Origami Around
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@milliondifferentlives
! just for fic recs <3 !
-> fyi : mostly reader inserts !
♡ FIC RECS MASTERLIST !
!! LATEST : zuko fic recs !
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♡ main : @yawnzshit
♡ writing : @writingmeraki
ts is so messy but davenport!Reader x dean di laurentis oohhh....if someone can write this pls do 🙏
I keep seeing this off campus series on my feed and I find Dean so fucking hot 😔 like I got an idea for a tutor!reader and Dean because duh nerd and jock™ but like it's corny but there's also banter and reader is just so non-chalant and could care less which makes Dean want to pursue even harder, and the more time they spend together the more he admires reader and reader also begins to open up.....
sigh....maybe I should open that doc......
My hope for whoever is reading this is that your life starts making sense and coming together. I hope the good days are right around the corner for you.
svt as types of bfs on your b'day hcs ! ft. k.sy, k.mg, j.ww
genre : fluff and surprises and romance ! pairing : bf!soonyoung x reader, bf!mingyu x reader, bf!wonwoo x reader warnings : corny lowkey but it is cheesy and sometimes you just need that small bit of cheesiness <3 author's note : this is dedicated to my wife @etherealyoungk 💌 a very happy birthday my love! i hope the year treats you well and no words can ever be enough to tell you how much you mean to me and how much i love you so i give you this corniness with your fave cheesy men <3 i hope you like this and i love you so so much !
WONWOO as THE TYPE to sing a song he specially made for you as a birthday gift !
so he began the journey of songwriting, give or take a few weeks before your birthday.
in the process of it, there were moments he felt like he should just think of another gift but he knew you. He knew you’d appreciate this just as much even if he put together the cheesiest lyrics.
After all for you what matters is the thought and efforts put into something no matter the end result.
You were always his muse, in fact he did have quite a few poems and writings solely made on you.
Having looked through them, he smiled when he recalled how your own reactions to them were.
A mixture of awe and amazement was on your face as you read through a poem Wonwoo wrote for you and made you read it.
“This is so…this is so beautiful wow.” You re-read the words, simple yet holding so much weight.
Giggling at the way he described your eyes holding the whole universe’s stars whenever you looked at him full of love.
“Well indeed I would look at you like that, don’t you already know you are my whole world?” Wiggling your eyebrows teasingly at him, laughing in more delight at the blush that glazed his cheeks.
That's what made him finish the whole song on time, with the help of his bros too ofc!!!
the production and instrumentals were of his own and with the end product, he was extremely happy.
Then the big day finally arrived. He was nervous, more so about how he'd perform rather than if you'd like the lyrics or not.
After you finished greeting all your friends and family, cutting the cake and all the usual shenanigans at birthday parties, apparently there was still something left.
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as the lights suddenly dimmed down.
Then like a cliche movie, a spotlight shone on you. Surprised at this, not even realising there was a spotlight in such a place, you looked around and spotted Wonwoo.
He sat on a lifted stage that was once used to cut your cake, now all clear with only him in the center…holding a guitar with a mic in front of him.
He looked nervous, you could see it in his habits of looking around but when he finally looked at you, you smiled reassuringly at him despite not knowing what you were in for.
Cause I'm off my face, in love with you
I'm out my head, so into you
And I don't know how you do it
But I'm forever ruined by you, ooh-ooh-ooh
Playing the final chorus, Wonwoo took a deep breath as he opened his eyes and looked at you.
Honestly you felt like a mess. Your heart felt so full at the moment and before you knew it, you rushed towards the stage.
Wonwoo placed aside his guitar as he also placed the mic to the side, and you almost knocked him out by the hug you engulfed him in.
"That was so…gosh I don't even have words to say. It was so perfect. The lyrics, the instrumentals, just everything about the whole song!" You murmured against his chest, feeling your eyes getting wet as you replayed the lyrics and how full of emotions his voice sounded.
"Really?" He asked jokingly and you pulled yourself away to glare at him, of course with fake anger.
"Shut up, you…you did this on purpose, making me cry on my birthday, and knowing you'd get away with it because I love you too much!" Accusing him of such a crime, then smiling at him.
"Did you love the gift?" He asked after your mini rant as he chuckled to which you clicked your tongue, looking off in deep thought.
"Something's missing though." He raised an eyebrow at you to which you rolled your eyes, standing on your tip toes, you pushed your lips against his.
His arms naturally wrapped around your waist as he grinned into the kiss.
"Now I can say I do love the gift, in fact it's probably the best gift I've ever received." Pulling away from him, you grinned at him.
And he knew if it meant you'd look at him as if you were indeed his whole world, he was ready to give you a million other gifts like these.
MINGYU as THE TYPE to stand outside your window sharp 12 am with a home-baked cake messily decorated to make sure he’s the first one to wish you !
To me this fits Mingyu so much because hear me out.
He's very much love story by Taylor Swift coded.
And what does love story mention?
DING DING DING!
Romeo and Juliet!
And what's a famous scene from that?
Romeo calling Juliet from her balcony ( or something along the lines of that, sorry I don't know shit about Shakespeare other than what Taylor Swift and 8th grade literature taught me )
And hence this whole thing seems very much gyu coded and it is something gyu coded because I say it is :)
Now we do know gyu is a great cook and an even amazing baker ( in fanfics atleast yo )
Having been his own personal taste tester, he knew all your preferences and your likes and dislikes.
He'd basically avoided you the day before your big day.
You thought it was probably because he's busy with studies or something, completely slipping out of your mind what the occasion was.
And he was a master at making up excuses, so lucky for him, you didn't question him much.
The thing was everything was all set and there was exactly one hour left till midnight.
Your cake was ready, it was the exact flavor you loved with your soul and quote on quote would sell Mingyu to the devil for ( he was very much annoyed when you basically counted him less important than your favorite cake flavor )
But he was stuck with something. Minyu knew nothing at all about cake decorating other than what he watched on tv.
So with the help of tasty by BuzzFeed and his own brain braining, he had messily conjured up a design which was on par with if you gave a fifth grader buttercream frosting and cake to decorate however the fuck they want to.
It's the thought that counts he tried convincing himself and fuck, he realised it's already fifteen minutes to 12!
Rushing to his car, mentally checking off everything he'd bought.
Candles check, cake check, gift check, phone check…
Once he was done with that, he drove to your place and parked his car a bit away from your driveway to avoid you seeing him as your window faced the driveway.
Now he was not new to the whole sneaking around your house part, given it'd been a while since you both were together, he knew how to get into your room without your strict parents noticing.
Looking around in wonder, getting distracted from your late night book reading because of a constant thudding noise, you realized it was coming from your window.
Skeptically, you made your way to it. It didn't occur to you that it could be Mingyu, rather you'd been reading a thriller book so your mind was already jumping to other conclusions.
"GYU?!?" You looked down at the grinning black-haired boy, seeing a box in his hands, confused as to what he was doing late at night.
"It's literally so late! Do you even know the timing!-" You whisper yelled at him "Why didn't you tell me you're coming?"
A small pout formed on his face at your scolding,
"It wouldn't be a surprise then." He said softly to which you couldn't really make out so you shook your head and just pointed down,
"I'll open the back door to let you in! Just be quiet once you enter and don't make a single noise until you come in my room!" Making up the swift plan, you closed the curtains shut before he could even confess what he came there to do.
He blinked a few times, astounded at how you just basically ordered him around but then remembering it'd be worse if your parents woke up due to him yelling his undying love for you.
Well then, his love for you won't be the only thing dying if he did his original idea.
You clicked the door open softly, making sure to do it in a way there'd be no sound made.
Pulling your boyfriend's arm inside while pulling him in as well, you shut the door softly. Pressing a finger on your lips, you moved ahead, slowly. You gestured to him to follow you. You wondered what the fuck was in the box but you didn't question anything, not yet anyways.
"Okay now we're good." You shut your door, as you sighed in relief.
Mingyu put down the box on your mini table laying in the middle of your room and turned towards you.
He had that stupid grin on his face and you snorted at his expression, questioning
"Tell me why you're here again and what is with the box-"
Without saying anything and ignoring your questions, he stepped forward, now only about 1 feet away from you.
He'd been wearing a jacket that was pretty baggy and you remembered it had pockets on the inside so it didn't shock you too much when he put his hand inside as if looking for something, just raising your curiosity more.
Pulling out an envelope, he pushed it towards you and then gestured for you to take it.
"Open this when I'm gone but for now, see what I made for you!"
He grabbed your hand, pushing the envelope in it and then pulling you to where he left the box.
You stood beside him as he opened the box and once you saw what was inside you couldn't help but let out an amused giggle.
"Wow this is…"You snorted at the messily written 'happy bday!!!!' and below it in tiny words was 'p.s im not a decorater but I <3 u"
"This is?"
"Adorable gosh I love it!" You squealed, ready to hug him tightly at the thought of him putting in this much efforts for you.
"Wait!" He paused you before you could hug him, you arms frozen mid air.
"3…2…1" He finished counting down as he looked at the time on his phone that he pulled out.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Jumping into your arms, he wrapped his own around your waist, making you giggle as he lifted you up slightly.
—
"I love you, as cheesy as it sounds you're the best gift that I ever will have." Sitting in your bed after celebrating a bit, teasing Mingyu about the decorations and then resulting in him smearing your face with the buttercream.
"And it was not the cake?" He pouted sadly and you snorted.
"Well the cake maker and the cake are the best gifts I've ever gotten." You leaned forward as his face lit up with an adorable smile, pecking his lips.
SOONYOUNG as THE TYPE to be more excited for it than you because it’s his beloved’s special day !
See this is just my opinion idk if you agree BUT
He has golden retriever energy ofc
SO obv it means he's very excited all days
And especially if it's your birthday then
It's almost as if it becomes double if that was possible like
Planning ahead how to make sure your day would go to how you would normally like a perfect day to go
Scanning over your wishlist and stuff, double.checking the reservations, making sure your whole schedule was clear like he is excited in a normal way
Totally not.
"Wake up baby, we have a huge day ahead of us." You heard a cheery voice whisper in your ears.
Groaning at the way your precious sleep had been disturbed,you were about to slap whoever woke you up before you heard him speak again.
"It's a special day afterall, you can't waste a day like today!"
Deciding you should wake up,you slowly blinked your eyes open and you spotted your boyfriend standing next to your bed.
Even though you were sleepy, you grinned lazily at his pretty face. Oh you think you already got your gift.
As you smiled, you opened your arms wide, hands gesturing for him to hug you, to which he happily obliged and swooped in, kissing you right on your lips.
No matter what, or how much time goes by, you don't think you'd ever get used to how his lips felt on yours, igniting butterflies that made your heart flutter like the same.
“Alright! Now that we're awake, we have a whole day of things to do! First we'll go to your favorite animal shelter and do your traditional birthday thing where you feed them, then lunch is with our friends, and then in the evening we'll have some more plans with them, which are a surprise and then finally dinner with your parents and then it's just us for the rest of the night.”
Wow. It seemed he really went all out to put this together. You couldn't believe he even remembered your birthday tradition considering this was your first birthday you're spending with him.
And just the mere thought of him going out of his way to make sure your day would go this well made you tear up.
“I love you.”
His eyes momentarily widened. It wasn't a first but it wasn't something he was used to.
With a wider smile, a bit of pink on his cheeks, he replied,
“I love you too baby, happy birthday.”
-
The day went as planned and perhaps even better considering he was there during all those moments with you.
Despite being tired at the end of the day from all the socializing you'd end up doing, when you reached home, your heart still felt like it was on cloud nine.
You sat down on the couch, tired but with a wide grin on your face.
"This is probably the best birthday I've ever had."
And it was not just because of all the delicious food, cake and plenty of gifts you'd gotten but also mostly because of who did this all.
Soonyoung came and sat beside you, looking at you with equal adoration, if not more.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah,"
You sat up a little and looked at him, the pure joy radiating on your face,
"Mostly cause of you."
"I'm glad, although I do expect a return gift."
Raising one eyebrow, you narrowed your eyes in mischief,
"Hmm and what would that be?"
He grinned widely before he leaned forward and engulfed you in one of his breathtaking kisses that always seemed to surprise you despite how used to you'd gotten.
Yeah, best birthday ever.
perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts ( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2026
feedback is always appreciated 💌 ! links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !
better spite than none at all | zuko.
❝ in which, even if his name came out in spite out of your mouth, at least it still meant you thought of him.
( or where it seems he simply cannot let you go, and perhaps neither can you?)
pairing : ex! zuko x ex! reader genre : arguing, it is funny to zuko but that is because he is lowkey a jerk in this <3, exes that cannot seem to move on (mostly zuko) warnings : again, zuko is a jerk in this 😃 cussing, might feel a lil annoying but perhaps reader lowkey digs it (??). this was kinda fun to write plss i thought about omg what if zuko was just some salty ex but also reader might not be too opposed to that? pls do not seek this irl, this is just fiction 🫡
w.c : 1.5K
Zuko isn’t exactly the friendliest person, so it is not like he expects every single person he encounters to always be smiling wide at him. But when you stare at him hard with malice that could hold competition to his worst enemies, he can’t help but feel a thrill within him.
“Can we talk?” He had been taking his usual daily garden walks, something that was apparently suggested to him by his royal advisors, when your ever beautiful self stormed up to him, blocking his path as you titled your head to meet his eyes. Not many people would have the courage to even stand in his presence without quivering yet here you were.
He could practically feel the anger that lingered in your tone. It wasn’t hidden in the first place.
But also you were definitely not just some person.
“Hm, now is it right to interrupt me during my very rare moment of peace?”
“Do you really think you deserve that right now?”
Zuko waved his arm at the guards that stood tense beside him. It was already ridiculous to him to have guards follow him everywhere, but he understood it was a tradition. Yet in the moment, the guards immediately scrambled off, grateful to have been free from whatever was going to occur in those moments.
He stands with his hands tucked behind, lips twitching as he tries to not bluntly check you out. It wasn’t like he got the privilege to do it nowadays. But again, Zuko is Zuko and so he effortlessly moves his eyes downwards to upwards while you scoff at him with even more hate.
“Do you think anyone would be spared if they talked in that tone to the Fire Lord?” One of the guards whispered to the other as they stole a glance in your direction.
The other one shrugged, knowing already, “Don’t you know who that is?”
He shook his head, not one to really keep up with gossip.
“That is the Fire Lord’s ex betrothed.”
-
Meanwhile, you were trying to refrain yourself, arms folded to prevent yourself from strangling the smug smirk off his face. It sucked even more when it seemed even more attractive on his stupid attractive face.
“Tell me this then Fire Lord, why did I come to know you summoned my boyfriend last night to question him about his intentions with me?”
Oh. You came to talk about that imbecile. He figured it was one of the other reasons you’d marched up to him. The other being you finally realising your worth and how you deserved better and no one existed like that for you beside him.
Immediately turned off, he rolled his eyes. “DO NOT ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME!”
He indeed rolled his eyes again, waving his hand dismissively, “I had a bit too much to drink, that’s mostly it.”
Laughing with no humour, “Mostly? Hm, I wouldn’t call it that exactly,”
Now he looked at you really, before he chuckled, “What do you want to know?”
You pointed your finger at him, poking it on his chest and you hissed out in disdain, “You, Fire Lord,” Poke, “Summoned him,” Poke “Mind you, almost in the late hours of twilight,” Poke “To ask him whether he could keep me as ‘happy’ as you would” Poke “And if he would treat me better than you could.”
He tried. He tried really hard not to think too much about the fact that this was the first time you’d been this close and actually touched him. But he could not stop the flare in his chest when you touched him, he was close to holding your hand and letting it linger on his chest, so you could truly know just how much you still held an affect on him.
Instead, he pretended to look confused and hurt, “I would never.”
“Oh? Really?” You knew this, you knew him, he would act clueless. Luckily, you brought the letter that had been delivered to your boyfriend.
“What’s this then hm?”
You shoved it towards him, him casually grabbing it, an excuse really to feel your hand brush against him, wondering if the same warmth he felt for the brief second was mutual as he stole a glance back at you. One corner of his lip briefly went upwards when something flashed in your eyes at the contact.
“You have been summoned to the Fire Lord’s assembly…” He didn’t really pay mind to what you said as he pretended to go over the letter, the one he had had written by himself only and instead choosing to focus on the way your voice lulled him gently.
“Are you even paying attention to me?!”
“Always.” He said that putting the paper down as he looked you straight in the eye, answering with no hesitation. You had to admit, that caught you off guard and he noticed it as you looked away briefly and gulped down in nervousness he assumed.
Clicking his tongue, he threw the paper in the air, snapping his fingers so it could be burned.
Your jaw dropped at his actions as you stared at him, gaping in disbelief.
“If I had known Kai was such a tattle-tale, I’d have come to visit him directly then.”
“You are IMPOSSIBLE!”
“Now did he really tell you everything I told him? If he was being such a snitch, did he mention how much I still love you and how much it definitely is more than he ever will in a million years?”
Sighing in defeat, as if this was some miscommunication, “Of course Lee forgot to mention that. And of course, he must have forgotten to mention how I also mentioned you’d show up here, marching in with that same intense fury you always have and how if we argued over this, it would be more emotional than how he treated you.”
You were speechless. Your tongue weighed heavily inside your mouth as you simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
The ever so present smugness rose back, his smile tilting into it as he looked at you, “Yeah this does sound like it happened. It must have been the alcohol that made me momentarily forget.”
Letting out a breath of disbelief, you shook your head and rubbed your forehead to somewhat soothe the headache, “Do you even realise how difficult this is for me Zuko?”
It had been way too long, it seemed all his wishes were coming true within the short timespan, when he heard you speak his name. Albeit the intention behind it, a part of him ached to hear you say it no matter how and it seemed that part was partly pleased.
“Eh, if he is as strong as he is, he can get past it. But seeing how he ratted it out to you but left out the important parts, maybe I overestimated him.”
“Stop it. Stop whatever you’re doing, stop interfering in my life and for fuck’s sake, you don’t even know his name!” You cried out the last bit in frustration.
