wandering to the next day. During lunch, I sat with the guys in the cafeteria, but barely participated in the conversation.
"You're very quiet today," Sungchan commented. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just... thinking about things," I replied, distractedly poking at my food.
"Last night we were so focused rehearsing I forgot to ask," Shotaro said with a mischievous smile. "So, are you officially dating yet?"
I immediately felt my cheeks heat up.
"I... uh... no, not yet," I murmured, avoiding their looks.
"Seriously?" Eunseok asked, clearly surprised. "But you've been acting like boyfriend-girlfriend for weeks. What are you waiting for?"
My face turned completely red.
"It's complicated, okay? These things take time..."
"Have you really kissed yet?" Sohee asked bluntly, almost making me choke on my water.
"Sohee!" I protested, my voice coming out higher than normal.
"It's a valid question!" he defended himself, laughing at my reaction. "You've been holding hands all over campus, but we never see you kissing."
"Because I don't go around kissing people in public," I murmured, burying my face in my hands.
"That doesn't answer the question," Eunseok insisted with a malicious smile.
"Leave him alone," Sungchan intervened, though he was also smiling. "It's obvious they have, look at him, he's completely red."
Wonbin, who had been equally silent, looked at me with a strange expression.
"She's not my girlfriend," I mentioned again, feeling even more uncomfortable. "We're not... you know, official yet."
"But you like her, right?" Shotaro asked.
The question hit me straight in the chest, and I knew my expression gave me away completely.
"I... uh..." I stammered, my face burning. "Yeah, I like her. A lot."
"Aww, how cute!" Sohee exclaimed. "Our Anton is in love."
"And what does she feel for you?" Eunseok asked. "Because sometimes she seems a little... I don't know, like she keeps distance."
That observation hurt more than I wanted to admit.
"She... she feels something too," I said, though my voice sounded less sure than I expected.
"But?" Sungchan asked, noticing my doubt.
"But nothing," I said quickly. "It's just that... you know, she wants to go slow. And that's fine. I respect that."
"Sure," Wonbin said, returning to his food, but there was something in his tone that bothered me.
"What does that mean?" I asked, more defensive than I intended.
"Nothing," he shrugged. "Just that sometimes 'going slow' means the person isn't as sure as you think."
His words hit me like a bucket of cold water, and the other guys exchanged uncomfortable looks.
"Wonbin..." Shotaro started in a warning tone.
"What? I'm just saying that if someone really wants to be with you, they don't need so much... space," Wonbin continued, looking straight at me. "But what do I know, right?"
The tension at the table became palpable.
"Look, every relationship is different," Sungchan said, trying to mediate. "Not everyone expresses their feelings the same way."
"Exactly," I added, though the seed of doubt Wonbin had planted started to grow. "Emi isn't used to... this. It's normal for her to need time."
"Of course," Wonbin said, but his tone was still strange. "Surely you're right."
Shotaro looked at me with concern.
"You sure you're okay? You look... stressed."
"It's just that tomorrow we have plans and I want it to be perfect," I admitted, trying to change the subject and move away from the doubts Wonbin had stirred.
"The best dates are the ones you don't overplan," Eunseok said. "When you let things flow naturally."
"Is it an official date?" Sohee asked, excited. "Are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?"
My stomach twisted with nerves.
"I... I don't know. Maybe. It depends on how she feels," I murmured. "But I already planned everything," I added, feeling the anxiety grow in my chest.
"Then relax and enjoy," Sohee said with a smile. "What's the worst that can happen?"
A lot of things, I thought, especially after Wonbin's comments, but I didn't say it out loud.
I stayed in the car for five full minutes after sending the message, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.
Can we meet? I want us to talk. About everything. I’ll pick you up at 6.
I had already sent it. There was no turning back.
But my brain couldn’t stop creating catastrophic scenarios.
Scenario 1: Emi tells me the kiss was a mistake and that we should forget about it. That we were better as friends.
Scenario 2: She gets mad at me for putting her in an uncomfortable position. For ruining our friendship.
Scenario 3: She laughs at me. Tells me I misunderstood everything and that she could never see me that way.
Scenario 4: She listens politely, rejects me gently, and then everything becomes awkward between us forever.
None of these scenarios ended with me happy.
But there was a fifth scenario. One I barely dared to imagine.
Scenario 5: She feels the same way.
I shook my head. It was too optimistic. Too perfect to be real.
During the two hours left before picking her up, I paced around the whole house like a caged lion. Junyoung asked me three times if I was okay. My mom offered me food I couldn’t touch. My dad looked at me strangely when he saw me changing my shirt for the third time.
“Are you going somewhere important?” he asked.
“Something like that,” I muttered, without giving details.
By 5:45 I was already in the car, arriving early because of nerves. I stayed outside her house, mentally rehearsing what I would say to her.
Emi, I like you. No, too direct.
Emi, I think I feel something more than friendship for you. Too formal.
Emi, I love you. Too intense.
In the end, when she got in the car with that cautious expression, I decided I’d have to improvise.
The lookout had been a good choice. Private, beautiful, romantic without being too obvious.
But when the moment to talk came, when we were sitting on that bench looking at the city, I realized that none of my mental rehearsals had prepared me for reality.
For the way she looked at me, expectant but scared.
For how hard it was to find the right words for something so important.
For the absolute terror of knowing that the next few minutes could change everything between us.
I started awkwardly, talking about the bar, about Stella, apologizing for being an idiot. But I knew that was just the warm-up. What I really needed to say was much deeper.
And when I finally gathered the courage to say it—“I like you, Emi”—I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest.
The way her eyes widened. How her breath caught. The silence that followed and felt like an eternity.
For a second, I thought I had ruined everything.
And then...
I like you too, Anton.
Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, had prepared me for that response.
Not for the way she threw herself into my arms. Not for the tears in her eyes that were of happiness, not sadness. Not for the relief I felt when all my defenses crumbled and I could simply... love her.
Without fear. Without apologies. Without pretending to be someone else.
We stayed at that lookout until the sky turned completely black and the city lights shone like scattered diamonds.
We talked about everything. About when we had started to like each other. About the moments when we thought the other didn’t feel the same. About how idiots we had been avoiding the topic of the kiss.
Emi had her head resting on my shoulder, and I couldn’t stop stroking her hair, giving her little kisses on the forehead, whispering things I never thought I’d have the courage to say.
You’re incredible.
I can’t believe you feel the same way about me.
I like you so much.
Every time I said it, she smiled against my neck, and I felt like I could fly.
“I have to take you home,” I told her finally, when I saw the time on my phone. “I don’t want your parents to worry.”
“Five more minutes,” she murmured, clinging to my shirt.
“Five more minutes,” I agreed, kissing her forehead again.
But they turned into ten. And then fifteen.
Because I didn’t want that moment to end. I didn’t want to go back to reality where we’d have to pretend normalcy in front of others. I wanted to stay there forever, with her in my arms, knowing that we were finally real.
When we finally got to her house, I got out of the car before her, like my dad had taught me. I opened the door for her, offered my hand to help her out, and walked her to her door.
“You know what?” she said, stopping just before the entrance. “No one has ever done that for me.”
“What thing?”
“Opening doors. Walking me to the house. Treating me like...” she blushed “...like a princess.”
I smiled, taking her face in my hands.
“Then I’ll have to do it more often.”
I kissed her softly, slowly, savoring every second. Her hands clung to my shirt, and for a moment I thought about suggesting we stay there a little longer.
But I knew I had to be a gentleman.
“Good night, Emi,” I whispered against her lips.
“Good night, Anton.”
I watched her go into her house, waited until she turned on the light in her room, and only then went back to the car with a smile I couldn’t wipe off my face.
The drive home was like floating on a cloud.
I put on music, rolled down the windows, and let the night air mess up my hair. I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop replaying every moment, every word, every kiss in my mind.
She likes me.
Emi likes me.
The most incredible girl in the world loves me.
I got home feeling like I had won the lottery, ran up the stairs two at a time, and entered my room with that stupid smile still stuck on my face.
Junyoung was lying on my bed, playing on my console.
“Finally,” he said without looking up. “I thought you had...” he stopped when he saw me. “My God, what happened to you?”
“What?”
“You have the face of... I don’t know, like you just won a Grammy or something.”
I laughed, dropping into my desk chair.
“It’s nothing.”
“Liar,” he paused the game and turned to me. “You’ve had that face since you got here. What happened?”
I shook my head, but the smile got bigger.
“Seriously, it’s nothing important.”
“Anton,” his voice got more serious. “Brother, you’ve been weird for weeks. First depressed, then nervous, now you look like you discovered the cure for cancer. What’s going on?”