“Mm see I thought about it but it simply is not possible.”
“Oh dear God! He says he thought about it!” You laughed mirthlessly as you were close to pulling your hair out.
Taking a deep breath, you put all your anger and frustration into your gaze, hoping they were as intense as the burn in your chest currently felt. You moved your index finger and harshly poked him once again, as if it would help to emphasize your point.
“Leave me alone Zuko. I mean it.” Before you could say more, he held your hand that was on his chest and placed it on it more stably. He knew, he knew you could feel the intense heat that was running beneath his fingertips, the rush that sparked as his hand held yours, because you were once again caught off guard by it as you shut up.
“Tell me this,” His voice came out roughly, “Does his touch feel this way? Does it even hold a flame to what this is?”
The way he said it, the way his eyes seemed to burn with the passion of a million emotions as if they held all the words he had been holding back over time. The way you could feel how his heart picked up in pace, as if to solidify his words.
And it felt even more real, when you knew your own heart was in a similar state.
“You left me darling, but I never wanted to. So how can I simply let you go when I am just in love with you?”
You harshly pulled your hand, hating how your heart picked up even more after his questions,
“Yo-you can’t just.”
Shaking your head, you stepped two steps behind to keep a distance, afraid. Afraid of the intensity of your emotions as you heard his words.
“I am leaving. If you try to send anything to Jun this time, it won’t be put up with. I will make sure you understand what I mean when I say leaving us alone.”
He had a twitch of annoyance run within him when you addressed that loser and you as one.
“If it means you’ll still come by, then sure!” He smiled widely as he watched you walk off, murmuring more curses at him, which sounded like a love language if it meant being directed at him from you.
At least with this, he knows you still have him in your heart somewhere.
a/n : ...i wrote this because the idea of a zuko mocking your current boyfriend because he can't leave you is funny ngl like he is so in love and cannot see u with anyone but him ?? i have no idea if the execution was good but lmk what you thought! and yes second part to heartburn is in the works (let me finish my paper on saturday💔🚬)
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2026
feedback is always appreciated 💌 !
want to read more ? atla masterlist
-> taglist : @rosieposiediditagain (comment if you want to be added!
PRI'S FIC RECS : ATLA (ZUKO EDITION) !
[ ♡ ] : personal favourites !
🎙️this should not be surprising hahahaha he's been invading my mind terribly hence this <3 i hope y'all like these because they helped me indulge in adult zuko to another level lololol also there is a lot of smut fics that i looove (as they should be) but i think i would have to make a separate post for those, lmk if u guys want that ☝️☝️☝️☝️
also!!! pls feel free to promote yourself or recommend any more fics! and a thank you to all writers for their amazing works!!
P.S THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING BUT PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS AND MINORS DNI WITH 18+ CONTENT, the rest is up to you as i am not in control of your media consumption :)
TUMBLR FICS
toph's older!sister x firelord! zuko by @marcespeaks
synopsis : in which your little sister, toph, is trying so hard to make you and firelord!zuko get along despite your obvious differences (for the sake of the gaang, of course, because toph has never had ulterior motives). and toph will do anything to get her way, absolutely anything.
notes : yes give me 14 of em but no seriously this was so so sweet and lovely ahhh
silent treatment by @emmyc0z
synopsis : zuko frequently leaves to adventure with the gaang, but when you have your first child your concern for his safety grows and so does your feelings of neglect. another letter from aang leads to a fight, and a long week of silence for zuko.
notes : who doesn't love some good old angst <3 (even if it lowkey hurts )
fire lilies by @leviousshishine
synopsis : being born with no power sucks. But as an unmarried noble woman, you still had a duty to get married. So you left your home and went to the palace, where the test for multiple women began. Who will be the Firelord’s Firelady?
notes : this is so interesting and i am so sat for this omlllll
Rose Garden Dreams; Torn At The Seams by @yenayaps
synopsis : contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor.
notes : this is everything to me atm, go read this if u have not already asappp!!!!!
hair troubles by @fawnindawn [ ♡ ]
synopsis : firelord zuko's hair is a mess after a mission with team avatar. his disheveled appearance sparks concern—but his refusal for any help reveals that the only person he allows to take care of his hair... is you.
notes : cute fluff heheheh love this <3
secrets still kept by @whatsup124u
synopsis : The gaang realized there’s some…tension between you and Zuko, and what are good friends for if not setting you two up? What they don’t realize is that you and Zuko have been together for years.
notes : i LOVE LOVE fics like these so cutesy !
THE FIRE LORD'S GARDENER CAN'T BE THIS CUTE by @kafeiin [ ♡ ]
synopsis : sent from the earth kingdom as a gesture of peace, you arrive at the fire nation with every intent to fulfill your duty of restoring the royal palace gardens. what you didn’t prepare for was the fire lord’s routine visits. you assume it’s to manage his suspicions. he assumes it’s to observe your progress. neither of you are correct. and falling in love was never the plan.
notes : so soft and adorable!!!!
untitled drabble by @selenechronicles
synopsis : what it would be like dating zuko <3
notes : this one is so real and so #me.
firelord zuko and his wife by @lovergirl-coffee
synopsis : when you, The Fire Lady, rescue your husband from a late night meeting and steal him back to your chambers..when you, The Fire Lady, rescue your husband from a late night meeting and steal him back to your chambers..
notes : fluff pls yes. i love u husband zuko.
firelord zuko and his royal advisor by @/lovergirl-coffee [ ♡ ]
synopsis : when avatar aang’s letter accidentally outs firelord zuko’s feelings for his royal advisor.
notes : omg this was so freaking cute and sweet and i love this sm so glad there are many parts to thiss
baby, come back to me! by @yn2ko
synopsis : After FireLord Zuko accidentally snaps at you, his wife, you start to pull away from him and give him the silent treatment until he finally realizes he's been neglecting you.
notes : make him grovel, i love grovelling <3 personally all men should have to grovel but it's zuko so i forgive him ig.....
scale of attraction by @/fawnindawn
synopsis : zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)
notes : YES. this was one of the first fic i read after i saw zuko all over my feed the first time and i got even more obsessed <3
heartburn by @writingmeraki
synopsis : in which, you underestimated just how deeply you still felt for the hot-headed fire lord. ( or where you're both idiots and you've finally gotten a potential chance. )
notes : urm 😃😆😅
BETWEEN PLANS AND PROMISES by @uhmnoidontthinkso [ ♡ ]
sypnosis: You forgot that you didn’t just say yes to Zuko—you said yes to the Firelord. Now you’re stuck in wedding planning chaos, palace politics, and expectations you never asked for, all while trying to hold onto the pieces of your old life before they slip away completely.
notes : another cutesy fic and this was soo beautiful <3
burning crimson by @arfemiz
synopsis : you could wear the crown and speak the right words and smile at all the right moments; and still find yourself alone in a garden, wondering if loving the fire lord was ever supposed to feel this much like disappearing.
notes : soft zuko yes pls i need him.
5:36 by @seumyo
synopsis : reader and zuko are engaged
notes : hehe simply adorable.
SMAU FICS (mostly set in modern!au)
-> fyi : i read some of these long ago but being the smau lover i am, i wanted to rec it to those who also love smaus!
transferred by @atlabeth
synopsis : trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. little do you know that he’s falling for you as well.
notes : vividly have small bits of memories of me reading this and ah even after all this time i still remember how much i loved this <3
lovers among us by @loversamongus
synopsis : just a group of friends gaming, vibing, and falling in love.
allergies by @patchofsunlight
synopsis : Y/N has no feelings for her best friend’s brother. In fact, she might just be allergic to him with how much she definitely doesn’t like him.
Beautiful Day to Save Lives by @zukoszukhoes
synopsis : lifeguard smau !
AO3 FICS
-> just a bit of a fyi : most of the AO3 and wattpad fics are teen!zuko unless stated otherwise so keep that in mind when you read :)
The Unpredictable Fire Queen by @/MizzGinger
synopsis : Fire Lord Zuko needed a wife, fast. You were the least tolerable of the bunch, so why not? He just didn't know what he was setting himself up for...
notes : i read this quite a long ago but i remember it being fun to read so reccomending it here! `
Just Some Tea by @/LetsHaveABlast
synopsis : You've been traveling with the Avatar for a while, but failed to ever be introduced to the firey prince that was tracking them down. So imagine your surprise when you're told the weird but cute tea shop employee that almost threatened your life, was actually the fire lord's son? Honestly, at the rate your life was going... you should've known.
notes : this was one of my fave fics i indulged in like 2-3 years ago when i had a random zuko phase!
Burning Love by @/shogami [ ♡ ]
synopsis : You're a female thief, enemy of the Fire Nation, and partially on friendly terms with the Earth Kingdom. Well, that is, until you teamed up with the former Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai. After seeing that he had split up from his uncle, you decided to join him on his journey to Ba Sing Se, and a little romance forms during the trip.
notes : cute cute cute and a lovelyyy read <3
Everything Happens For a Reason by @/atlabeth
synopsis : As a servant in the Fire Nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. But as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.
notes : ahhh loved this one sm!!!
i've seen your face underneath my dreams by @mangomonk
synopsis : Since the end of Hundred Years War seven years ago, Fire Lord Zuko has been isolated in the Fire Palace, fending off assassinations and mending the Fire Nation and its burnt bridges, all while putting off the Fire Sages' demands that he take a wife. When Iroh finally finds him a match, he reluctantly agrees to the marriage, with the expectation of never speaking to her again and sending her off to Ember Island. It proves to be more difficult than he expects though, when he realizes that his new wife is as stubborn as a dragon moose.
notes : i love a good husband zuko fic hehehe check this one out <3!
WATTPAD FICS
Doubled Elements by @/draninator [ ♡ ] [ ♡ ]
synopsis : the story of the girl behind it all.
notes : wattpad in the big 26 🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬I CANNOT EMPHASIZE WHAT THIS FIC AWAKENED IN 14 YEAR OLD ME. IT WAS EVERYTHING TO HER. I feel like there are still people out there who would love this and i want them to discover this so <3
...and ofc i'll continue to update this as i read!...more to come!
labyrinth — k.mg drabble.
❝ in which you realize that maybe you indeed love the simplest things. and surprises.
(Or you love him wholeheartedly already yet he never fails to remind you just why.)
pairing : secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, established relationship. genre : tooth rotting fluff. hopefully. warnings : cheesy asf probably lol
special dt to my wife @etherealyoungk hehe this is for u my no 1 husband gyu enabler and fan overall love you sm for the inspo too <3
w.c : 1.8k | a/n at end.
It was way overdue for your official work hours. But then again during missions that spanned over days, and not just ones that could be finished within the 24 hours, this was normal. Yet today in particular, it felt like you wished the day could be over just so you can finally get some sort of a break.
You weren’t one to complain but it just felt a little more heavier than usual. You stood in front of the elevator, wanting to finally descend down and it seemed like it was taking ages to come up.
Sighing, you checked your watch that was on your left wrist, nothing too grand, just a simple silver Casio. It read ‘9.23’ and you couldn’t help but groan as you looked back up at the elevator sign, showing it was yet on the fifth floor while you stood on the twelfth one.
A few seconds later as you continued to glare at the numbers on the LED plate, you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t even need to know who it was before you already smelt him, his usual sweet yet strong earthy scent that gave away his whole self before you looked.
And of course, he addressed you first.
“Hey-”
“Finally.”
You turned towards him, having a slight frown, “What took you so long?”
Mingyu tried not to smile, doing his thing of clicking his tongue and looking away for a second before he replied while you, knowing your husband’s usual behaviour, continued to glare at him.
“Uh- Seungcheol was giving me a bit of…a brief about the next mission.”
Of course, it had to be Seungcheol with his usual antics, even if he didn’t mean it this time, he still managed to get on your nerves.
“And he couldn’t wait till literally tomorrow morning?”
He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as he stepped closer to you, still standing beside you, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. It caught you off guard as you yelped, and despite being married, his actions like this made you feel like you were back in the stages of getting to know each other. Your face began to warm up as you hit his torso lightly.
“Wha!-What are you doing!”
“A man can’t even hug his partner??”
“You-! We’re still in the office!”
“So??”
The cheeky grin on his face made you feel the familiar warmth you did when you could see his eyes glinting with his usual mischief. The familiarity of it made you feel a bit better.
Then the elevator pinged and you pulled yourself as quick out of his semi embrace and cleared your throat. It did not help, even if you stood a bit further again, when the doors opened to reveal Seungkwan, who was in his own world up until he saw Mingyu and you standing directly in front of him.
Before he could question the teasing look on Mingyu’s face who hadn’t even acknowledged his presence while you looked at Seungkwan and glared harder, as if to say not a word.
And who was he if not obedient, he raised his hands in defence and went about.
Without another word, you entered, Mingyu quietly following.
“Soo what’s going on?”
“Hm?”
As you pressed the basement and stood back beside him, you looked up at him as he spoke,
“There’s something up.”
You knew you weren’t the most joyous person in a room, nor were you someone who vehemently expressed it, most of the time you stood in a neutral mood, to an extent even having been told you have a resting “bitch” face. Yet, it was in your smaller less noticed antics and behaviour that could distinguish when you actually felt upset.
The one person who could fully understand it, if not sometimes better than you did yourself which also appalled you, was your husband. And in that very moment, he just knew it.
You felt a touch on the space between your eyebrows, Mingyu lightly pressing his finger and playfully saying, “Stop thinking so much, your eyebrows are all scrunched up.”
Somehow that worked, as you rolled your eyes and lightly swatted his hand away as he feigned an overdramatic look of hurt, “See you’re being awfully violent.”
“It’s nothing really, just a tiring week. I just…I wanted a break.” You expressed your truer emotions, which you didn’t to everyone of course, it wasn’t like you hated your vulnerability, it’s just you were so used to being guarded up, you sometimes forgot that you were allowed to say it when you felt it and not just brush it away.
Without a word, he slipped his hand into yours, intertwining your hand in his and you accepted the gesture as he squeezed your hand a little tighter.
“Well lucky for us, we’ve got a while now, to ourselves.” His smile was contagious, as your lips briefly moved upwards in a small smile nodding along, quietly murmuring, “Yeah…”
You’d finally reached the basement, going to your car as you decided to leave your hand wrapped in his, not wanting to lose the sense of comfort it gave you.
Mingyu had an idea of what to do next and without seeming too suspicious, you both went about with your routine of going home, him driving a little faster so he could reach home quicker and then finish his whole…idea.
When you reached home, as you opened your apartment, he stopped and turned to you, “Uh so I kinda have something I wanna do, but! I swear I'll be back in a few!”
Of course you felt suspicious, for one he never mentioned it on the way home because he would have and it was already late. “Uhm…alright.” Still, he might have been wanting to get something from somewhere and you didn’t think too much about it before you headed inside alone and got ready to finally drop dead asleep on your bed. But obviously, you’d clean yourself up before that.
As you finished your night time activity, not routine because you sometimes didn’t even have nights at home, you wondered what Mingyu might be doing right now so late, and by the time you got out of your shower, it got even more weird when you found your home still empty.
You picked your phone, seeing the time as ‘10.07’ and decided to call Mingyu before you heard the bell ring. Shaking your head lightly with a small grin, because it was just like him to somehow spawn when you remembered him, you opened the door only to be met with a huge bouquet of flowers in your face.
You identified red tulips, pink and white ones too along with lilies. Your favourite flowers all in one. Mingyu moved the flowers a little to the side, showing his face with his canines peaking out, grinning, “You’ve got a delivery.”
You were in awe. A bit shocked by the thing because even if it was as simple as flowers, it still made your heart flutter in a way that you felt it in your entire being.
“Oh really? Isn’t it a little too late?” You decided to play the part, leaning on the doorframe and crossing your arms, the slow formation of a grin beginning on your face. Despite being awfully exhausted, somehow in a matter of moments, you felt it slowly disappearing into a much more relaxed state.
“Eh, figured, better late than never right?”
“Mm you sure have a way with words huh?”
He laughed at that while you rolled your eyes playfully, stepping aside to let him in. You didn’t even notice he had something hidden in one hand that he’d kept behind himself and only when he stepped in and pulled it in front of you, you recognised the sign of your favourite bakery.
“Oh my God, no way!” Kim Mingyu, somehow, managed to get your favourite desserts from this little bakery in the city that was a place you always visited, countless times by yourself and even with him. You didn’t realise they would be open so late.
You grabbed the bag excitedly as you peaked inside like a kid getting excited over a new gift, and Mingyu found it so delightful to see you as happy even though he knew you’d been having a rough and tiring week, especially since he knew firsthand what it was like to need a break from the job.
You looked up at the flowers and took them from his extended hand, admiring the beautiful colours with a twinkle in your eyes that made Mingyu remember why he loved to do a lot of things in the name of love, just to see the way your adorable face lit up. And of course, he loves you too much and this was just one of the many ways he wanted to show it.
“I’ll put these in a vase, and be right back!” You had a pretty vase, a gift from a close friend in your kitchen, which you grabbed and placed the flowers in as you set the desserts on the table.
Moving back to the living room, Mingyu had just closed and locked the door as he turned around and you quickly wrapped him in a hug, moving your arms around his waist as your head naturally fit on the centre of his chest. He wrapped his arms around your form, a very instinctive thing as he moved his hand slowly up and down your back, in a comforting manner.
“I love you. I know I should say it more, but this was so…this was so lovely. Thank you, and I love you for you.”
Oh gosh, he thinks if grinned even more, his cheeks will probably begin to ache but he didn’t care at this rate, if it meant having hurt cheeks from your loving words, then so be it.
“And I love you too, always. Plus there is more left. To this whole surprise.”
“Oh yeah?”
You looked up at him, smiling widely, having the same thing of hurting cheeks but you could care less because for Mingyu, you’d endure way more if it meant you could stay under his warm smile for a little longer.
He cupped your face in his hands as he leaned down, closing his eyes as his lips wrapped around yours and you scrunched your hands tighter behind his back as if pulling him impossibly closer. Your eyes shut automatically the moment his lips touched yours, you couldn’t stop from smiling into the kiss as he felt his own smile.