I sighed, running my hands through my hair.
“Do you remember the girl from the chat?”
His eyes lit up immediately.
“The one who had you like a lovesick zombie? Of course. What happened with her?”
“Well...” I couldn’t help smiling again. “I told her how I felt.”
“REALLY?!” he yelled, jumping off the bed. “And what did she say?”
“That... that she loves me too.”
Junyoung froze for a second, processing the information. And then he exploded.
“I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN!” he yelled, running toward me to hug me. “I told you! I told you there was something there!”
“Shh!” I laughed, pushing him. “You’re going to wake up Mom and Dad.”
“I don’t care,” he said, but he lowered his voice. “Brother, I’m so happy for you. What’s her name? When am I going to meet her? Are you officially dating yet?”
“Her name is Emi. And... we’re not officially dating yet, but...”
“But she likes you,” he finished for me. “That’s what matters.”
I nodded, feeling ridiculously lucky.
“And now what’s next?” he asked, sitting back on the bed. “When are you seeing her again?”
“Tomorrow. I’m picking her up to go to university together.”
“Really? Dad’s going to lend you the driver?”
“Yeah, I already told him I had to pick up a friend.”
Junyoung smiled.
“A ‘friend’,” he made quotes with his fingers. “Anton, brother, just... take it easy, okay? I know you’re excited, but give yourselves time to get to know each other well. There’s no rush.”
I looked at him, surprised by his maturity.
“Since when are you so wise?”
“Since I have an older brother who’s in love for the first time,” he shrugged. “But seriously, I’m happy for you. You deserve this.”
I threw myself on the bed next to him, feeling lighter than ever.
“Thanks, Junyoung.”
“For what?”
“For listening to me. For supporting me. For not making fun of me when I was being an idiot.”
“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “That’s what brothers are for, right?”
Emi
I woke up with a strange feeling in my chest. Like butterflies, but warmer. Like my heart had finally found its place after being lost for a long time.
Anton likes me.
I like Anton.
We are... what exactly are we?
Not officially dating, but definitely more than friends. Something new, fragile, beautiful.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Anton:
Good morning, pretty girl.
Did you sleep well?
I’ll pick you up at 8 to go to uni together.
My heart jumped.
Pretty.
No one had ever called me that.
But then I processed the rest of the message.
I’ll pick you up.
With the driver, I assumed. In his family’s fancy car. Arriving at university like the girl who needed to be driven because she didn’t have her own means of transportation.
No.
Emi:
Good morning 💕 I slept amazingly.
But don’t worry about picking me up, I’m going to be a little late today.
I have some things to do in the morning. See you there :)
His reply came quickly:
Anton: Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all.
Emi: Sure💕
Anton: Understood! See you at uni! <3
I put the phone away and sighed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to arrive with him. It was just that... I needed to keep some independence. I didn’t want things to change too fast.
I arrived on campus two hours after my usual time, just when most people were in their second classes. The hallways were quieter, less full of students running around.
I was walking to my locker when I felt a hand on my arm.
“Emi.”
I turned and there was Anton, with that smile I now knew was just for me.
“Hi,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks heat up.
Without saying anything else, he guided me to a side hallway, more away from the main traffic. When we were alone, he wrapped me in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had been waiting for that moment since he woke up.
I tensed a little. I wasn’t used to this. To such open, constant displays of affection. With my parents there had never been many hugs. With my previous friends either. And the guys I had been with... well, they didn’t hug.
But Anton... Anton was different.
“I missed you,” he murmured against my hair, inhaling my perfume like it was something vital for him.
“It’s been like four hours,” I laughed, but I relaxed in his arms.
“Four very long hours,” he said, pulling me a little closer to him.
I pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes, and without thinking too much, I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. But Anton wasn’t satisfied with that. His hands found my face and he kissed me again, slower, deeper.
“I missed you too,” I admitted when we separated.
His smile grew bigger, and I noticed how his eyes filled with that genuine happiness that melted me completely.
“Do you want to go have breakfast together? I know you said you had things to do, but...”
“Yes,” I interrupted. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” He stood there for a second, like he wanted to say something more. “Can I... can I hold your hand?”
The question surprised me. It was so sweet, so considerate. Most guys would have just taken my hand without asking.