Mingyu was as cheesy as one could possibly be, especially making you wonder how on Earth he loved someone like you, probably on the opposite end of the ‘cheesy’ spectrum, yet when he did small things like these, it made you realise just why you love him. And of course, the fact that he loved you too, which made it all even better.
a/n : woooo finallyy writing for svt again:") i genuinely missed em and i also missed writing for gyuu and omg these pictures pls i am actually obsessed? i hope this was good enough because it has been a hot minute since i properly wrote omg and i hope to now get back into it properly too haha but anyways lmk what you think!!
perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts ( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2026
feedback is always appreciated 💌 ! links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !
do you think i have forgotten? | formula one texts !
"in which, the aftermath of your breakup eventually leads up to finding your way back to where it all began. (or you haven't forgotten, perhaps you never will and neither can they.)
feat. charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, alex albon, max verstappen, isack hadjar, oscar piastri, lando norris, george russell, kimi antonelli. warnings. angsty, cussing. ib my favest song ever and of all time, about you by the 1975 <3 a/n at end!
CL16, LH4.
CS55, AA23.
OP81, LN1.
MV3, IH6.
GR63, KA12.
a/n : ...hi!!! ofc an angsty (attempt at angsty texts bcoz i realised i havent done before so why not sumn new for a comeback.....) but HI!! it's been so fucking long. i missed you. i miss every single person here and i missed just being silly on tumblr too. making no promises for anything but i hope to get back into writing like i used to and i am making baby steps towards it. the 2026 season has officially began so here's a lil something to celebrate!! lmk what you think and more drivers perhaps?? im so excited to see what this season brings!!
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2026
feedback is always appreciated 💌 ! links : main navi ! | f1 masterlist ! | info !
PROTOCOL | choi seungcheol {part one}
SYNOPSIS. Choi Seungcheol has always been about structure, authority, and control, loyal to his duty in a city where criminal situations become a matter of life or death. On the other hand, you’re reckless𑁋seemingly guided more by your instinct and heart than the rules you’re meant to follow. But as duty forces you both together, Seungcheol finds the protocol he’s bound to stand by begin to bend. PAIRING. sergeant/tactical officer!choi seungcheol x rookie officer!fem!reader (ft. officer!lee jihoon but he's mentioned as a plot device, mention of detective!wonwoo) GENRE. coworkers/ideological enemies to lovers, angst, smut (minors dni 🔞), fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, action, police au WARNINGS. unrealistic portrayal of a police department, guns, violence, blood, injuries (both cheol & reader get hurt at some point), cursing, scars, crimes being committed (robbery, arson, attempted murder, domestic abuse, car chase, illegal narcotics), suicide-by-cop situation, workplace toxicity & misogyny, reader taking shit from NO ONE, basically reader vs the system, discussions of trauma, alcohol consumption, kissing, cheol having dirty thoughts, smut warnings in part two WORD COUNT. 17.3k (for part one); 36k (in total. this might change cuz literally writing the final scene as of posting this lmao. i'm impatientttt.)
notes: AHHH its finally out!!! kinda scared for this one ngl... but i had so much fun writing it !!!! police officer!cheol.... you've been on my mind for like 2 years and i finally had the guts to write u. could've made this a thirsty cop romance but unfortunately i love trauma and angst sorry guys 😭 thank u to @slytherinshua for reading this over 4 me and screaming at me + @etherealyoungk as always for listening to me yap yap yap and feeding my delusions. i plan for part two to be released next week! the taglist is still open for this fic so lmk if you want to be tagged for the second part. please don't forget to reblog as i'd love to know ur thoughts <3
part one | part two
“Protocol is established as a means to keep you alive. If you aren’t loyal to how we work, then congratulations, you’ve just killed yourself.”
Those are the first words that come out of Sergeant Choi Seungcheol’s mouth in the early days of your job as a police officer.
No, it wasn’t directed specifically towards you. Not exactly.
He’d announced it to a room full of rookies just like you. You remembered the room being too small to fit every single one of you inside. You also remembered the immediate, collective breath of silence when Seungcheol had walked in. It was enough to even make that one cocky rookie in the back to stop chewing his gum. Even though the meeting was meant to be part of some welcome briefing to the field, it felt more like a warning instead.
Choi Seungcheol was the kind of officer you write about in training manuals. The literal textbook definition of tactical perfection. He isn’t just one of the most respected officers in the precinct, but also one of the most feared. You’ve heard all of the rumours before you even got your official badge in the force: that he’s never once missed a shot with his gun, that he’s stopped a three-story hostage situation in less than ten minutes, that he became the youngest officer in the city to get promoted to Sergeant. You’ve heard about it all.
During your shadowing, you watched behind the one-way glass as he interrogated suspects with nothing but a calm face and a sharp tongue. You watched how he won’t even flinch when criminals would lash out at him with drunken rage and elusive words. You’ve seen rookies assigned under him dash away with their tail between their legs because even arguing back with him is something no one even dares to try.
Everyone says he’s never let anyone close to him. Others never ask about his personal life because he runs his schedule on a constant lockdown and he isn’t seeing anyone because he’s practically married to his job. But you know that even steel can bend under the right amount of heat.
He’s respected, sure. Admired, even. But liked? That’s an entirely different story.
You consider yourself at the opposite end of that spectrum.
Sometimes, you let your heart get in the way. There have been a few instances where your superiors would criticise how you chose negotiation instead of drawing your firearm as intended. Because you’ve always trusted your gut more than anything, even if that means putting your life on the line to save another.
You’ve been told it’s a flaw in this world𑁋that you care too and feel too much, that your gut instinct makes you reckless. And to someone like Sergeant Choi Seungcheol who seems to view the world in black and white, that kind of impulsiveness is a threat.
You remind yourself that you’re lucky you haven’t been assigned to work under him… yet.
Your first real conversation with him happens at the training centre. Three months later.
Today is shooting drills. A standard protocol that officers have to complete every quarter. You find yourself in the farthest lane, a G19 clutched in your hand, the grip warm against your palm. The sharp sounds of other officers firing their guns is muffled through your headset. The training centre reeks of the smell of gunpowder and lead. You’ve already emptied two full magazines and the time to rotate is nearly over.
So you roll your shoulders, take in a deep breath, and prepare your stance.
Exhaling slowly, you raise the gun at the target, and fire.
The recoil from the gun snaps back into your wrist, making your stance wobble slightly. But as you narrow your gaze down at the target ahead, you spot that the bullet hit just a pinch left off the centre mass. Not a full miss, but it still doesn’t feel enough for you.
Lowering the gun for a moment, you glance at the other lanes. Some officers are more seasoned than you, others closer to your beginner field. A few officers are chatting amongst each other in the corner while others are reloading in silence.
Yet at the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar, looming presence stepping between each booth.
You observe Sergeant Choi Seungcheol as he moves silently with his hands behind his back, quietly observing some officers like a shadow. He isn’t barking out orders or making a show of authority, but every single person in the room straightens up whenever he nears. You watch his lips move as he pauses to talk, probably offering critiques with a few nods here and there. A few instances he even leans in to correct someone’s tense stance, before moving on to the next person.
Flitting your eyes back to your own target, you raise the gun once again, and fire. It hits slightly more centre, but not entirely. A grimace forms at your lips. You fire again, again, and again, yet every single one seems to miss the point by just barely millimetres.
As you reload the gun and lock the magazine in place with a snap, a voice makes you pause.
“Your grip has too much wrist in it.”
The words don’t fully register at first, especially when the shadow behind you steps even closer. Close enough for the temperature in the room to increase and for your pulse to flutter in your throat. Close enough you’re able to feel it more instead of hear it.
You turn your head just enough to see him. He wears his uniform like armour, as if it’s part of his skin. His shoulders are squared, one of his hands resting by his duty belt, and the nameplate at his chest gleams under the harsh lighting of the training facility. Your eyes lock for a split second, and it’s intense enough that you straighten your spine instinctively.
There’s no softness in his expression, yet no harshness as well𑁋just that same cold detachment he always wears. But it still feels as if you’re being pinned to the wall with nothing but a simple glance. His presence alone seems to demand precision, like it dares you to screw up just so he can see how you recover.
Seungcheol’s eyes flicker downward to your stance.
“Try again,” he instructs sternly.
You offer a steady nod. “Yes, sir.”
However, when you bring the gun back up and zero in on the paper target ahead, your body is tense for entirely different reasons and the gun feels heavier than usual. Nonetheless, you suppress the thoughts aside, readjust your stance, plant your feet to the floor, and attempt to pretend that the room is empty with only you and the target.
And Seungcheol, apparently.
You fire.
Just ahead, the bullet tears through the paper, hitting the centre mass, but still just the tiniest bit off. A casual person may think it’s a perfect shot, but it’s clear that Seungcheol doesn’t have the eyes like any ordinary human. And judging by the subtle shift in his posture, he doesn’t look pleased at all. He takes in everything𑁋your breathing, your stance, your barely concealed frustration.
Then he steps closer to you. You feel the warmth from him radiate onto your back.
“May I?”
The way his voice drops sends goosebumps crawling underneath your uniform and up your neck. You can’t tell if it’s from nerves or something else.
When you glance back up at him, it hits you just how damn close he is.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “Go ahead, sir.”
Seungcheol leans in even further, his chest momentarily brushing against your back. He reaches out to your shoulder, before slowly𑁋torturously𑁋dragging his fingers from your tricep to your forearm, skimming at the edges of your sleeve to guide in your elbow gently.
“Relax,” he murmurs quietly, and you swear his voice hits you like a whisper right next to your ear. “I’ll always ask before I touch you, yeah?”
The words land softly around you. His tone isn’t authoritative𑁋not entirely, at least𑁋but it carries that same precision of boundary he uses with everyone else.
For a few moments, Seungcheol doesn’t move, his hand lingering for perhaps a second longer than intended at your elbow, his fingertips softly grazing against your skin there. You hear his breath even out at your nape, before he starts adjusting your arm with the smallest hint of movement. By degrees, not inches.
“Your grip is good, but your wrist is taking in all the recoil,” he tells you, coaxing your muscles to loosen with a small tap at your forearm. “In this line of work, tension is your enemy. Don’t fight the shock𑁋absorb it instead. You can’t let the weapon have control over you.”
The palm of his other hand then lands gently on your lower back, his warmth seeping through the crevices of your uniform. Your posture stiffens from the pressure as his fingers press into the space between your shoulder blades. It’s not inappropriate or invasive, yet there’s a strange kind of intimacy in the way he aligns your body under his expectations, as if he’s done it a hundred times already.
“Your spine is stiff as a statue,” Seungcheol remarks, a sliver of amusement behind his words. “Loosen your upper body a bit.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but fail anyway. He notices. “Kind of hard to do it with a Sergeant glued to my six.”
“Then pretend I’m not here.”
“Easier said than done,” You retort back without thinking. “You march around the place like a ticking grenade.”
He huffs a breath at that. Not fully a laugh, but just barely crossing into that territory. A chuckle, maybe. Or a scoff, most likely. You think this is the first time you’ve ever heard that kind of sound leave his mouth.
Seungcheol leans in again, this time letting his palm drag from your lower back and down to the curve of your hip. His touch is as light as a feather, barely there at your waistband, pressing just enough to tilt your stance enough so that your weight is distributed to both sides of your body equally.
“Don’t lean too forward,” he instructs smoothly. “You can’t let yourself anticipate the shot. When you do, you’ll lock up, which throws off your aim in the field.”
You allow yourself to yield under his touch, starting to feel everything coming into balance now.
“Now breathe in, and let everything get quiet,” Seungcheol says.
You do as he says, and suddenly everything feels more sharper and clearer around you. Your breathing settles and your heartbeat begins to slow. Behind you, Seungcheol does the same, as if he’s manifesting the grip of the gun through your hand.
“Good. That’s it.” The simple praise heightens your encouragement, his voice low as if only you are meant to hear it. Seungcheol steps away from you now, but the heat of him still lingers around you. “Finally, squeeze the trigger, and fire.”
When the gun shoots, you immediately feel the difference.
The recoil snaps back into your wrist once again, but you’re stable enough so that your body moves with the shot instead of resisting and messing up your stance. And when you gaze ahead at the target, the bullet cuts through the middle. Dead centre mass.
A hum of approval from Seungcheol behind buzzes through your ears.
“Again.”
You fire. It hits the centre again.
“One more time.”
You squeeze the trigger and shoot one last time. The paper target jolts from the force, and you blink at the perfect hole you formed through the torso. Lowering the gun, you turn your head to look at him, already seeing him standing with his hands clasped behind him and his dark eyes shifting from the torn target and back to your face.
“Better,” Seungcheol says simply.
And damn, it’s only a singular word, yet it feels like an entire sentence from him.
You tilt your head slightly at him, your breathing regulating. “Just better?”
Seungcheol lifts a thick brow. “Do you want a gold star?”
“That was a lot of instruction for just one word of feedback, Sergeant.”
“Would you rather I say nothing at all?”
You shake your head while unloading the empty magazine and placing the gun at the ledge for the next officer in rotation to use. Seungcheol is still watching you closely, his gaze following your movements. Not in a judgmental manner, but moreso… curious.
“Coming from you, sir,” You begin coyly with a shrug. “A little more praise wouldn’t hurt.”
That’s what seems to get him𑁋almost gets him. You catch the way his jaw ticks and how the corners of his lips twitch up like he’s trying to hold back a smile of his own. You don’t exactly mean to tease, but for some reason the thought of pushing his buttons just a little sends a thrill of amusement underneath your skin that you don’t entirely hate.
“Mouthy little thing,” Seungcheol grumbles under his breath, his own head shaking like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. Or if he can’t decide whether you’re fearless or stupid.
You both don’t realise how long you’ve been holding eye contact until the last officer in your rotation fires their last bullet and unloads the gun. You step aside for the next officer to take your place, slipping your headphones off your ears and letting it rest around your shoulders. Seungcheol clears his throat right beside you.
“You’re dismissed,” he says finally. “Good work, officer.”
Before you can respond, Seungcheol is already walking away from you. Even after whatever the hell you both just shared, he still moves like a man with control woven into every cell in his body.
Still, you managed to get another two words of praise out of him, and that in itself feels more than just a victory.
It’s 0700 by the time the new evaluations and assignments come out. It’s a monthly process where the superiors of the department evaluate the rookie officers under a certain set of criteria: performance metrics, communication skills, competency, and final notes typed out at the very end that could very well signal your impending doom or whether you’ve achieved a step closer to not being at the bottom of the food chain anymore. Assignments determine what unit you’ll be in, and most importantly𑁋for rookies𑁋which senior officer you’ll be partnered up with for the next quarter.
There’s a thick stack of papers sitting in the department inbox, which is already swarmed by other rookies colliding into each other while trying to find their names. You stay closer to the back, waiting until the crowd has mostly cleared out, before rummaging through the letters and finding your name. When you retrieve it, you saunter past all the groans of disappointment from the rest of your cohort and into the more quiet bubble of the locker room.
Your fingers hesitate for a second on the sealed envelope, unsure of why you’re suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve already suffered enough being partnered with a few incompetent senior officers who wouldn’t even remotely glance at you unless they were screaming orders or blamed you for being too emotional and your supposedly poor communication skills.
You realise that whatever your next assignment is could indeed change the trajectory of your career in a snap.
Peeling the flap open, you reach into the envelope and pull out the tri-folded paper, and let your eyes scan over the basic details at the very top. Like your name, your rank, and the name of the senior officer you were assigned with last quarter ordered to evaluate you𑁋who you personally dislike since he made you feel more like his personal maid than a police officer. A man with over ten years of experience who made you fetch his lunch almost every shift claiming that it helped you “learn how to serve the unit”. You figured his evaluation would be shallow at best; condescending and passive aggressive at worst.
Officer Name: Y/N L/N Rank: FTO Rookie Evaluator: Officer Lee Jiho Field Performance: Meets expectations Communication: Direct, occasionally insubordinate Protocol Compliance: Inconsistent under stressTactical Awareness: Surpasses expectations Judgement: Needs improvement
You snort through your nose at the words. It wasn’t bad𑁋you expected your evaluation to appear like this. Officer Jiho pretty much never liked when you had your own mind.
You lower your gaze down to the final notes at the bottom of the paper.
Final Notes: Borders on impulsiveness when working on the field. Though technically proficient, Officer L/N has a tendency to go “off-script” at times when dealing with emotionally charged scenarios which undermines operational coherence. Has been issued a few warnings regarding failure to adhere to protocol.
Then your eyes lower upon the final line of the evaluation.
Hereby recommending reassignment with Sergeant Choi Seungcheol to help reinforce standard procedure and develop more disciplined judgment, effective immediately.
You blink down at the paper. Once. Twice. Three times, as if his name will disappear from the page and you’re just hallucinating from your lack of caffeine this morning.
You got partnered up with Seungcheol? Out of all senior officers in the precinct, you got paired up with the man who is quite literally impossible to please and would break you over the slightest hint of error. God forbid, you know you don’t want to know what his bad side looks like.
But somewhere deep inside you, you always knew this would be a possibility, right? Hell, maybe a part of you had been bracing it ever since he stood so close to you at the shooting range a month ago and left behind a trail of heat that never truly faded. Ever since he complimented you and his edge softened for just a miniscule moment.
Tightening your grip on the paper, you stand up and march out of the locker room. And immediately, you’re greeted with a plethora of whispers from other officers all wondering who Seungcheol’s next target is.
“Doesn’t Sergeant Choi practically eat rookies for breakfast?”
“They’ll be lucky if they even last a week.”
“Is it the one Officer Jiho wrote up because she told him to fuck off in the debrief room?”
You scurry past all of them and down the hallway with your head down low, the whispers crawling over your skin like static. You clutch the folded envelope tighter towards your chest as your thoughts continue to spiral, nails creasing into the paper enough to potentially rip through it if you tried.
You don’t stop moving until you round the corner and then𑁋thud.
You find yourself colliding into something𑁋or rather, someone𑁋solid, tall, and broad that you might as well have run into a concrete wall. A hard chest knocks against your shoulder and your balance tips almost completely. You jolt back from the impact, barely managing to steady yourself before a strong hand reaches out and catches you by the elbow.
“Watch it,” comes a gruff voice.
Your head lifts back up, and time suddenly stops.
Because of fucking course it’s him. Sergeant Choi Seungcheol in his stone-like glory. He isn’t wearing his full uniform, only a black fitted tee that shows off his arms and a pair of black tactical cargo pants slung low on his hips. His neck glistens faintly with some sweat and strands of his dark hair are slightly damp like he’d just come out of a recent workout.
He’s never looked more intimidating.
Or attractive.
You try not to stare.
“You alright?” Seungcheol asks, voice low and posture like steel, his fingers still clutched around your arm.
You nod quickly, shaking yourself out of his grasp and smoothing down your uniform. “Yes. Apologies, Sergeant.”
Seungcheol’s eyes scan over your face with that familiar, unreadable expression before flitting down to the way you’re clutching your evaluation letter as if it’s about to fly out of your hands. “You’ve read it already?”
Your fingers twitch around the paper. “Just did.”
“Any objections?”
“Over half of the precinct is wondering which insubordinate rookie got thrown into the lion’s den,” You say, offering a wry, sardonic smile. “Do you think I have any objections?”
There it is again𑁋that rare twitch of his lips. Not quite a smile, but a flickering moment where the mask slips a little more.
Seungcheol gives a casual shrug. “I wouldn’t have requested you if I thought you did.”
You freeze at that, staring back up at him with widened eyes. He requested you? No part of this makes any sort of sense in your brain. If anything, being assigned to Seungcheol is basically like a punishment, or a disciplinary sentence disguised as an opportunity. You’re supposed to survive him, not be chosen by him.
“You… requested me?” You ask him.
Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, acting as if he didn’t put the entire weight of the world on your shoulders with just a singular sentence. You’re still peering up at him like you’re trying to search his face, trying to decipher through the unnerving stillness that makes people around him want to shrink into the ground. But you don’t let yourself shrink in front of him.
“Yes,” he replies simply, like he knew this would catch you off-guard. “So don’t make me regret my decision, rookie.”
“But I𑁋”
The conversation ends there. Because as you’re about to speak, he’s already brushing past you down the hallway, his shoulder briefly knocking against yours as he disappears around the corner.
Being in the same cruiser as Seungcheol is quite… daunting, to put it simply.
You climbed into the cruiser knowing what you were probably going to expect this entire day to go: the usual indifference and silence so thick it’s almost suffocating to be sitting in the passenger seat right next to him. But at the same time, there isn’t any animosity or awkwardness being with him𑁋well, maybe a little awkwardness.
From the outside, this probably looks like any other patrol shift. Two officers assigned as partners for the next three months, or until he decides to kick you out. Though on the inside, it feels as if you’re sitting inside a pressure cooker that has a chance of bursting with every red light that you stop at.
Seungcheol isn’t a talker. You’ve known that fact since the very beginning, especially when you approached him this morning with a simple Good morning, Sergeant and the only thing you got in return was a nod of acknowledgment and a tap of the ignition. All of it just makes you wonder if there’s more to him than just this surface-level silence. It’s in your nature, really.
Because who is he when he’s out of uniform? Is he secretly part machine? What would his laugh sound like? Hell, does he even laugh?
The first half of your shift with Seungcheol passes with near-total silence, with the only sounds coming from the hum of the cruiser driving down the street and the occasional bite of the radio. You find yourself gazing out the window and towards the greyness of the city. You observe the streets, monitor the traffic, double-check your radio… along with stealing a few glances towards him when he’s not looking. There’s something about him that just draws you in like a magnet.
You take in the profile of his face where the morning sunlight angles through the cruiser window just right, seemingly making his hardened edge appear more softer. You catch sight of a faint scar beneath his brow, another one in the crease of his upper lip that’s barely visible unless you’re sitting this close to him. You notice his habit of tapping his thumb on the steering wheel𑁋three beats, stop, three beats, stop.
You think of all the stories he must have after all this time in the force.
“You’re staring.”
You stiffen from his words, guilt warming up your cheeks as you immediately redirect your gaze ahead. “Sorry.”
Even when you’re not looking at him, you still feel the way his eyes glance back at you too.
As the cruiser approaches an upcoming red light, Seungcheol loosens his grip on the steering wheel a little, clearing his throat beside you.
“I’ve read your file,” he says flatly.
You perk up from that. “Yeah? Found any juicy blackmail?”
There’s a long pause that follows, which makes you think he won’t answer. But as the cruiser comes to a stop, Seungcheol allows his posture to relax for just a moment.
“You were at the top of your class at the academy,” he responds evenly. “Second highest percentile in firearms, defensive tactics, but graduated with as many demerits as the human hand.”
“Don’t count the last one,” You add in with a bitter bite. “Got written up because I talked back to my supervisor who cat-called me in the middle of a training simulation. And guess what? No one believed me.” Frustration courses through you as you sink your back more into the seat, crossing your arms together. “Should’ve kicked him in the balls when I had the damn chance.”
A lingering silence soon follows after your sudden outburst of honesty. For some reason, you find yourself bracing for a lecture𑁋perhaps a pointed reminder that you should have kept your mouth shut if you wanted to succeed in this field. You’ve heard it all before. From your supervisors back in the police academy. From senior officers like Officer Jiho who barely put in effort in reading your reports. It’s nothing new.
When you turn to peek at Seungcheol, there’s something about his expression that you haven’t seen before.
“You still remember the supervisor’s name?” he asks after a few beats.
You blink up at him, surprised. “Yeah, why?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. The light ahead turns green, and he eases the cruiser forward smoothly which only gives you more than enough time to wonder what he’s contemplating about.
“Tell me about the incident last month at 20th and Mujin.”
You feel like you know where this is going, your stomach twisting in anticipation. “The gas station robbery?”
He nods once, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead.
“A kid got caught up in it, reeled in by his brother and his friends,” You explain. “Thirteen-years old, first-time offender, scared shitless and crying for his mom. One of the officers roughed him up pretty bad while he tried to flee, so I intervened.”
Beside you, Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel shifts subtly. You know he’s listening.
“I told him I’d handle the kid,” You continue explaining the story. “As you already know, it didn’t end well. Got scolded that I should’ve become a social worker if I wanted to babysit. They told me the streets don’t give a shit about age𑁋that it was the kid’s decision to go criminal, and because of that, he gets the same treatment as the others. And I paid the price with a two-day suspension because I didn’t abide by the chain of command.”
You hear your voice hardening after each word that spills out of your mouth. There’s so much more you want to say𑁋God, so much𑁋but you already know what happens when you say too much.
“You acted emotionally during an active situation in front of your superior,” Seungcheol says finally. “You disobeyed a direct instruction without informing your lead and made a judgment call that wasn’t yours to make.”
Your lips tighten into a thin line from that, irritation bleeding into your voice. “So, you𑁋you would rather I stand around and watch an officer put his knee to a child’s back and manhandle him in front of me? Like the kid was holding a fucking bomb instead of wallet?”
“You don’t know what that kid could have done,” he argues back calmly. “Emotions cloud judgment. They always have and always will. And when you lose control, you put everyone on scene at risk.”
“And apparently having basic human decency gets me booted.”
“That’s not what I’m arguing.”
You huff out a snarky breath. “Sounds like it is, Sergeant.”
“You think I haven’t been in your position before, rookie?” Seungcheol reprimands roughly, his voice growing heavy like his mind is physically recoiling a certain memory he hasn’t spoken of in a while, or at all. “Because I have. Many times.”
The world pauses at that for a mere second, before the chatter of the radio interrupts the tension. It’s just a simple status update which Seungcheol answers casually as if you didn’t just witness this vulnerable side of him for the first time, even if it was only for a moment or two.
You curl your hand into a fist at your thigh, finding your thoughts lingering in the space between his words. You turn your head slowly to look back up at him. He doesn’t look back.
“Is that why… you’re like this now?” You question slowly, carefully. It comes out softer than you expect. And for a second, you think you may have pushed a bit too far.
Seungcheol exhales slowly, keeping his gaze forward. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Cold, numb, distant, the whole… intimidating, nonchalant energy you have going on.”
His eyes finally flick back to you. “You think I’m numb?”
Your heart stutters at the way he asks. It doesn’t come out offended or defensive, but quiet in a way that seems like no one else has really asked him this before. Like he’s genuinely curious about how you look at him through your eyes.
“Well, I mean…” You begin carefully, giving a small shrug. “You don’t exactly wear your heart on your sleeve, Sergeant.”
“I wear a badge. That’s enough,” he says promptly. “I’ve already told you𑁋emotions get in the way. It’s the truth. It’s protocol.”
“That’s your truth.”
“And my truth is what has kept me in this job for so long.”
You rest your elbow on the window, a small, bitter, humourless smile tugging at your lips. “Then you’re going to regret assigning me to you, Sergeant.”
“If I regretted it, you would’ve been kicked out of this squad by now.”
You don’t respond to that, only facing away from him completely to stare out of the passenger’s side window with your jaw tight.
Because Seungcheol is all about precision and emotions overriding susceptibility to error; you’re all about gut over grid, and heart over head. This dissonance should basically make you both incompatible… right?
“10-4, we got eyes on the suspect,” Seungcheol speaks affirmatively into the radio, voice calm and sharp like a blade. “Male, mid-thirties, has a knife and lighter in his hand and is covered in gasoline. Displaying highly erratic behaviour which suggests he’s definitely under the influence of something. Threatening arson. Have EMS and fire on standby.”
Two weeks after your first shift together, you and Seungcheol responded to a domestic dispute call, where a neighbour had reported screaming and crashing from an apartment on the second floor. By the time you both arrive, the man in question is pacing around barefoot on the grass, a kitchen knife at his side, and a lighter he keeps flickering on and off, all while hollering about his wife locking him out of the apartment with his child and threats about burning down the entire place. His hair and clothes are dripping with gasoline, a trail of it leading right up to the building, and the smell is intense enough for you to have your nose crinkling.
His gait is unsteady and his pupils are blown wide and red𑁋meth, most likely, or maybe even some type of psychosis episode included. Something enough that has his knife glinting under the moonlight with weak swings to the air and enough to make his words slur and crack with every yell. Either way, he’s twitchy and dangerous, clearly a danger not only to others, but himself as well. And your stomach coils with the thought that he only has to make one wrong move before that lighter sets himself and the building off.
“Come out, you fuckin’ bitch!” the man bellows out groggily through the cool evening air. “Taking my fuckin’ child𑁋I’ll kill you! I swear to God, I’ll burn this place down!”
You stick to Seungcheol’s side as the two of you progress a few steps forward toward the man.
“Stay at my six,” Seungcheol orders you sternly, placing himself in the space between you and the man a few feet ahead, his hand reaching out naturally𑁋protectively𑁋by your side to steady you. “Don’t move unless I say.”
You feel your heart kicking inside your chest as you reposition yourself behind him, fingers brushing over the latch of your gun in your holster. You keep your eyes locked on the jittery and unstable man, still shouting incoherently up at an apartment window, the knife trembling in his hand with each staggered step he takes closer towards the building.
“Sir, I need you to drop the knife and lighter!” Seungcheol commands, his voice booming with authority as he raises his firearm. “Put them down right now!”
Yet the man doesn’t comply. Instead, he only laughs. It’s an ugly, wet, mocking sound that has your lips pressing together in an impatient, thin line. The man doesn’t listen, keeping his back towards you and Seungcheol as he continues to fry out his lungs with threats that echo into the air. The radio notifies you that backup is only a few minutes out𑁋a few minutes too long knowing the entire complex can turn into a raging ball of fire in less than five seconds.
“Come out here!” the man screams, the flick of flame bursting to life in spurts as he waves it through the air. “Come out here before I kill all of you!”
As Seungcheol continues to shout up commands to the man, your gaze flicks up to the window above. The curtains are sealed shut, but for only a moment, you catch a glimpse of a child’s face behind it. A girl, probably around three or four, peering down at presumably her father with wide, unblinking eyes before disappearing again.
The smell of the gasoline burns in the back of your throat.
“Sergeant…”
“I know, I see her too,” Seungcheol responds tightly. “Just hold.”
But you can’t hold, especially not when every nerve in your body is firing up with instinct and fear. Fear for the little girl, the innocent people in the building, and for even the man. Protocol would tell you to go by the manual: wait for backup, de-escalate from a safe distance, let the superior officer make the call, and to never ever close in on an armed and volatile suspect under the influence.
Protocol doesn’t account for emotion𑁋it never does, very much a fact according to other officers and Seungcheol. It doesn’t factor the dreaded feeling of fear.
You’ve seen what fire can do. And you’ve also seen what inaction can do.
So when you hear that click of the lighter again, you do what your heart tells you before your mind can𑁋you move.
“Officer L/N!”
You emerge from behind Seungcheol and sprint past him, adrenaline striking down your body like a bolt of lightning. The world narrows to only the harrowing sight of the man in front of you, and you close the distance between you and him in a blur. He doesn’t even see you coming.
The suspect turns the moment you collide into him. The lighter flies out of his hand and skids right out of reach. Your shoulder knocks harshly into his ribs, causing you both to crash down into the damp, gasoline-soaked grass, but he kicks and thrashes and fights back hard as you try to pin his arms down, trying to suppress the way he’s reaching back for his knife with a crazed, drug-fueled strength.
And just as the man grips back onto the knife, Seungcheol spawns beside you.
One moment you’re pinning the man onto the ground, and the next, Seungcheol yanks the man away from you by the torn collar of his shirt and body slams him with a force that makes your bones rattle. But the man continues to resist, and he aimlessly swings the knife through the air once more, and it slices through Seungcheol’s sleeve and grazes his arm, blood oozing through the cut.
“Drop it!” Seungcheol seethes, pinning the man’s hand wielding the knife with his boot while hurriedly grabbing his cuffs. “Don’t you fucking move.”
The click of the cuffs securing makes your heart stutter, and you scramble from the ground to help Seungcheol with picking the man up. The suspect groans from your combined strength, still trying to jerk his body away, but you see the fight draining out of his body as the reality of the arrest settles all over him.
“10-48, suspect is under custody,” Seungcheol mumbles into the radio, then he turns toward you. “You okay?”
You offer him a faint nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Responding units arrive exactly two minutes later. Your eyes flick back up to the apartment window for a second, and this time, you see the same girl and a woman right next to her, cradling the little one in her arms as they watch the suspect being taken into custody. You feel your heart begin to calm, the adrenaline dimming away, and you can’t help the tiny lift to the corners of your lips before a brooding presence brushes right past you.
“Sergeant,” You call out to him urgently. “You’re hurt𑁋you need to sit down.”
Seungcheol shoots a dismissive look at the wound on his arm. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding𑁋”
“And you didn’t listen to me,” he deadpans. “What the hell was that?”
You blink. “I𑁋”
“You ran after an armed suspect. You disobeyed a direct order,” he says again, louder this time, even as his voice cracks. “You think that’s what I want, rookie? To 10-7 another officer because they couldn’t wait for five goddamn seconds?”
You freeze at that. And when you look at him𑁋as in, finally look at him𑁋you swear you feel it swirling you like ghosts, memories, and the past. You see a man who has been carrying the weight of trauma and past lives on his shoulders. A man who has been trying so hard to detach himself from emotion that he’s nearly forgotten how to feel it. A man whose colour has been drained yet still manages to will himself to uphold justice every single day.
And you𑁋being the reckless, impulsive mess among other names you’re called𑁋are chipping away at the walls he’s built faster than he seems to realise.
“Seungcheol…” The name leaves you like a breath, but he catches it immediately, hitting hard enough to make his heart drop.
The air between you thickens with tension, troubled only by the distant sounds of radio chatter from other units and firefighters rushing around to secure the area. Your eyes flicker from his face and down to his arm. You let your shoulders drop.
“Yell at me all you want,” You tell him calmly, letting your fingers brush softly over his elbow. “But I’m patching you up.”
Seungcheol doesn’t seem to protest back. Instead, he allows you to lead him to the back of the ambulance before you press down on his shoulders to force him to sit on the step. You fish for some antiseptic wipes and bandages from the trauma kit nearby before returning back to his side.
He doesn’t flinch when you lift up his sleeve to dab the antiseptic on his bicep. Yet as you’re locked in on cleaning up his wound, his own eyes are locked on you. He takes in your features𑁋how you bite your bottom lip with focus, the worry in your eyes as you clean the cut with precision, the way your lashes flutter with every blink. His breathing falters when your fingertips accidentally graze upon his bare skin.
“Does it hurt?” You ask softly.
“No.”
You snort. “Liar.”
His mouth faintly twitches up at that.
“You’re not going to apologise, are you?”
You look back up at him. “For what? Patching you up?”
“For breaking protocol.”
Your fingers freeze over the plaster.
“No,” You answer confidently. “I’m not.”
A low hum tumbles out of his chest, a sound somewhere between irritation and a little like… admiration. It comes out reluctantly. “Of course you’re not.”
You wrap the plaster around his arm securely and tape it up, smoothing down any ridges gently. When you pull away with a sigh, Seungcheol is still looking at you, causing you to force your eyes away and clear your throat soundly, hoping it’d be enough to cover up the way your cheeks warm.
In due time, you’re both back inside the cruiser. It’s silent on the way back to the station, but it’s a bit different this time𑁋still cold, but lesser so than it was from your first handful of shifts together𑁋because it’s not exactly peace, nor unease. Your first shifts found you both still continuously clashing with each other that sitting in the squad with him made it effectively hard to handle. You’re genuinely surprised he hasn’t reassigned you yet, whether by choice or force.
Seungcheol climbs out of the cruiser and shuts the door behind him. By the time he’s out, you’re already waiting for him by the door.
“Still planning to write me up today, Sergeant?” You question him teasingly.
He approaches you slowly, your words surrounding him because that is what he’s supposed to do. As your superior officer, you disobeyed him, compromised a scene, tackled an unarmed suspect to the ground blindly. On paper, it should be an easy write-up. Another review for your badge to add onto your reckless history.