Instead of answering with words, I intertwined my fingers with his. Anton immediately squeezed my hand, like he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to escape.
His smile could have lit up the whole building.
We walked down the hallway to the cafeteria, talking about our morning classes, about what we wanted to eat for breakfast, about weekend plans. Everything felt normal and extraordinary at the same time.
Normal because we were still us. Extraordinary because now we could do this without pretending we were just friends.
Anton didn’t let go of my hand. Not even when we had to move aside to let other students pass. He just guided me carefully, making sure I was always close to him.
And then we saw them.
The RIIZE guys were near the cafeteria entrance, talking among themselves. When they saw us approaching—specifically, when they saw our intertwined hands—all conversations stopped.
Shotaro was the first to react, with a huge smile.
“FINALLY!” he yelled, loud enough for half the campus to turn and look at us.
“Shotaro!” I hissed, instinctively letting go of Anton’s hand.
But he grabbed it again, firmer.
“No,” he murmured, pulling me closer to him. “We don’t have to hide.”
Sungchan approached with an “I knew it from the beginning” expression.
“Wow, brother…” he said to Anton, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “We thought you were never going to do anything about it.”
Seunghan and Sohee also joined in the congratulations, making jokes about how obvious it had been to everyone except us.
But when I looked at Wonbin, something in my stomach tightened.
He was standing a little apart from the group, arms crossed. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t joining in the jokes. He was just watching us with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
His eyes went from our intertwined hands to my face, and stayed there for a second longer than comfortable. There was something in his gaze... something intense, almost possessive.
“Congratulations,” he said finally, but his voice sounded... flat. Emotionless.
“Thanks,” Anton replied, though I noticed he had also caught something off in Wonbin’s tone.
“Do you want to come eat with us?” Eunseok asked. “We were going to take the food to the club, it’s quieter there.”
Anton looked at me, waiting for my answer.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Sounds good.”
But as we walked to the cafeteria, I couldn’t get Wonbin’s look out of my head.
And the feeling that maybe things had gotten more complicated than I thought.
In the music club, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Everyone had brought their lunches and were scattered around the room, some on the floor, others on chairs, creating small conversation groups.
I sat next to Anton on one of the sofas, and automatically he put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward him until I was practically glued to his side. It was such a natural gesture for him, but I was still surprised by every display of affection.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, noticing my slight tension, his warm breath against my ear.
“Yes,” I lied, relaxing against him.
The guys talked about everything: classes, professors, weekend plans. Anton participated actively, laughing at Sohee’s jokes, adding his own comments, completely relaxed.
Every now and then, he absentmindedly stroked my hair, or gently squeezed his hand around my waist, or lowered his head to whisper something in my ear about what they were discussing. They were small, unconscious gestures, but they made me feel... loved. Protected. Like I was precious to him.
He looked genuinely happy. Happier than I had ever seen him.
And I felt happy too.
Except for one thing.
Wonbin.
He was sitting on the other side of the room, apparently focused on tuning his guitar. But I could feel his gaze on us every few minutes. It wasn’t obvious, it wasn’t uncomfortable for the others, but I noticed it.
And every so often, he made comments that sounded casual but carried an edge.
“Anton, you look... different,” he said during a pause in the conversation, his eyes landing on how Anton was stroking my arm. “More relaxed.”
“I feel good,” Anton replied, squeezing my hand.
“That shows.” Wonbin’s eyes landed on me for a second, lingering on my lips before going back to Anton. “Love suits you.”
Something about the way he said it made me uncomfortable. Like there was something more behind those words.
Later, when Shotaro was telling a story about a professor, Wonbin commented:
“It’s amazing how people can change overnight, right? One day you’re completely alone, the next you have everything you wanted.”
His eyes met mine as he said this, and for a moment, it was like he was talking directly to me.
Anton frowned, clearly confused by the comment.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing specific,” Wonbin shrugged, but his gaze stayed fixed on me. “Just a general observation.”
And then, when Sungchan mentioned something about going to the movies over the weekend, Wonbin added:
“Though I guess some will be too busy with their... new priorities.”
The tension in his words was palpable, at least to me. Anton seemed oblivious, but I noticed. Every comment felt like a small needle, designed specifically for me.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on Anton and how happy he looked, but it was hard when I could feel that underground tension. Anton, for his part, seemed completely unaware of what was happening, lost in his own happiness.