But to him, nothing about this has been easy.
“You saved lives tonight yet nearly killed your own,” he acknowledges simply. “So it depends. Are you going to listen next time?”
“Not likely.” A playful grin crosses your face as you give him a quick nudge with your shoulder. “Goodnight, Sergeant.”
Before he can respond, you’re already turning your back to him and heading inside the station, leaving Seungcheol to only himself. He stares at the space you left behind.
Then, he quietly exhales the breath he’s been holding in and steps inside.
A piece of tomato from your sandwich slips onto the napkin sprawled across your lap with a splat. The afternoon breeze slips through the cracks of the cruiser’s windows and makes strands of your hair fly. The squad is parked on a random block that has an elementary school across the street in clear view. You find yourself in the passenger seat, eating a sad excuse for a sandwich you bought from a deli around the corner from the station. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now.
Right next to you, Seungcheol is drinking a cup of coffee, which looks more like bitter tar than it is freshly hot and brewed. You offered him half of your sandwich earlier, but he waved you off. He rarely eats on duty, you’ve noticed.
His sleeves are rolled up too, with a fresh pink scar poking out from underneath from the domestic dispute case a while back. You still feel really guilty about it, sometimes even wondering if you should have done things differently that night𑁋if you should have waited longer instead of rushing in with your chest full of adrenaline and emotion. If you did, he wouldn’t have that scar in the first place. You wonder if it stings with as much pain as the memory gives.
“Does this ever get old to you?” The question leaves you before you could even register it.
Seungcheol doesn’t look at you when you ask, his eyes instead focused on the kids running around in the playground across the street. His fingers tap rhythmically against his cup.
“Not really,” he replies vaguely with a shrug.
You nod, trailing your eyes to the children as well, watching them play while being blissfully unaware of the monsters in the world. When you glance back at him, he’s still watching them with that familiar press of neutrality to his lips. But you can tell he’s thinking about something.
You take a bite out of your disappointing sandwich. “Do you have any?”
“Any what?”
“Kids.”
His mouth parts, before shutting closed again, and the taps of his fingers falters. “Where is this coming from, rookie?”
You let out a soft, awkward laugh, hoping to downplay the question. “Sorry. Just… trying to make lunch conversation, you know?”
Seungcheol’s gaze dances between the kids in the playground and the brooding coffee cup in his hands.
“No,” he responds softly. “I don’t have any.”
You sit up in your seat at that, amusement teasing at your eyebrows. “None? No double life with a secret wife and kids or secret situationship you’re suffering over?”
You catch his mouth lifting up slightly from your words, but he swiftly covers it up with bringing his cup of coffee up to his lips to swallow whatever ghost of a smile was threatening to break free. Another little victory that you make note of to yourself.
“Nothing at all.” Seungcheol clarifies, pauses, before adding in more quietly, “You?”
You feign a gasp. “Oh, you’re asking me now.”
“You circled around it first.”
You chew thoughtfully through another bite of your sandwich before a faint smirk crosses over your face.
“Hmm, I could tell you,” You drawl with a playful tilt to your head. “But I think I like making you wonder.”
Seungcheol shoots you a side-eye from over the rim of the cup. “That so?”
You deliberately say nothing more, only leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed together. You can tell he’s waiting for you to elaborate, but you simply redirect your attention out through the window.
“You’re really not going to answer?” he asks.
“Nope. I’m letting you wonder.”
Seungcheol scoffs at that, shaking his head to himself. “Pain in my ass.”
The grin to your face draws even further from that. There’s no malice to his words at all; if anything, there’s an edge of reluctant amusement to it. You really are truly not like anyone else he’s partnered up with. A living, walking contradiction to everything he’s spent years perfecting. And damn it all, he hates the kind of trouble you bring𑁋but in some weird, twisted way, he can’t get himself to rid of it.
Just as the silence begins to settle once again, the radio buzzes with static.
“All units in the area, a 10-80 has been initiated. Male suspect is driving a stolen black Chevy heading eastbound on Hanbyeol. Any units, please respond.”
Seungcheol swiftly wedges his half-empty cup of bitter coffee into the holder and opens the MDT sitting in between the two of you. You wrap up the remains of your sandwich and buckle in your seatbelt.
“10-4, copy,” he responds into the radio with immediate clarity. “Unit 17 here responding, heading en route. Hand primary over. Advise on current traffic conditions?”
“Traffic is moderate. Suspect speed is 70, unknown if armed or not. Has an additional female passenger, unclear association. License plate reads…”
The cruiser roars to life when Seungcheol steps on the accelerator, the sirens blaring down the block as he pulls into the street. Red and blue lights flash over the windows of shops and restaurants, startling civilian cars and pedestrians out of the way. You feel your stomach lift and drop all at once as you force your gaze ahead.
The tires screech against the pavement as Seungcheol takes a sudden sharp right turn. In the rearview mirror, you catch sight of a few other squad cars joining the pursuit behind you, sirens screaming down the street. You grasp the handle above while Seungcheol easily weaves through incoming traffic, barely missing cars that swerve out of the way at the last cutthroat second. He’s back in his element now𑁋this is what he does best. His grip is hardened to iron on the steering wheel all while he and dispatch are relaying information back and forth to each other.
Narrowing your eyes, you spot the car in question barrelling past a red light, the front bumper making brief contact with another car who slams on their brakes.
“There!” You exclaim and reach out for your radio to announce, “Suspect just cut through the red light at Gaon intersection. Made contact with a Honda Civic. Still heading eastbound.”
“Copy that,” the comms crackles through the radio. “Maintaining pursuit. Confirm possible PIT when applicable?”
Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. “Negative on PIT for now. Traffic and speeds are too high.”
You glance at him from the side. There’s a subtle tension in his posture, a wariness curling at the edge of his scarily calm demeanour. You can almost see his mind running through every possible outcome, every split-second decision that could end in potential disaster if there’s even one singular miscalculation from him, you, and the other officers involved in the pursuit.
Suddenly, the Chevy swerves onto the southbound onramp heading onto the highway, causing Seungcheol to curse under his breath and for you to nearly hit your head against the window from the manoeuvre, despite being locked tight with the seatbelt.
“Update, rookie,” he instructs without keeping his eyes off the road.
You nod firmly. “Suspect is merging onto the Hanbyeol highway. Speed rapidly increasing to 85. Traffic is still moderate.”
The suspect cuts across three lanes erratically and clips the passenger side mirror of another car, sending bits of debris and sparks to fly down the highway. The front bumper is hanging on by a thread from the amount of force and speed the car is going. Seungcheol stays one line aside in the hopes of boxing the Chevy, with other units accelerating in from behind.
Inside the suspect’s car, you spot obscure signs of frantic movement from the female passenger: arms swinging, inaudible screaming, like she’s trying to fight back. It’s causing the vehicle to swerve left and right aggressively, and you feel your stomach lurch.
“This is Unit 17, the passenger is showing signs of resistance inside the car,” You speak into the radio. “Possible attempt of vehicular kidnapping.”
There’s a short, grim moment of silence through the radio from your words.
“10-4, copy that. Confirming to all units that tactical intervention is advised with a possible hostage situation.”
Seungcheol lets out an exhale, like he hasn’t taken a breath in the past five minutes. “Good eyes, officer.”
You blink up at him unexpectedly, your heart warming for a passing moment. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
The cruiser continues hurtling down the highway. The engine groans beneath your feet, wind slashing violently against the windows, and every second that continues to tick by feels like an inevitable disaster waiting to happen. You keep a tight grip on the centre console as Seungcheol switches lanes again to smoothly position the squad right behind the suspect𑁋a living blueprint of every tactical pursuit ever written.
Just then, the Chevy weaves again, hurtling itself to the right before jerking back to the left, narrowly missing another car. A horn blares in warning.
“Dammit,” Seungcheol curses lowly. “He’s losing control.”
And in the blink of an eye, the Chevy suddenly veers abruptly left. Very abruptly.
You watch with a helpless lump in your throat as the suspect tries to overcorrect the car, yet the tires screech with frustration. The car parades across the highway and crashes straight into the concrete barrier, the front end crumpling like a piece of paper. It goes through a few violent spins before coming to a smoking halt across the shoulder, its nose facing incoming traffic.
“Son of a𑁋” Seungcheol hisses in frustration, slamming his foot harshly on the brake. “Call it in. Now.”
You frantically press on the radio. “10-50, suspect vehicle in a collision. Southbound highway. Requesting EMS and fire right away.”
Seungcheol is out of the car before you could even process it. Your own boots hit the asphalt before as you stumble out of the car, grabbing your gun from your holster and taking cover on the opposite end of the front hood where Seungcheol is. Behind you, other units park from a safe distance in order to form a loose perimeter around the area. Doors fling open, guns are drawn, and it takes a moment for you to realise that this entire situation isn’t just a figment of your imagination.
Smoke rises from the car and curls into the air like ribbons, and the windshield is spiderwebbed with cracked glass. The passenger’s side doesn’t open𑁋the woman is still inside𑁋but through the window you’re able to spot some movement to indicate that she’s still alive. But the suspect’s door creaks open. A man stumbles out of the car seconds later, his face contorted with blood and pain, and his left arm looks like it got dislocated from the impact of the crash. However, in his right hand, he’s wielding a gun of his own.
“Gun!” someone yells from behind𑁋not you or Seungcheol, but one of the other arriving officers. It triggers an immediate chain reaction among the other squads.
You raise your weapon instantly, breath catching and heart pounding as the man takes a shaky step forward closer to the barricade of officers and squad cars. The suspect’s gun isn’t pointed at anyone yet, but it’s clearly in his hand. You spot his finger twitching along the trigger, his eyes completely glazed over like glass, blood pouring from his nose, and he’s breathing hard as if he had just walked through an entire forest of fire.
“Driver, drop the weapon!” Seungcheol bellows loudly, voice cutting through the air like a clap of thunder. “Put your hands up where I can see them!”
But the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t comply. And through your eyes, there’s already a sign of defeat raging over his features. There’s no calculation or escape plan𑁋only gazing over at you, Seungcheol, and all the other officers with their guns raised toward him like he’s silently begging for someone to shoot.
“Sergeant,” You anxiously breathe out shakily to Seungcheol. “He wants us to shoot him.”
Seungcheol pauses to process what you just said, then takes a visible, sharp inhale. You wait for him to bark something at you𑁋to probably tell you to stay back and let him and the tactical team call the shots. But he doesn’t.
Instead, his jaw tics like his own mind is fighting him, and flicks his eyes toward you. Not to reprimand, or restrain, but… to trust.
“Go on,” he orders with hesitation. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
A surprised warmth of relief washes over you. You glance back at the other officers behind, then to Seungcheol, before standing up from behind the cover of the cruiser and taking a few, careful steps towards the suspect. The second you lower your gun and put it back into your holster, you overhear the radio immediately explode with chatter.
“Who the hell is that?”
“An officer from Unit 17 is approaching the suspect without tactical cover.”
“Unauthorized𑁋repeat, unauthorized.”
“Stand down!” Seungcheol’s voice cuts in sharply. “All units, hold your fire.”
There’s some muttered protests trying to break through the static, yet Seungcheol holds his and your ground.
You pause just a few metres away from the suspect. “Sir?”
No response, but there’s a faint flicker in there somewhere when he lifts his head to you from your voice.
“Sir?” You repeat more steadily this time. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
A wet grunt of pain escapes the man’s bloody lips. You can see how much he’s trembling, barely being able to contain himself upright. The gun is still in his hand, not raised, his fingers wrapped loosely on the trigger.
“Just kill me,” the man urges, voice hoarse like the words have been cutting against his throat. “Please.”
“No,” You tell him reassuringly. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Do it!” the man snaps back harsher, his voice breaking even more. “You… You all did it before! To my friend! Gunned him down like a dog! Because you all always fucking shoot!”
“And I’m here to tell you I’m not like them,” You say, showing off your unarmed hands. “I’m just here to help you. You can walk away from this. I know you can.”
The words blare louder than any siren could. And for a split moment, you feel the weight of all the guns pointing from behind you.
The man huffs out a broken laugh. “What’s the point if I’m dead anyway?”
His hand tightens a little more around the gun, making every other officer behind to stiffen. But you continue to hold your ground. Right now, in front of almost the entire police department, you are choosing heart over protocol𑁋and Seungcheol gave you permission to do so.
“You’re not dead,” You assure calmly. “You’re still here, standing and breathing. That might not mean something to you, but it does me.”
Another flicker in his eyes.
“Don’t,” the man warns. “Don’t act like you care.”
“I do care.”
“No, you’re a cop. You’ll say anything.”
“Then shoot me.”
The words come out of you before you can stop it, even enough to surprise yourself. The suspect’s eyes widen from it too, like he’s trying to decipher past your facade. The thing is, there is no facade you’re putting up. You’re not here to punish, to correct, or pride yourself with delusions because of the badge at your chest. No, you’re here to empathise with someone who is just as human as you.
“I know that you’re feeling lost,” You continue. “And that you think you don’t have anything left, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live.”
The man’s face falters again.
“And for your friend, I may not know his name. But I know that he mattered, and that he wouldn’t want your story to end like this.”
His eyes drop to the gun in his shaky hands, then instantly, tears begin to well up and run down his face. The gun dips lower𑁋just an inch, then lower, his knuckles no longer pale with strain.
“I… I never meant for this to happen,” he mutters, lips trembling with every word that leaves him. “Fuck, I-I’m so sorry…”
You step closer, cautiously outstretching your hand toward him. “I know, I believe you. But you’re not alone in this, alright? I can help you if you just put down the gun.”
His shoulders droop down low as if something inside of him has finally cracked. For a heartbeat, you feel the world around you hold its breath while you’re holding one of your own. A very painful one.
Then you see it: a moment where it could go right. The suspect dances his fingers dangerously close to the trigger, like he’s physically trying to hold himself back from doing what he thought to be the inevitable. God, he’s shaking so hard you think he might drop and collapse.
Because suddenly, a shot rings out.
Not from you. Or the suspect. But from somewhere behind.
The thunderous clap of the bullet splits the world in half.
“Shots fired! Shots fired!”
“The suspect is down!”
“Cuff him! Cuff him!”
In front of you, the suspect’s body jerks violently, the gun dropping from his grasp just before he’s able to fully surrender it. Crimson blooms through his shoulder, his knees buckling as he tumbles onto the asphalt below, a ragged gasp leaving his mouth.
You could only freeze up. You can’t move.
“No,” You croak out weakly. “No, no, no𑁋”
You barely hear the scream that escapes out of you before a group of officers and EMS brush past you to restrain the man deeper into the ground, even though he’s already bleeding out and the gun is laying an entire arm’s length away. People from EMS scramble to get the woman out of the car.
He was surrendering. He was letting go.
A strong hand lands at your arm, and you find yourself being dragged away from the scene. The grip isn’t rough in the slightest, but firm, yet you still attempt to twist your way out. Your eyes remain locked on the suspect on the ground, seeing the way his fingers are twitching against the pavement. With every passing second, heat courses through you𑁋both anger and grief.
But especially anger.
“Let go of me!” You yell out, trying to squirm away. “Let fucking go𑁋”
“Stand down.”
The voice that fills your ears is deep and commanding. In the blink of an eye, Seungcheol is right in front of you. One of his hands is pinning yours against his chest while the other is holding onto your shoulder. Your back meets the cruiser behind, and his face awfully closer to yours than it’s ever been.
His brows are pushed together, and his eyes𑁋Jesus Christ, his eyes𑁋are blazing with fury.
“Look at me, Y/N,” Seungcheol orders, pressing himself closer to you to the point you’re able to feel his rapid heart rate on your hand that’s on his chest. “Breathe. You need to breathe for me.”
Y/N.
You try to. You really try to. But your throat only tightens even more. Because that man was right there, and now he’s bleeding out since someone decided to pull a trigger they had no right to fire. Because someone saw a threat instead of a person𑁋saw a gun in a man’s hand and declared that was enough. And still, Seungcheol stays with you, shielding you away.
“Sergeant,” You whisper out softly. “I… I almost had it. I saw him putting the gun down. He was crying𑁋”
“I know,” he grits out. “I know.”
His dark eyes roam over your tear-stained face, lingering for a moment too long. You run a hand over your face to swipe away more of the incoming tears threatening to spill out.
However, the moment is interrupted with another voice snapping out, “What the hell kind of stunt was that?”
It belongs to a man named Lieutenant Hwang, who is storming toward you with his vest half unbuckled and a rifle slung around his shoulder. You don’t know much about him, only that he’s another hard-liner like Seungcheol. His sharp gaze cuts to you, a finger jabbed towards you.
“You walked straight into an active scene with no cover,” Hwang snarls directly at you. “This isn’t fucking child’s play, rookie.”
You feel your blood boil at that.
“Child’s play?” You remark angrily, separating yourself from Seungcheol. “What you should consider child’s play is standing around and watching someone about to take their own life when we had the only chance to prevent it.”
Hwang blinks, almost like he’s taken aback for a second, before he shakes his head like he’s in disbelief you’re talking back. There’s a tense moment of silence, thick enough for other surrounding officers to zip their mouths and turn their heads toward the confrontation. You hear the whispers circling around you like phantoms.
“You have zero command for negotiations. Hell, you’re barely at tactical entry level.” The scowl on his face only deepens. “Don’t talk back to me like you know better than protocol. You compromised an entire scene and turned it into a goddamn therapy session.”
“Because I saw a man who needed help. He was armed, yes, but he wasn’t threatening,” You fire back. “And everyone else here saw nothing but a man with a gun and decided that was the end of the story.”
Hwang huffs out a breath. “This department doesn’t run on feelings. Emotions cloud judgment in this job.”
You seethe even hotter at that. Beside you, Seungcheol remains silent. His jaw is tight, yet he lets you speak.
“I𑁋you want to talk about judgment?” You fire back, gesturing your hands wildly back to the scene. “Judgment is knowing when to pull the trigger and when not to. So clearly, someone else here failed that test.”