When classes ended, Anton suggested we go for a walk in the park near my house.
“Don’t you have to go home?” I asked.
“I told my parents I’d be late. I want to spend more time with you,” he said, intertwining our fingers again.
We walked along the park paths, talking about everything and nothing, enjoying the privacy after a day full of curious looks on campus.
We found a secluded bench under a big tree, and we sat there as the sun began to set.
“Are you okay?” Anton asked suddenly, turning his body toward me. “I felt you a little... tense today.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, but he knew me too well.
“Emi.”
I sighed.
“It’s just that... all this is new to me. The constant displays of affection, being part of a group, people knowing about us. I’m not used to it.”
“Does it bother you? I can be less...” he started, but I interrupted him.
“It doesn’t bother me. I like it. It’s just that I need time to get used to it.”
He nodded, understanding, and took my hand in his, playing with my fingers.
“There’s also something else,” I continued, hesitating whether I should mention it. “Wonbin is acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like... I don’t know, like he doesn’t like that we’re together. The comments he made today...”
Anton frowned.
“I didn’t notice anything strange.”
“Maybe it’s just me,” I shrugged. “Forget it.”
But Anton took my chin, making me look at him.
“Hey. If something bothers you, I want to know. We’re a team now, remember?”
I smiled at those words.
“A team.”
“Exactly.” He gave me a soft kiss. “And also...”
“And also what?”
“I also want to kiss you more.”
Before I could respond, his lips found mine, and this time the kiss was different. More intense, more needy. His hands tangled in my hair, and I clung to his shirt, feeling the heat spread through my whole body.
The kiss deepened, and without realizing it, I ended up practically sitting on his lap, with his hands on my waist and mine around his neck.
“Emi…” he murmured against my lips, and there was something desperate in his voice.
But then, suddenly, he stopped.
He pulled away from me, breathing heavily.
“I’m sorry,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t want... I don’t want to go too fast with you.”
I looked at him, surprised and grateful at the same time.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For respecting me. For not pressuring me.”
He smiled, stroking my cheek.
“We have all the time in the world, Emi. There’s no rush.”
We stayed there a while longer, hugging but calmer, talking quietly about random things.
Until Anton said something that made me think.
“My brother wants to meet you.”
I sat up, surprised.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve told him a lot about you, and he’s curious. Plus, I’m sure Mom would love to meet you too. And I’d love for you to meet my dad someday, my whole family in general. I want you to be part of my world, Emi.”
Panic began to form in my stomach. Meet his family? His curious brother, his dad with expectations... and that whole world of luxury I don’t know. What would they think of me, a girl from a broken home and a simple job? I got nervous just imagining it, like an abyss opened between us. What if I didn’t fit? What if they saw the differences and decided I wasn’t enough for Anton?
“Anton, I... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
How do I explain to him that his family lives in a completely different world from mine? That his house is probably bigger than my entire neighborhood? That his parents will expect a certain kind of person and I definitely am not that person?
“It’s just that... we’re very different, Anton.”
“Different how?”
“You know how. Your family, your house, your... everything. And I’m just...”
“Just what?” his voice got more serious. “Just the most incredible girl I know?”
“It’s not the same, Anton. Your family has expectations. Money. Status. And I work as a waitress to pay for my things.”
He stayed quiet for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his head.
“Emi, that doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it will matter to them.”
“And what if it does? You’re the one who matters to me.”
His words were beautiful, but naive. He didn’t understand how the real world worked. How class differences really affected relationships.
“Let’s... take things slow, okay?” I said finally.
He nodded, though I could see he didn’t fully understand my concern.
And as he walked me home that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of our problems.
That maybe, despite how much we loved each other, love wasn’t enough to close the gap between our two very different worlds.
The panic I felt when Sungchan told me “she’s gone” hit me like a punch straight to the stomach.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” I asked, looking around the table as if Emi would magically appear.
“She texted me, said something happened with her family” Shotaro replied, showing me his phone.
I read the message three times, but the words didn’t make sense. Something with her family?
“But… when? Did you see her leave?” I insisted, already getting up from my chair.
“She said she was going to the bathroom like… twenty minutes ago?” Seunghan said, frowning. “I thought she came back and sat somewhere else.”
Twenty minutes.
Twenty damn minutes and I hadn’t noticed she was gone.
I ran out of the bar like a madman, shoving people aside without apologizing, my phone already in my hand. I reached the street and looked in every direction, hoping to see her walking somewhere, maybe waiting for a cab.
Nothing.
She was gone.
She was really gone.
And I knew it hadn’t been because of any family matter.
Back inside the bar, I couldn’t focus on anything. Stella kept talking, the guys kept laughing, the music kept playing, but I was completely absent.
“Is everything okay?” Stella asked, touching my arm with concern. “You look… distant.”
“Yeah, just… my friend had to leave and I’m worried” I muttered, checking my phone for the tenth time in five minutes.
“Your friend?” she asked, following my gaze. “The girl who was sitting over there?”
I nodded.
Stella tilted her head, thoughtful.
“She seemed… I don’t know, uncomfortable? The whole night. Like she wanted to be somewhere else.”
That hit me like a punch. Because she was right. All damn night, Emi had been there but not really there. Smiling, but without joy. Answering, but not participating.
And I had been so busy reminiscing with Stella that I hadn’t realized my present was falling apart right in front of me.
“Shit” I whispered.
“Anton?” Stella looked at me, worried.
“I’m sorry, Stella. I have to go. It was great seeing you, really, but I have to… I have to fix something.”
I didn’t wait for her answer. I just quickly said goodbye to the guys, promised I’d catch up with them later (a lie), and rushed out of the bar again.
In the car, with Wonbin driving silently, I couldn’t stop thinking about every moment of the night.
The way Emi had gone quiet when Stella arrived.
How she had smiled less and less as the hours went by.
The times I’d tried to include her in conversations and she just nodded without really joining in.
How she avoided my gaze during that last hour.
Was she… jealous?
The realization struck me like lightning. It hadn’t been about family. It hadn’t been a coincidence.
Emi had left because she was jealous.
Because it mattered to her, seeing me with Stella.
Because maybe… maybe the kiss had meant something to her too.
I got home and locked myself in my room, phone in hand, typing and deleting messages over and over again.
"Emi, are you okay? I got worried when you left."
Too obvious.
"I hope everything’s fine with your family."
Too fake. We both knew there hadn’t been a family emergency.
"Can we talk?"
Too intense.
In the end, I wrote the simplest, most honest thing I could think of:
Anton:
You left.
I sent the message and stared at the screen, my heart pounding like I had just run a marathon.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
One hour.
Two hours.
Nothing.
At two in the morning, my phone finally buzzed.
Emi:
Hi, sorry for not answering earlier. I had to leave because I had to give my rabbits their medicine, but I’m home now. Traffic was bad. Get home safe.
I read the message three times.
Rabbits?
Emi didn’t have rabbits. Or at least, she had never mentioned having pets.
But her message sounded so… normal. So casual. Like she had really had an emergency and everything was fine now.
Was I going crazy? Had I imagined the jealousy? The discomfort?
Anton:
Ah, okay. Glad to know everything’s fine. Rest well.
But I didn’t feel calm. Not at all.
Something didn’t add up. Her message was too perfect, too explained. Like she had thought through every word to sound convincing.
And then I remembered what Junyoung had once told me: “Sometimes when girls say everything’s fine, it’s exactly the opposite.”
The next two days, I couldn’t focus on anything. At home, during conversations with my familyeverything revolved around Emi and what had really happened that night.
On Monday during lunch, I interrogated the guys.
“Did you notice anything weird about Emi that night at the bar?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Shotaro and Sungchan exchanged a look.
“Weird how?” Sungchan asked.
“I don’t know… uncomfortable? Upset?”
“Well…” Shotaro hesitated. “At first she was fine, but after your friend arrived, she got quieter.”
“Quieter?”
“Yeah, like… I don’t know, distant. She smiled, but it didn’t look real” Sungchan added. “And every time Stella touched your arm or laughed at something you said, Emi kind of tensed up.”
My heart sped up.
“Seriously?”
“Bro, didn’t you notice?” Shotaro looked at me like it was obvious. “She looked… I don’t know, sad? Like she wanted to be anywhere else.”
“And you guys didn’t say anything?”
“What were we supposed to say? It’s not our place to get involved in… whatever it is you’ve got with her” Sungchan shrugged.
Whatever it is I’ve got with her.
That was the question, wasn’t it? What did I have with Emi?
I knew I liked her. I knew the kiss had meant something to me. I knew seeing her uncomfortable last night had hurt more than anything.