Your voice wavers from rage, from the sheer ridiculousness that you’re being ridiculed for trying to handle a situation that half of the department had no guts to try. Hwang’s cold eyes narrow down at you, his fists clenching at his side as if he’s about to take this further. But before he can, a voice cuts in.
“Enough.”
All eyes land back on Seungcheol. He positions himself between you and Hwang.
“I told the team to hold their fire,” he admits at last. “And I was the one who gave her clearance.”
Hwang scoffs bitterly, crossing his arms together. “Are you fucking me with me right now, Sergeant? Allowing your own rookie to lead this shitshow? We could’ve been scraping up her remains off this highway.”
“And she showed more damn courage dealing with a suicide-by-cop situation than half this field has in the last five years,” Seungcheol responds firmly. “So if you have a problem with her, take it up with me.”
Your heart seizes at that. You’ve never heard him speak like this. Not in the past shifts you’ve worked together in. Not in any of the stories passed around the precinct about Sergeant Choi Seungcheol: the man who never lets personal feelings interfere with procedure and protocol. And God, you can’t get yourself to tear your eyes away from him.
Because this isn’t protocol talking.
It’s him.
An incredulous look washes over Hwang’s face.
“Jesus𑁋this is why they say you’ve gone soft recently,” the man mumbles to himself, before adding in, “And guess what, Sergeant? That softness is why you lost your last fucking partner.”
The words land harder than a punch to the gut. You see it in Seungcheol’s stare𑁋that tiny flicker. A purposeful crack to his rift where memories flash through him in an instant.
Seungcheol steps forward. “Watch your mouth.”
Hwang raises a brow. “You’re really going to start a pissing match over some girl𑁋”
“I said watch your goddamn mouth, Hwang,” Seungcheol repeats again, not hesitating to grab the superior officer by his collar and shove him back a step. “Keep talking shit and you and I are going to have a real problem.”
The air between the two men thickens even more.
“You forgot who the fuck you’re speaking to?” Hwang growls back, shoving Seungcheol off of him. “This conversation isn’t over. For both of you.”
With a glare thrown over his shoulder, Lieutenant Hwang marches away from you and Seungcheol. Other officers remain stunned at the scene, before Seungcheol sends them all a look that has them scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone.
Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair and forces a breath out. When he finally turns back to you, you see how his expression shifts𑁋from rage, to grief, to something a little more… vulnerable. The residual anger starts to dim when he meets your widened eyes.
He doesn’t say anything at first. You open your mouth to speak, but he stops you with a short shake of his head, telling you not here, not in front of the others.
“Come with me,” he says tightly.
And you follow him without question.
Seungcheol’s office is quiet. Unnervingly so.
You’ve been in here a couple of times before, mainly to drop reports on his desk or for him to give you feedback on your shared shifts which was often kept blunt and short, yet never unkind. The door shuts with a gentle click, and you find yourself standing awkwardly in the middle of the office as if you’re unsure if you even belong here anymore.
You watch as Seungcheol plants both hands on the edge of his desk, his head bowed like he’s trying to catch his own breath for the first time in the past hour. The muscles on his back tense from stress beneath the stretch of his shirt.
You let your mouth fall open to speak. “Sergeant𑁋”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off quickly. “Just… not yet.”
Your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides, still restless from grief and residual adrenaline. There’s about a million things trying to crawl its way up your throat, but Seungcheol’s words hang heavier than the air itself. Not yet.
However, you silently cross over that threshold instead, stepping towards him and closing the empty space in between you both. He isn’t looking at you, but your eyes trail from the back of his head and down to how his bulletproof vest seems to be suffocating him.
You lift your hands, caressing your fingertips at the buckles on his back.
“I’m going to take this off you,” You tell him quietly. “Okay?”
He doesn’t give you a verbal answer. But he doesn’t stop you, either.
You take it as permission.
Sliding your fingers towards the strap of his vest, you begin to peel it open, the sound of the Velcro tearing bouncing off the walls of his office. Slowly but surely, you undo each buckle of tension away from him, easing the vest off his shoulders and onto a nearby chair. He still doesn’t look at you when you finish, yet you see the barest hints of his body relaxing as if you’ve just taken the entire day off of him.
You hover quietly behind him, close enough you feel the heat radiating off him. His jaw clenches, then unclenches; his grip on the desk tightening, then loosening. You swallow down the lump in your throat.
“Seungcheol,” You utter out his name, soft enough to not startle, loud enough to reach.
When his name leaves your mouth, that’s when you see the noticeable drop in his shoulders. And this𑁋God, this𑁋is a Seungcheol you’ve never seen before: a man stripped of his armour, lips tied together pensively. You have the urge to reach out, but you keep your feet planted on the floor.
“What happened?” You ask him softly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just…”
He takes in a deep breath, still refusing to meet your eyes.
“I had a partner three years ago,” Seungcheol begins slowly. “He was my Sergeant at the time.”
You hear his voice beginning to break with every word.
“He was, um… the light of the precinct, believe it or not.” A humourless laugh leaves him. “But he was good. God, he was good. I’d get excited to be in the same squad as him because he always had these shitty doughnuts with him.”
Even though you’re still staring at his back, you sense the faint hint of a smile at his face from the memory. It makes you heart warm up a little more too𑁋until you hear the way his breath stutters, as if that warmth pains him.
“He wasn’t naive, you know. He knew how ugly this job can be, but he taught me a lot,” Seungcheol continues, his knuckles turning white on the desk. “He was the kind of cop that would stop a kid on the sidewalk just to tie their shoes. Had a wife and son as well.”
There’s a pause before you ask, “How old?”
“Four,” Seungcheol answers mutedly.
You step closer to him, placing a flat palm to his back. It’s a simple touch with barely any pressure at all, but Seungcheol reacts as if you’ve drilled a hole through him and touched a nerve. His shoulders tense, then painfully loosen, because comfort has never been safe in his world.
“We were short-staffed one night, so me and him took patrol,” Seungcheol says. “While we were out, he told me about how he was going to take his son to the aquarium for the weekend. At the time, I’d never get tired of his stories. He always had lots to tell.”
Another lift at his lips from that, but it dies right away.
“Then we… we got this call,” he continues. “Domestic. Crazy armed motherfucker threatening this woman he was hooking up with. The caller was a neighbour and reported gunshots and screaming from the female. But when we got there, we didn’t hear any screaming…”
There’s a small sniffle that leaves him. You still don’t say anything and let him continue as he spills out a story that he’s kept buried inside of him this entire time.
“He tried to hold me back, but I argued with him𑁋saying that if we just stood around and waited for backup, that blood’s gonna be on our hands instead, that there was still time to save her.” His breath shudders. “So he took my word and ran into the house before me. I was two seconds late running in. Two fucking seconds. When we got inside, the victim was already dead, and the suspect was hiding.”
A pause. Then another. And another.
“I watched him die for a person we couldn’t save,” he points out. “We weren’t wrong for going in. We were wrong for thinking we could control what would happen on the other side of that door. And… it was because of me. I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut.”
At long last, a suppressed breath leaves him𑁋one that seems to emerge out from a cavern far deeper than his own lungs.
“I gave out his eulogy,” Seungcheol finalises. “His wife still sends Christmas cards to the precinct. I don’t open them.”
You say nothing for a moment, only letting your hand slowly drift down to his side. His shoulders rise and fall once, then twice.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper, even though that doesn’t feel right to say, your hand pressing a little more firmer into his side to the point you feel his warmth seep its way into your fingers.
Seungcheol shakes his head, a bitter, self-loathing gruff escaping him. “He’d hate what I’ve become.”
“I don’t think he would.”
“You didn’t know him, rookie.”
“But I know you, Sergeant.”
That’s what finally coaxes him to usher his body around finally, and you feel like you’re staring at a side of him that you’re not allowed to see as you release your hand away from him. The edges of his eyes are red; he’s looking at you as if he’s unsure what to say, like whatever words that should come to him are teasing him right at the tip of his tongue.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he murmurs out. “I shouldn’t have trusted you. I shouldn’t have…”
The guilt in his voice feels like a stab to the heart.
“I shouldn’t have broken protocol.”
“But you did,” You reaffirm. “Because at that moment, you trusted me.”
Seungcheol’s stare flickers at that, dropping briefly to your mouth, your hands, and back to your eyes, before it hardens back like he’s trying to force some restraint. You catch it anyway. You always do.
He can’t deny it𑁋he did trust you.
You take another step towards him, close enough that the tip of your combat boots kisses his own. The room feels like it’s closing in from all sides. Somewhere in the precinct, a door slams and a phone rings, but right now, it’s just the two of you.
“Don’t,” he warns quietly, but it isn’t the same don’t as before.
You blink up at him. “Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that,” he says, exhaling through his nose. “Like you’re not scared of me.”
The words make your heart ache so sharply it almost makes you angry.
“I’m more scared of what this place turns people into,” You admit softly.
Seungcheol’s hands flex at his sides. “Do you know what they teach us here? They teach you to see everything as a threat, because threats are simple and easier to end.” Regret oozes thickly from his voice. “They teach you that threats deserve force, that hesitation kills, and that empathy is a liability. They teach you to see nothing but black and white, because being in that grey area gets you killed.”
His eyes stay locked on yours like he’s daring you to flinch, but you don’t. Of course you don’t.
“And eventually, you… you stop seeing people as people, and instead you start seeing these silhouettes,” he continues slowly. “Because they’ve drilled so much shit in your head that you start seeing guns instead of hands.”
You cross your arms together. “And what did you see when you looked at me?”
Seungcheol’s eyes drop for a half a second to the ground, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. His expression cracks at that.
“Don’t make me choose between you and this job, rookie,” he whispers begrudgingly, dodging the question.
He says it as if it’s already too late. Like the decision has been made already. Or maybe you’re overthinking it.
“But you already did choose, didn’t you?” You counter back harshly. “Don’t stand there and pretend that it didn’t mean anything. You told me to go, and so now, what𑁋you’re ashamed?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer that, of course. You don’t expect him to, but the thick, unraveling silence that fills the entire room is enough for one. And the weight of literally everything from today𑁋the lunch you both shared, the chase, the damn gunshot and the man’s body hitting the asphalt𑁋is beginning to take its mental and physical toll on you within a few short minutes of standing in this suffocating office.
“No,” he finally says. “You’re twisting this.”
“What am I twisting? That you trusted me? That for one goddamn second, you let yourself believe there was another way? That you let yourself feel something for once?”
He wipes a frustrated hand over his face. “This isn’t about belief, rookie. It’s about reality.”
“You think I don’t know the risks?” You snap, jabbing a finger at him. “We both know what we saw: a man who just needed someone to see him for one minute𑁋”
“And he still ended up shot,” Seungcheol cuts back in like a blade. “So tell me where the fuck your instincts got us.”
His words hit you like a slap to the face. You can tell he regrets the way it left his mouth. However, you huff out a weak, breathy chuckle, lips pursing into a thin line as you step away from him.
“One day, your little ‘protocol’ is going to hollow you out,” You tell him sharply. “And when that day comes𑁋and maybe it already has, like right now𑁋don’t you dare act surprised.”
When you take a few more steps away from him, Seungcheol is already etching his feet forward as well𑁋maybe to catch you or apologise, he doesn’t know. He barely even registers the movement himself.
As your eyes catch the doorknob to his office, you turn back to him.
“They can suspend me, reassign me, I don’t care,” You say with a tone of finality. “But I won’t apologise for seeing him.”
A pause.
“And I won’t apologise for seeing you, either.” You twist the doorknob and open the door, but not before saying, “because I care about you.”
You’re gone before Seungcheol can say anything more, leaving nothing but his thoughts in complete disarray.
There’s one side of him forged by years of muscle memory: where hands don’t shake when a gun is drawn, eyes that scan a scene in mere seconds, what cadence to use to state orders, and hesitation means being another name written on a memorial plaque in the back of the precinct. That Seungcheol doesn’t bend because it’s kept him alive this entire time.
But today, another side of him came out. A side that let you go forward, that trusted you to talk instead of shoot, that believed in you more than everything he’s been taught. A side of him that stood in front of Lieutenant Hwang because he couldn’t bear to listen to anyone trying to diminish your efforts. This terrifying, fragile clarity came from you𑁋the first person who ever made him question if this armour he wears is really strength or just a cage.
A side that wanted to call after you and say that he did choose, and that he would probably do it again.
Your voice still rings in his ears long after you’ve walked away.
Because I care about you.
Goddamn it. He cares about you too, and that scares the shit out of him.
You did, in fact, get suspended. Seventy-two hours ago, to be exact.
The disciplinary hearing went as well as it could be. You figured you’d rather endure through two hours of bullshit being shoved down your throat and accept the consequences than even try to argue back. So the price you got was your badge revoked indefinitely and a temporary leave for only the universe knows how long. And just like any good cliche, you find yourself at a bar that you don’t remember the name of right now, tucked in the farthest chair with your third𑁋or maybe fourth, you’ve stopped counting𑁋drink of some cheap whiskey you accepted without care.
The place isn’t even that nice, to be honest. The lights are so dim that it makes you feel sleepy, the air reeks of cigarette smoke, the jukebox has been repeating the same song unknowingly, and the only other three customers besides you have been drunkenly playing competitive pool like they have all the time in the world. It’s the perfect place to disappear in because no one knows your face and could give two shits that you’ve been practically put on officer probation.
The condensation of the glass drips onto your fingertips. Your hair is down and you’re dressed in your civilian clothes. No bulletproof vest, no duty belt𑁋just you, your thoughts, and a glass in your hands that has all the power to tip you over the edge. The past few hours have bled so much into each other that really nothing makes sense in your mind at all.
The last sip of your drink burns down your throat. The bartender doesn’t even ask if you want another and refills the glass right away. You must not be the only cop he’s seen drift through here.
As the men at the pool table bid their tipsy goodbyes for the night, you finally expect the complete peace and quiet you’ve hoped for before you leave. But the sounds of heavy footsteps getting louder by the second echoes painfully through your head, and you flick your eyes around to see none other than a familiar, brooding presence that doesn’t disappear when you blink.
Seungcheol.
He looks like he doesn’t belong in a place like this. A complete stranger in the wrong world. Just like you, he’s wearing normal clothes for once𑁋black jeans and a charcoal compression shirt that tugs a little too tightly on his biceps. He steps inside the bar with the kind of posture that doesn’t just walk into places, but sizes them up. Carries authority with him everywhere he goes.
His eyes scan the room and spot you instantly. Your stomach lurches.
God, he’s so fucking attractive, which is a complete horrible thing to think about with the kind of week you had and the amount of alcohol in your system. And because you look like hell right now. Or maybe your brain is just seeking for something uncomplicated to focus on right now.
You immediately look away with warm cheeks, chugging down the thought about how you were mentally cataloging how attractive your superior officer is in the middle of a shitty bar. But a few moments later, you feel him stop at the seat right next to you, looming with an unreadable expression on his face.
You let out a chuckle. “Oh, goody. It’s my favourite buzzkill.”
Seungcheol doesn’t rise to the bait, and instead just slides into the stool right next to you. His eyes flicker towards the glass in front of you before settling on your features again.
“Rookie.”
“Sergeant.”
It feels improper to address him that way at this moment. Right now, there’s no ranks or uniforms, and especially no asshole men in police uniforms to nag you about your emotional insubordination.
Your fingers caress the rim of your glass. “Did you miss me that much already?”
Seungcheol gives you a long, pointed look. “How much have you had to drink?”
A noncommittal hum leaves you, before you bring up your hand and gesture vaguely through the air. He watches you hold up two fingers, then three, then four, as if the number can’t catch up from how much fog is clouding your head.
“If I tell you, are you gonna write me up for drinking on duty?” You tease, tilting your head to the side. “Oh, shit𑁋I’m not on duty. Right.”
He sighs through his nose, resting his forearm against the edge of the bar. “That’s not funny.”
“No?” You prod a bit further. “‘Cause right now, I’m a woman at the bar… with a very attractive man right next to me. And I gotta say, you clean up quite well.”
Seungcheol’s jaw ticks. He runs a hand over his face like he’s trying to erase whatever thoughts you planted in his head. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re hot.” You give a small shrug, taking in another sip. “Guess we’re both fucked then.”
Seungcheol doesn’t respond to that. He shoots an eye at the bartender, tapping a few times on the surface of the bar. In a matter of seconds, two glasses of iced water lands in between you both, and he nudges one in your direction.
You choose to ignore it, for now at least.
“Be honest with me, did you hate me at first?” You ask him, spinning the stool so you could face him, your knee brushing over him.
“No,” Seungcheol answers quietly. “I didn’t hate you.”
You scoff in disbelief at that. “Not even a little?”
“I hate that you get under my skin all the damn time.”
“Wow.” A befuddled grin spreads across your face. “I’ll consider myself flattered, then.”
That earns you a particular look from him. No, it isn’t one of annoyance, but almost… fond. Cautiously fond, perhaps𑁋as if he can’t believe he’s putting up with you right now. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit how much he’s used to being around you at this point.
The grin to your face still doesn’t fade; if anything, it deepens, tilts a little, and takes on the kind of curve that would’ve probably earned you an eye-roll at the precinct. The glass of whiskey is clutched between your palms like you know you’re playing a game that you’ll win regardless, and Seungcheol can’t help himself to just… watch you.
You, with your certain gravity that pulls him closer without mercy. You, with that same stubborn spark you’ve held all on your own while everyone else was trying to douse your flames away. Maybe a little disheveled at this second, but still as fierce as you’ve always had, and it terrifies him how badly he wants to burn with you. You’re the only thing that’s ever made him question his rules.
That shouldn’t affect him the way it does, because now his imagination is going haywire.
“You’re staring, Sergeant.” Your voice interrupts his thoughts. “What’re you thinking about right now?”
Seungcheol leans back slightly, because now that you’ve said that, he’s imagining nothing but kissing that smart yet troubled mouth of yours shut without fear of consequence. He imagines if you’d gasp or sigh into him when it happens, or if you’d push him back just to challenge things even further.
His eyes trail down to your lips, and all he can think about is how good they would look wrapped around something else.