But I didn’t know if she felt the same.
Or maybe… maybe her reaction last night had been her answer.
That afternoon, after turning it over in my head all day, I made a decision.
I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t keep pretending we were just friends when clearly there was something more. I couldn’t keep avoiding the topic of the kiss, pretending nothing had changed between us.
I had to talk to her. I had to be honest.
Even if it meant risking our friendship.
Even if it meant the possibility of rejection.
I picked up my phone and typed:
Anton:
Can we meet? I want to talk. About everything. If you can… I’ll pick you up at 6. Does that work?
I sent it before I could change my mind.
This time, the reply came faster:
Emi:
Okay.
Two words. But they were enough.
Now I just had to find the courage to tell her the truth.
Emi
When I got home after that disastrous night at the bar, I collapsed onto my bed without even taking off my shoes.
Everything hurt. My chest, my head, my heart.
Seeing Anton with Stella had been like a slap of reality. Watching him so relaxed, so effortlessly himself with someone else had confirmed all my fears.
To him, I was the complication. The friend he had crossed a line with one day and now didn’t know how to handle.
Stella was his perfect past. His smooth-edged story. His comfort zone.
And I was just... me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting it to be my mom asking why I’d come home so late.
But it was Anton.
Anton:
You left.
Two words that cut through me like a knife.
You left.
Like an accusation. Like I had done something wrong by walking out when I couldn’t bear to watch him fall for someone else right in front of my eyes.
I closed my eyes and let the tears I’d been holding back finally escape.
I stayed like that for an hour, crying silently, feeling pathetic for being jealous of a girl who was clearly better for him in every possible way.
When I finally stopped crying, I grabbed my phone and typed the most casual, believable response I could think of:
Emi:
Hey, sorry for not answering earlier. I had to leave because I needed to give medicine to my rabbits, but I’m home now. There was a lot of traffic. Get home safe.
Rabbits. As if I even had rabbits.
But it sounded believable, didn’t it? Like I’d had a real emergency and not like I’d run away because I couldn’t stand to see him happy with someone else.
Polite. Distant. Relieved that it wasn’t his fault.
Perfect.
I couldn’t sleep, not at all. My mind wouldn’t stop overthinking, replaying everything. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did it have to be Anton I started catching feelings for? We were so different, and seeing him with Stella only confirmed what I already knew. I wasn’t that kind of girl.
Definitely not.
I cried the whole night. Feeling this way was unbearable, especially feeling so vulnerable—worse still, over a boy. It gave me a strange, unpleasant sensation I didn’t even know how to process.
I never thought I’d be going through something like this.
The next morning, as soon as I woke up, still half-asleep, I grabbed my phone to check the time. I noticed a new message. Probably one of the new girls at work asking for time off or to cover a shift. I quickly opened it.
Anton:
Can we meet? I want to talk. About everything. If you can… I’ll pick you up at 6. Does that work?
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. A storm of emotions crashed into me all at once… was this panic now?
About everything.
What did that mean? Did he want to talk about the kiss? About Stella? About why I had left last night?
Did he want to end our friendship before it got more complicated?
Part of me wanted to say no. To hide in my room and pretend none of this was happening.
But the other part—the part that still held onto hope—needed to know what he wanted to say.
I needed to hear it, even if it meant he would officially break my heart.
Emi:
Alright.
And now here I was, sitting on my bed, watching the clock and wondering if I was ready to hear whatever Anton had to tell me.
About everything.
I took a deep breath.
Whatever it was, at least I’d finally know the truth.
Anton showed up right on time, as always. But this time, when I got into the car, the atmosphere was completely different. There was no music playing, no small talk. Just silence, and the heavy tension of everything we hadn’t said.
“Where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes, noticing he was taking roads I didn’t recognize.
“To a place where we can talk without interruptions,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the road.
His voice was steady. Nervous, but determined.
We drove up a winding road until we reached a lookout point overlooking the whole city. The sun was already setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, while the city lights began to flicker on one by one.
It was beautiful. Romantic, even.
Which only made me more nervous.
Anton parked the car and sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, as if gathering courage.
“Emi,” he said finally, turning toward me. “I need to tell you something. And I need you to listen all the way through, okay?”
I nodded, though my heart was already racing.