Jesus Christ. He’s not even drunk, but it almost feels like he is. Because he really, really shouldn’t be thinking this, especially not when you’re inebriated and pissed off at the department and the world. Yet here you are, still shamelessly flirting with him and𑁋
“I’m thinking,” Seungcheol begins, shifting slightly in his seat. “that you talk too much.”
You blink slowly at that, heat dragging across your skin. “But you like that about me, don’t you?”
He swears again under his breath, taking a sip of his untouched water just to feel something else. Because he wonders how loud you would be𑁋and if you’d let go completely in his arms, rake your nails down his shoulders and back, if you’d beg for more after letting him write poems between your legs, and how beautiful you’d look like as he ruins you and puts you back together all at once.
He wants nothing more than to know how soft you’d become underneath all that fire.
“If I kissed you right now,” You drawl, body wobbling noticeably as you lean more towards him. “Would you stop me?”
Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek.
“You’re drunk,” he reminds flatly. “I’m not going to take advantage of you like that.”
An exaggerated pout eases its way across your face. “But you didn’t say no.”
From that, Seungcheol covers up the faint smirk crawling across his lips behind the glass of water before setting it down with a clink. He watches you down the rest of your whiskey in one go, your throat bobbing from the burn. It still strengthens the fire that you have within you, and Seungcheol feels all of it pulse beneath his skin that almost dares him to just admit everything.
You slam the glass down with just a bit too much force on the bar before you scramble for your wallet inside your bag. However, before you could open your wallet, a large, calloused hand covers over yours.
“I’ve got it,” Seungcheol says firmly.
You blink up at him puzzledly. “What?”
“I said I’ve got it.”
You try to protest, but he’s already pulling out his own wallet from his back pocket, sliding a couple of crisp bills across the top bar. The bartender sends him a knowing look, before grabbing the money without asking any further questions.
You hop off the stool and nearly stumble on your own feet𑁋not drunk enough to fall, but just the amount of tipsy that has your limbs feeling like jelly after sitting on a bar stool for past how many hours. Seungcheol’s arm is around you instinctively, his hand at your elbow to help steady you. Memories of that day back at the training centre flashes through your eyes.
“Careful,” he whispers, voice brushing against your ear.
You shoot a glare at him dazedly. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” Seungcheol gruffs, releasing his grip from you but keeping his hand close to your lower back as you walk away from him.
You find yourself leading Seungcheol out of the bar. The cool, sobering night air caresses delicately over your warm face. The streets are quiet at this hour, besides the occasional roar of a car passing by. You walk side by side without speaking for a minute, your clumsy steps far from unison from his steady ones. It should be awkward, but somehow, it isn’t. And it’s hard for your mind to register the idea that right now, you’re not entirely alone. Seungcheol is right next to you.
You don’t walk far before his voice breaks through the silence.
“Where’s your car?” he asks.
“Didn’t drive,” You murmur in response. “Didn’t trust myself to.”
A slow exhale leaves him from that, and it sounds a little like a sigh, or even a curse under his breath. Then you hear the jingling of a pair of keys.
“I’ll take you home,” Seungcheol says simply.
You slow your pace at that, quirking up a brow. “Is that really necessary, Sergeant?”
“I’m not your Sergeant right now,” he replies lowly. “Come on.”
He walks you to his car𑁋of course he didn’t park far, because he always thinks ten steps ahead𑁋and opens the passenger door for you wordlessly. You hesitate briefly, before your body obeys with your mind struggling to catch up, sliding into the passenger seat. The leather is cool against your skin, and the car smells with a mixture of woody cologne and… well, him.
There’s an extra cord dangling by your feet, and a small case of wintergreen mints tucked inside the inner console. When you hear the driver’s side door shut, it hits you all at once that you’re inside Seungcheol’s space. It’s entirely different than being in the same cruiser as him, because there’s no radio cracking every five seconds, no partition in the back𑁋just you, him, and a full night of quiet ahead.
As Seungcheol quietly pulls out of the parking lot, you find your head leaning against the cold glass of the passenger window, eyes gazing past closed storefronts and restaurants. Then with your mind deciding it wants to screw with you, you naturally look back at Seungcheol too.
He keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel, his large arms tense beneath the compression shirt he’s wearing. You see the veins running down the backs of his hands, with his fingertips doing his usual habit of taps𑁋three beats, stop, three beats, stop. His eyes are lasered ahead, thick brows drawn together into an unreadable line of concentration. You can tell his thoughts are somewhere else.
“You think too loud, you know that?” You chime in suddenly.
His lips twitch, almost a smile that he doesn’t let fully form.
“I could say the same about you,” he responds.
A small, humourless chuckle slips out of you. “Are we going to talk about it or… pretend what’s happening is normal?”
There’s a brief pause.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had a normal night together,” Seungcheol mutters in response.
Damn, he’s not wrong at all. You both have never really met a version of each other outside the chaos of what your jobs bring, outside of dispatch screaming in your ears and lives held together by seconds. Until now, it seems.
But you consider this version of him more dangerous than anything else. Because without the armour, or protocol to hide behind, you’re able to see him more clearly. And God forbid your thoughts𑁋sober or not𑁋he makes it hard for you to not want him even more when he’s like this.
Do you both clash together on shift? Yes, basically all the time. Do you go against protocol, or more specifically, his protocol? On a regular basis. Do you piss him off? It’s a daily habit, at this point. Do you make him feel something he’s spent years trying to bury?
Apparently so.
Yet despite how infuriating, reckless, insubordinate, emotional you are, and the bruises you leave on each other’s egos, he’s still here after everything. He’s driving you home. Still choosing you, in some small, quiet way. Still glancing over every now and then to make sure you haven’t passed out. Still syncing his breathing with yours like it’s second nature now.
And maybe that’s the problem. That even after everything, you still want him. You still look at him and think that you would break protocol again.
When Seungcheol pulls up to your apartment building, he puts the car in park and kills the engine, yet neither of you bother to move.
You drift your eyes to him. “Is this the part where you make sure I get into my place safely?”
A flicker of a smile appears at his lips before he’s stepping out of the car and heading over to your side, opening the door for you. He doesn’t say anything but extends a hand toward you. The night air chases away more of your whiskey haze as you sluggishly climb out of the car with his help, the warmth of his palm seeping through your skin. He lets go once you find your footing on the pavement.
Seungcheol trails a respectable distance behind while you lead him in the direction of your apartment. The elevator ride up to your floor is quiet, your eyes switching between the glowing floor number above your head and to the man who has willingly become your shadow for the night.
When your floor arrives and you silently lead him towards your door, it takes you three tries for your brain to remember which key was able to insert into your door. The echo of it unlocking reverberates through the desolate hallway of your apartment, but you don’t push it open right away.
Instead, you warily pivot around on your heel to face Seungcheol.
You should thank him. For the ride. For keeping you company. For staying, even if he had every opportunity to walk away. But the words stall into a lump in your throat.
He’s standing slightly slouched in front of you as if he’s trying to shrink himself smaller in your space. But it doesn’t do much𑁋he fills every space with his presence regardless. The singular light above your heads highlights the odd softness to his features now, with eyes that won’t stop darting between your face and the door that can make or break whatever this is.
However, you find yourself asking with quiet hope, “You think the precinct will take me back?”
Seungcheol’s eyes meet yours, his brows pinching together with the aching tenderness.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly.
It’s painfully honest. He doesn’t offer any false comfort, no automatic reassurance to make you feel better. It’s merely the raw truth, delivered in that soft voice of his that’s way different than the one he uses to command entire scenes.
“Well.” You shrug meekly, glancing at the floor. “Doesn’t feel like I deserve it anyway.”
Seungcheol narrows his gaze at you. “That’s not true.”
“It feels like it is.”
“It’s not,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you as if to prove that point. “Don’t you dare tell me that you don’t deserve your badge, because I won’t…” He pauses, lips hardening up. “I won’t let you do to yourself what I did to me.”
You blink at the firmness of his tone, and find yourself instinctively treading your feet back to him, tilting your head up slightly to meet his eyes with your half-lidded ones. A dense pause creeps into the air that surrounds you both and burns your skin, the hallway seemingly shrinking ten times in size. Your mouth parts to say something, but nothing comes out. You remember what he told you about his former partner back in his office𑁋about the guilt that gripped him like a noose, shaped him into a shaken warrior, and carved protocol into his bones.
Almost timidly, you reach up to place a hand on his chest, immersing your warmth to the rapid pace that his heart is running. The harsh exhale he lets out caresses over your face, merely a singular breath separating the two of you at this point.
“I’m not the mistake that you think you are,” You whisper to him, and you feel the way his entire body goes rigid at your words.
Before he can deflect back, you grab him by the collar of his shirt to crash his lips onto yours. It’s not clean, nor slow, and definitely not something either of you planned for fully, despite your drunken intentions on him before at the bar. Because the second your mouth touched his, every ounce of restraint he’s withheld just crumbles into a pile of ashes.
Seungcheol kisses you back like you’re the only goddamn thing keeping him from drowning. One of his hands meets your waist to press you closer to him, while the other cups the side of your jaw. He swallows down the gasp that leaves you when he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss. You taste like leftover whiskey, like recklessness, like something he’s not allowed to crave, but gives in anyway.
In a blur of a moment, your back hits the wall beside your door with a thud, and his body chases after yours instinctively.
“Rookie,” he breathes out roughly for a moment to catch some air, before kissing you again more fiercely this time. “Fuck.”
His body molds into yours perfectly, like a wall of pure muscle and heat. Your fingers coil desperately onto the fabric of his shirt to tug him back down when he threatens to pull away for another breath. His hand tightens at your side in response, as if he’s really, really trying to steady himself before he does something fucking reckless.
Your bottom lip is tenderly grazed upon by his teeth, your knees trembling from the contact and pulse stuttering underneath his hand. When you both finally pull away at the same time, his forehead drops to press against yours. For a few moments, the two of you listen to each other’s breathing.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Seungcheol murmurs darkly, his hand shaking against your side. “Getting under my skin, pushing every damn button𑁋fuck, I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are here,” You mutter back, gripping onto his shirt even tighter. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
Seungcheol pulls his face away to search over yours, gazing over your kiss-bitten lips, flushed cheeks, and glassy eyes. You can’t tell if he’s trying to look for some sort of an escape route or confirmation. But all that’s written on your features is the truth. Truth and desperation that’s been so close to pushing him off the edge several times.
He darts his focus down to your lips, to your hand still clutching loosely at his shirt, then back up. “You make it impossible not to.”
The two of you linger in this position under the hallway light for a few moments, your breaths unsteady yet still in sync after the intense kiss you just shared. Then you feel the heat begin to slowly dissolve away, watching as Seungcheol reluctantly drops his hands away from your waist before taking a step backwards.
“I should go,” Seungcheol says, slipping his hand off your jaw. “You’ve had a shit week. Got suspended. You’re not okay. And I need to𑁋fuck, I need to think.”
You hardly register the absence of his touch until he’s fully stepped back away from you. The heat of him still surrounds you like a ghost embracing over your skin. His eyes are on the floor now, or maybe at your shoes. Anywhere to avoid looking directly at you.
“So was…” You gulp down the lump in your throat, a sting developing behind your eyelids. “Was this a mistake? This is it?”
His head lifts up sharply. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then say them,” You demand firmly. “Because it sure sounds like it is.”
Seungcheol’s jaw noticeably tightens. His mouth parts as if to say something, but nothing comes out. And the damn silence is what finally breaks you. You literally stare up at him, waiting for something, anything. An answer, a word, hell even a damn breath of fucking air𑁋but all you get is nothing. It’s funny how so little can mean so much.
A bitter laugh escapes you. “Right. Good talk.”
You’re already reaching behind to twist open the doorknob to your apartment, but not before shooting a frustrated glare over your shoulder to him.
“Forget it,” You hiss in frustration. “Wouldn’t want to break your protocol twice in one night, Sergeant.”
You don’t even give him the chance to speak; instead, you step inside your apartment and slam the door behind you. You’re too pissed to even care about whether you broke a hinge or shook the entire floor below you. All at once, you feel the culmination of everything𑁋the suspension, officers hiding behind half-assed excuses and their own cowardice, and the kiss that still burns your lips.
You throw your keys on the table and sink into the cushions of your couch, pulling your knees up to your chest.
“I would’ve gone to hell for you,” You mutter to no one. “Fucking coward.”
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To Mend A Broken Heart
Summary: The person Conrad could always turn to, now needed more than ever, and the year that follows in the wake of the worst days of his life. (Set as Conrad returns to California after Belly and Jeremiah call off the wedding)
Word Count: 12.8K
Warnings: Hints at a toxic relationship
Author’s Note: Fell in love with writing this one and I really hope you love it too!
You’d seen him on some bad days. You’d seen him on some terrible days. But none as gutwrenching as how you saw him now.
Broken. Truly and utterly broken.
Conrad’s shoulders were hanging low, his eyes dark and tired, his hair messy and disheveled. He held his duffel bag in one hand, his rucksack on his back, the weight of both seeming light compared to the sinking weight on his shoulders.
“How bad?” You frown, opening the trunk to your car.
“Worse,” Conrad states so coldly you’re certain any emotion he had has been drained from him.
He tosses his bags into your car, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Thanks for picking me up,” He says, trying to force his lips into some sort of a smile.
“Of course,” You return.
He closes the trunk and his shoulders drop again.
“Come here,” You sigh, pulling him into you as if a hug could inject any ounce of joy into him.
He wraps his arms around you too, his chin resting on your shoulder, breathing in deeply as if it was his first moment of peace in a short eternity.
“Let’s go and get some food and you can tell me all about it,” You offer, squeezing his arm as you pull away from him.
You and Conrad had been friends since you’d both started at Stanford. You both transferred after your first year of college somewhere else, and so you’d naturally gravitated towards each other as the two newbies together. There were a lot of late nights studying, a lot of panic over exams not going well, and the two of you confessing more and more about your personal lives as you weaved your ways into being each other’s closest friend.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Conrad drops into your passenger seat.
Normally, he would always convince you to let him drive. Today you weren’t sure he’d even remotely have the energy.
“Well, you’ve been gone all summer,” You point out, “What happened?”
He takes a deep breath, “I ruined everything.”
“You told her you loved her?”
“I told everyone I love her,” Conrad scoffs, “I told her, I told everyone.”
“And she still married him?” You ask, slowing down the car in the inevitable traffic to escape the airport
“She went to Paris.”
You choke on the air in your lungs, “Wh- what?”
“Yep,” Conrad nods slowly, “They didn’t want me there, I left, they called off the wedding, Jere stayed in Cousins and Belly flew to Paris. Taylor hates me, Steven doesn’t want to talk to me, I wouldn’t know what to say to Laurel, and Jere practically wants me dead.”
“Oh Con,” You sigh, “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I just-“ He drags a hand over his face, “I saw her this summer and I just… it was like everything came right back. I was eighteen again and happy and in love and in Cousins for the summer and everything was how it was. And then Jere came home and it was like I remembered that he existed, and he was the one she wanted.”
Your heart aches for him, a pain so unbearable you’re not sure how one person can hold it all.
“And then I found out about Cabo and him sleeping with that fucking Lacie Barone and I just thought why the fuck should he be the one that gets to be with her?” Conrad shakes his head, “I saw her on the beach that night and I told her to leave him, I told her to be with me. And she walked away.”
You wince, eyeing the way the pain seems to spill out of him now that there was someone to listen.
“She asked me to leave and I stayed, I stayed because I wanted to be there for my fucking brother,” His voice trembles slightly, “And then the day of the wedding came and everything just blew up and nobody wanted me there and I just…. lost everyone.”
“Con I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling,” You sigh, turning onto the highway that would take you both home.
He leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes, “I got booked onto the first flight I could and then just… I just sat there. I couldn’t get on. My Dad called me and told me about them calling off the wedding and I just… I tried to be there for Jere, I tried to do the right thing, I tried to be his brother, and I couldn’t even do that.”
He turns his head towards you, his voice breaking over the final words, his eyes pricked with tears.
“Con…” You sigh, “I’m so sorry.”
He takes a breath, dragging a hand over his face again, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Look, you just need to give them their space, okay? Steven will understand eventually, he’s just protecting his sister for now, but he’ll understand it will just take time. And Jere too. I think even he will understand eventually. It might take him longer, it might take a lot longer, but he will know you didn’t want to hurt him. And maybe not getting married now is going to be one of the best things to happen to him.”
“And Belly?” Conrad practically whispers the words, like his heart can’t bear to hear her name.
You take a breath, wanting nothing more than to avoid hurting him again, “Maybe Paris will be really good for her.”
“Maybe.”
———
The two of you shared an apartment near Stanford - it made the rent more affordable so you could actually afford to live closer to campus. Deep down, you knew Conrad could probably afford the place by himself, but he’d offered to share with you the moment he heard you were worried about finding somewhere. You’d lived together for three years now and it normally consisted of Conrad cooking and cleaning enough for the two of you and you constantly reminding him that he absolutely didn’t need to.
Tonight, you knew nothing more than to solely take care of him, in any way that you could.
“Food? Shower? Sleep?” You offer, “Those are your three options. Or drink. Drink I guess is the fourth option.”
Conrad’s lips curl up into a faint smile, “Maybe all at once.”
“Okay, sure, that was the fifth option,” You grin, “You go to shower, I’ll cook, and then you can fall asleep in front of a movie like you normally do.”
He nods tiredly, “Thank you.”
You usher him away, and he obliges, disappearing into the bathroom with the shower turning on soon after. You rummage through the cupboards, the freezer, the refrigerator, to find anything you could use to make a dinner. Eventually, you settle on pasta - a food you were convinced could comfort on even the worst of days. You mix in chicken and tomato and basil and garlic and onions and any other seasonings you can find and make enough food to likely feed you both twice.
The shower turns off and Conrad steps out, towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping around his bare shoulders. He disappears into his room and re-emerges in baggy grey joggers and a darker grey t-shirt. He looks young and deeply innocent and yet completely tired beyond his years.
“Okay don’t complain about my cooking,” You wave a fork in his direction, sticking it into the large bowl of pasta and handing it over to him.