We got out of the car and sat on a bench overlooking the view. The city stretched out before us like a sea of lights, but I couldn’t look at anything except him. The way he ran his hands through his hair. The deep breaths he took before speaking. The way he avoided my eyes.
“About the night at the bar…” he began. “I know you didn’t leave because of some family emergency.”
My stomach tightened.
“Anton…”
“No,” he interrupted gently. “Let me finish. Please.”
I shut my mouth and waited.
“I know you left because Stella showed up. Because you saw me with her and… you didn’t like it.” His voice cracked slightly at the end. “And you’re right not to have liked it, because I was an idiot.”
“You weren’t…”
“Yes, I was,” he insisted, finally meeting my eyes. “I spent the whole night worried about you. Watching you from the corner of my eye, noticing you weren’t okay, that you weren’t yourself. And instead of asking you what was wrong, instead of caring about you, I stayed there talking with Stella like you didn’t even exist.”
His eyes shone, and I couldn’t tell if it was from tears or the reflection of the city lights.
“And the worst part is that I didn’t realize what I was doing until you were already gone. I didn’t realize I was hurting you until it was too late.”
“Anton, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” he said, turning fully toward me, taking my hands in his. “Because there’s something else you need to know. Something I should have told you days ago.”
My breathing grew unsteady.
“What?”
“That kiss…” he swallowed hard. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake for me, Emi. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. It wasn’t something I regret.”
My heart completely stopped.
“It was… it was the most real thing I’ve felt in a long time,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “And when you said everything was fine, that nothing needed to be said, I thought that meant it was a mistake for you. That you regretted it.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
“But last night, seeing how you reacted to Stella, I realized maybe… maybe you felt something too. And I couldn’t keep pretending we’re just friends when every fiber of my being knows that isn’t true.”
He let go of my hands and ran his through his hair nervously.
“Emi, I…” he took a deep breath. “I like you. Too much.”
The world stopped.
The city lights, the sound of the wind, even my own breathing. Everything froze for a moment as I processed his words.
I like you too much.
“I don’t know when it happened exactly,” he went on, filling my silence. “Maybe it was when you defended me from those bullies. Or when you came with me to the music club. Or when you sang at karaoke and let me see you vulnerable. Or maybe it was even before that, and I was just too blind to notice.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“All I know is I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this. That I don’t think about you every day. That I don’t care if you’re okay, if you’re sad, if something’s hurting you. I don’t want to just be the person who walks you home after a bad night—I want to be the person who makes sure you don’t have bad nights at all.”
He leaned closer, searching my eyes.
“And I know maybe it’s too late. I know maybe I ruined everything last night, or the other day when I didn’t know how to handle the kiss. But I had to tell you. I had to be honest with you, even if it means you reject me.”
His hands cupped my face, brushing away the tears freely falling now.
“Because you deserve the truth, Emi. You deserve someone to tell you how incredible you are, how strong you are, how much it means to have you in their life. And if that someone can’t be me…” his voice broke, “…at least you’ll know there’s someone out there who loves you exactly as you are.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I threw myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck, burying my face into his chest as I sobbed.
“I do too,” I whispered against his shirt. “I feel the same way, Anton.”
I felt his whole body relax, as if he had been holding his breath since he started speaking.
“Really?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief and relief.
I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.
“Really,” I smiled through the tears. “You started to grow on me without me even realizing it. When you invited me to breakfast, when you took me to the club, when you hugged me at karaoke… every little thing made me fall a little harder.”
He smiled—his real smile, the one that melted me completely.
“And last night…” I continued. “I left because I couldn’t stand seeing you so happy with someone else. Because I realized just how much you mean to me and thought I could never be what Stella was to you.”
“Emi,” he murmured, caressing my cheek. “Stella is a great friend, nothing more. Even after all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never felt anything even close to what I feel for you. You… you are everything I want my future to be.”
And then he kissed me.
But this time it was different. There was no desperation, no confusion. Just certainty. Just love. Just the silent promise that this time, we wouldn’t run.
We pulled away slowly, resting our foreheads together.
“So… what are we now?” I asked with a shy smile.
“We’re what we should have been all along,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to my nose. “Let’s get to know each other differently. I want to learn to love you the way you deserve, to understand you, to listen to you. If you want that too.”
“I do,” I whispered. “I want everything with you, Anton.”
And under the golden light of sunset, with the city sprawling beneath us, we finally found what we hadn’t even known we were searching for.
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