“It smells good,” He returns softly.
“And we’re eating it on the couch, no protests,” You point out, gently pushing him in the right direction.
He would always complain at you for not eating dinner at the table - Conrad had made it an agreement of civilisation in your house. You always retorted that there was something more comforting about eating on the couch together and today you were settling on the fact that you were right. And, today, Conrad agreed with you too. When he looked to the table and chairs in your apartment, all he could think of was his dinner with Belly. One of the last times that things had felt normal between them. The day that had solidified beyond anything that he was truly, deeply, still in love with her. Something he thought he’d always known.
The two of you sit on opposites ends of the couch, bodies tilted towards each other naturally.
“Tell me about your summer,” Conrad swallows the lump in his throat, trying to feel like he had any sense of normality.
“Oh no we don’t need to-“
“Please.”
You take a breath, “Really nothing. I worked at my placement, I went home for like a week when I had some time off, nothing had changed there, I came back and I kept working. And that’s really about it.”
“Well, how was your placement?” He twists the pasta noodles around his fork.
“It was… intense,” You half-laugh, “But it was nice, there were some nice people…”
Conrad narrows his eyes at you, “People?”
You feel your cheeks heat.
“Did you meet someone?”
“Con we don’t need to-“
“You did!” Conrad exclaims, “Tell me!”
“I really don’t think this is a good time for me to be-“
“No, come on,” Conrad shakes his head, “At least one of us can be not totally sad and lonely. Tell me about him. Him?”
“Yeah,” You reply, “His name’s Jason. He was on my placement with me, I think we just trauma bonded over how intense it is to actually work in a hospital. And then a couple of weeks ago he asked me on a date.”
“Well look at you,” Conrad smiles gently, “Very busy summer.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re one to talk.”
He sticks out his foot and kicks your leg jokingly. The two of you sit in silence then, eating your dinner, revelling in the comfort of being reunited, relieved to share your time and troubles with each other once again. It was safe to say that Conrad had just had one of the worst summers of his life, easily one of the worst weeks too - and yet it felt a little less worse when he got to share the weight on your shoulders too. When he got to hear your opinion, have someone willing to let him speak, someone that wanted him around. It made the darkest of times feel just a little lighter.
“Con?” You take a breath, looking over to him.
He sits forward on the couch, setting his bowl of pasta down, his shoulders dropped, like the weight of the world remained on him.
“We’re going to figure this out,” You say so sure of yourself, “This, right now? This is the worst it’s going to feel.”
He breathes in shakily, pressing a palm to his chest, his knee shaking.
“I’m serious, Conrad. It might take weeks, months, years, but it’s not always going to feel this bad.”
“I don’t think I can feel like this for years,” He whispers out the words, looking up at you defeated.
“Then cheer up, buttercup,” You nudge his shoulder, “The recovery arc starts now.”
He looks back down to the floor, smiling the kind of smile that brought out his dimples. The first smile that had felt like he meant it. A glimmer of what could be. The start of a long road to bring him back to himself.
———
It took a long time for Conrad to rebuild. Days passed before he started eating properly again. Weeks passed before he was able to sleep through the night. Months passed before he could go through a day without thinking of her.
Belly had remained in Paris, and Jere still wouldn’t speak to Conrad. Adam was a sort of midpoint between the boys, updating Conrad on his brother. Laurel rang every so often, and as the time passed it seemed Conrad had more and more to say to her. Steven first called in October. He didn’t apologise, but he didn’t expect Conrad to either. They both just settled on being friends in the moment, glad that both of them were okay. He was still dating Taylor, smoother sailing than last time. He just wanted Conrad to be good too. They’d spoken more since, even seeing each other at Thanksgiving.
You’d been dating Jason since the summer had ended, and had even got Conrad’s seal of approval when they first met. They weren’t exactly best friends or anything but they got on, or at least found something to talk about whilst you were out of the room.
Conrad had consumed himself with college, though it wasn’t exactly hard to do in medical school. He hadn’t left California since the summer. Now, Christmas was approaching and you couldn’t bear the thought of him remaining here once more.
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” You point out, “Honestly, it’s really no trouble. My parents will love having you there.”
“You really don’t need to worry,” He assures you, handing another bauble to you to put onto the tree, “I’ll be fine here.”
“Here? On your own?” You frown, “That’s like the least Christmassy Christmas ever.”
“There’s a tree,” Conrad gestures towards the half-decorated tree in your apartment, “And you bought that candle that smells like Christmas.”
“Conrad.”
“I’ll be fine,” He exhales through the words, making them float in the space between you.
You’d mentioned to Jason about seeing him over Christmas but he’d told you it was too soon for anything like that. He would go home to his family and you would go to yours. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, you’d have just felt better if he’d have acted like he wanted to see you.
Just then, your phone starts to ring on the table - cutting short the Christmas songs you’d been forcing him to listen to. You hurry over and see a contact photo of your Mom flash up on the screen.
“Hey Mom!” You smile into the phone, “I’m good, we’re just putting up the Christmas tree.”
Conrad looks over at you, sarcastically swinging a bauble to show some form of enthusiasm.
“Yeah, yeah, my flight is booked,” You look over to him and shake your head to point out that you were lying, “And, great news, Conrad is coming home with me for Christmas too!”
He stands up from his position, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Isn’t that just great?” You say to your Mom, eyes locked with him, mischief flashing across them, “I know! He’s very excited to see you too.”
“Stop!” Conrad hisses, walking slowly over to you.
You back up just a step, “Yeah, yeah, he’ll eat anything! And of course you can make him a stocking, I’m sure he’d love that too.”
“Hey!” He hisses again, shaking his head at you.
“Alright Mom, well I’ve got to go but I’ll see you in a couple of weeks!” You back up away from him again, “Love you too.”
As soon as you hang up, Conrad launches towards you. You squeal, setting off in a run away from him. He’s quick, too quick, grabbing you in his arms and lifting you from the floor. Your legs kick out in front of him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Put me down!” You squeal, gripping his arms around your torso as if fearful he’d drop you.
He sets you back down, “You know you didn’t need to do that.”
You turn around to face him, smiling up at the sad boy, “I know,” You roll your eyes, “But I’m not having you spend Christmas alone, I’m sorry. You will have to deal with my family’s lame games and dorky jokes and you’ll even wear a Santa hat.”
He takes a deep breath, “Tell me what your Mom likes, I’ll need to buy her something.”
“There’s the spirit!” You grin, “She likes champagne, the most expensive one in fact, and lots of it,” You taunt, practically skipping back to the half-completed Christmas tree.
Conrad follows, mildly reluctantly, behind you. But his face seems brighter, a little hopeful. He could have a Christmas, and perhaps in those few days he could really forget about who he should be with at that time. He takes a deep breath and, this time, his chest doesn’t feel so tight.
—
The two of you leave to go home a couple of weeks later, getting a relatively cheap flight at an awkward hour in the night just two days before Christmas - it was cheap and you were still students. You tell your parents not to wait up and they oblige, promising they’ll see you first thing in the morning.
Conrad had met your parents before, when they’d come to visit, but never had he been to your home town. The two of you crept into the house, wincing at the sound that the door made as you closed it, pausing to make sure you hadn’t woken anybody up.
“Shoes off,” You hiss to him, looking over to Conrad to find him already pulling off his shoes.
“I’m not a heathen,” He frowns at you.
He picks up your bag before you get the chance, carrying it through to follow you into the lounge.
“Wow, your family love Christmas,” He looks around at the scattering of decorations just in this one room.
“What? No. Where did you get that idea?” You return sarcastically, “Oh would you look at that!”
You squeeze his arm, hurrying over to the fireplace where your family’s stockings hung on hooks that remained there empty until Christmas rolled around. Placed on your hook too sat a new stocking - a slightly newer shade of red than the ones you’d all had for years. In cursive, embroidered stitching along the top sat the word ‘Conrad’ in a darker shade of red.
“They got me a stocking with my name on?” Conrad half-laughs.
“They got you a stocking with your name on,” You confirm, “And you wanted to just sit in California and eat chicken on your own,” You shake your head at him.
Conrad drops the tension in his shoulders, “Thank you,” He whispers.
“Don’t mention it I-“
“No, I’m serious,” He interrupts, “This,” He gestures around the room, despite the bags still in his hands, “This is far from any Christmas I thought I should have this year.”
“Con…”
“I’m not lying, when summer ended I thought I didn’t deserve anything, actually I thought I deserved to have a shitty year. I thought I deserved to be alone,” He takes a breath, “And then you picked me up from that airport and made me… you just made me feel like I didn’t have to be alone.”
“You don’t,” You shrug like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “You don’t have to be alone. And you shouldn’t feel like you should be.”
He nods, the kind of nod that makes you sure he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but he’ll accept it anyway.
“Come on, let’s get to bed.”
—
Christmas rolls around two days later. And you and Conrad wake early to the sound of a Christmas album playing downstairs. He turns over in the bed - two single beds in the room with a nightstand between.
“Merry Christmas,” He whispers into the remaining darkness of the room.
“Merry Christmas Conrad Fisher,” You grin, jumping out of the bed, “Are you ready for a Christmas day filled with cheesy family traditions and gifts you didn’t ask for?”
“Yes, yes I am,” Conrad smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging low as if still in slumber.
He breaks out of it soon after, you drag him downstairs and the two of you take spots on the floor to open the waiting presents like you were kids again. Your parents had bought him anything they knew, from you, that he remotely liked. He thanked them for everything individually, genuinely, like he couldn’t quite believe they’d got him anything. He got them presents too - the perfume that you said your mom loved when you were younger and hadn’t been able to find since, and golf lessons for your dad after you’d mentioned to Conrad that he wanted to learn. Thoughtful, as he always managed to be.
Your parents, soon after, had disappeared into the kitchen to go to start preparing the dinner and you’d been left just the two of you.
“Do you want your present now?” You grin at him.
“We agreed we wouldn’t get each other anything!” Conrad tilts his head to the side, “But do you want yours too?”
You laugh rummaging around to find the gift you’d got for him as he does the same. You set a small box in front of him and he sets a bigger, flatter present in front of you. You let him unwrap his first, pulling off the bow. Inside a small plant pot, soil compressed into the space, a tiny bag of a seed on top.
“It’s a sunflower,” You explain, “It will probably need a bigger pot eventually.”
He laughs, looking up at you.
“Sometimes it takes a long time for good things to grow, but life persists, and so will you,” You smile softly, “You have already.”
Conrad smiles gently, mirroring your own expression, he looks down at the pot and back up at you, “Is it bad luck if I end up killing it?”
“Maybe,” You narrow your eyes, “But then we just buy a new one and start again.”
He sets the box down beside him, cautious and gentle, and then turns back to you, “Okay, this isn’t the best okay? I didn’t have as much time as I wanted but, well, just open it.”
You frown a little at him, tugging off the wrapping paper to open the gift. Inside, a frame encasing a hand-drawn, painted map in watercolours of blues.
“You made this?”
“Well, I told you I wanted to do some more art, like my Mom did,” He takes a breath, “But I’m not very good at… well, art. So I drew you a map.”
As it all comes into focus, you find yourself picking up on more and more. Dark blue stars scattered around various areas near Stanford, around San Jose, all places that were significant to the two of you.
“There’s the bench of bad decisions, there’s that coffee shop we got locked in, there’s that place you made me pick you up from that awful date,” He chuckles, “And that’s the apartment.”
“Oh Con,” Your voice breaks over his name, “This is so sweet. How did you even think of this?”
“Well,” He breathes, “After this summer I… everyone told me to give Jere space, and that just meant really that I had to leave everyone. I didn’t have a place, anywhere really. And then I came back to California and to you and… you were the place I came to to rebuild. I guess I just wanted a way of showing you that.”
You set down the painting, like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, “Conrad Fisher you’re going to make me cry on Christmas!”
He smiles, squeezing your hand reassuringly, like it said everything that his words had left unfinished.
“Oh you two,” Your Mom sighs delightedly as she steps into the room, “You know, you two would make just a wonderful couple.”
You and Conrad look between each other and laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, not in this life Mom,” You roll your eyes, standing up from the floor.
“Maybe the next one,” Conrad jabs at your side as he stands up beside you.
“Plus, Mom, I’m dating Jason. We’re still together,” You remind her, shaking your head.
“Yes, yes, of course,” She waves you away, “Not in this life, I understand I understand.”
You look over to Conrad, now towering beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side, ruffling a hand over your hair in jest.
Not in this life.
———
You’d tried to avoid letting Conrad think about summer. You were both busy with studying and finals and finding placements. There was just something about the year passing that made it all seem to resurface again. At face value, Conrad seemed okay. He was going through the motions. But you could tell. There was just a shift in him, a slight switch. He was becoming more and more aware of the fact that he wouldn’t have another summer in Cousins like before, and even more aware of how much he’d taken the old ones for granted.
You and Jason had been together for almost a year now. He spent more time at the apartment, especially now that you were slightly more reluctant to leave Conrad on his own.
“So, you’re definitely extending the lease then?” Jason asks you, sat on the end of your bed as you fold away your laundry.
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” You nod, “We’d have no reason not to.”
“Well,” He shrugs, “Maybe I could give you a reason not to.”
You look over at him, frowning, “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought about living with me?” He says, so nonchalantly as if it was the most simple thought to come to his mind.
“Wh- I mean, I don’t know how Conrad would feel about having someone else in the apartment and-“
“Not with him,” Jason interrupts, “I’m talking about me and you finding a place, just us.”
You pause, taken aback. And suddenly the thought weighs on you that maybe you shouldn’t feel that way. What reason would you have to feel that way? Shouldn’t you want to live with him? Shouldn’t you not think twice about parting ways with Conrad?
“Come on,” Jason scoffs over the words, “Do you know how weird it is to tell people that my girlfriend lives with another guy?”
“Wh-“ You breathe out, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know how that must look; what people must think.”
“Okay, and you know there’s nothing between me and Conrad so why are you bringing this up now?”
“Just-“ Jason exhales, “Forget I said anything.”
You close the doors to your closet, turning around to him.
The two of you argued fairly often, not necessarily big arguments, just more little blips here and there. He’d snap at you when he was stressed, and apologise before you went to bed, or when he saw you the next morning. You’d wanted him to go home with you for spring break, or for the two of you to go away somewhere, but he’d instead gone away with some of the soccer team. You wouldn’t have minded, but he got annoyed whenever you brought it up and that seemed to annoy you more. Instead, you’d gone home for a couple of days and then spent the rest of spring break with Conrad. You went to a new place in California every day, driving for miles, swapping which one of you drove each day.
You never really spoke with Conrad about Jason. Not for any reason other than you could normally hear what Conrad was going to say whenever something happened. Sometimes it was easier to listen to that version of him instead of having to listen to the disappointment in person.
It wasn’t that Jason was a bad boyfriend. But every so often something would happen that made you wonder if this is what you could imagine for the rest of your life. And then you’d see him again and realised that you didn’t have to worry about that. Not yet, anyway.
“Let’s just forget I mentioned it, yeah?” Jason stands up from the bed, hands on your waist.
You nod, your hands resting on his chest.
“I just… I want to take another step with you. I love you, I want to be with you.”
“I love you too,” You smile, the kind that doesn’t fully meet your eyes.
Just then, the front door to the apartment opens and the sound of bags rustling fills the room. You step away from Jason, offering him another smile before you go towards Conrad.
“Hey!” He smiles when he sees you, “I got groceries.”
“Chicken?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, stop with the chicken slander,” Conrad rolls his eyes, “You don’t complain when I cook dinner for you every night.”
“Every night? Fisher I cooked four out of seven times last week,” You point out, “And do you want help putting the groceries away or not?”
As you two are busying yourself putting everything away, Jason steps out of your room, jacket over his shoulders.
“I’m going to head home,” He states simply, “I’ve got some stuff to sort out and then me and the guys are out tonight.”
Conrad waves goodbye half-heartedly, glancing up.
“Oh I thought you were staying here tonight,” You step around the island in the kitchen.
“Yeah, I was going to. But Dean just called and I couldn’t say no.”
“Well,” You laugh weakly, “You could.”
“Come on, I didn’t go last week,” Jason points out, “I can’t be one of those guys in a relationship.”
“Yeah, god forbid,” Conrad mutters under his breath.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Jason kisses your cheek quickly, disappearing out of the apartment before you can protest.
Conrad closes the refrigerator, pausing for a second before he turns to you, “Everything okay with you two?”
“Yeah,” You inhale sharply, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Conrad pauses, like he’s trying to figure out if this is a moment to press this or a moment to step back, “You two have any plans over the summer?”
“He’s going away with the soccer team, again,” You swallow the lump in your throat, “Then maybe we’ll go home, I still want him to meet my family.”
“Right, yeah, yeah, of course,” Conrad drags a hand through his hair, “Speaking of which your Mom texted me the other day.”
“My Mom?”
“She asked when I was coming to visit again,” Conrad nods, “But to be honest I think she just wants me to fix that roof they keep having problems with.”
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds about right,” You roll your eyes, “God, I’m sure she’s still hoping I’ll tell her I’m dating you instead.”
Conrad laughs, “Not in this life, right?”
His laughs felt different as summer neared, heavier, less like him. You could feel parts of him slipping away again, the way they did when he was reminded of Belly. She was home from Paris now. Her and Jeremiah were apparently ‘friends’ and Steven did his best to keep Conrad in the know - deciding it was better to be honest than for Conrad to live not knowing.
“Anyway,” Conrad clears his throat, “Chicken for dinner? You can pick the movie tonight.”
—
You can’t sleep that night, tossing and turning in the bed you’d planned to be sharing with Jason. You and Conrad had watched some medical documentary on the body’s response to emotional trauma and the thought of it was weighing on you. Your mind kept trailing back to last summer, the effect you’d seen it all have on Conrad. Back then you’d have taken it all for yourself if you could, and still now you’d do the same. There were glimpses of that same pain even now, a year on. You’d never loved someone the way he loved her. Even now with Jason, it felt like you were waiting for the moment when you really understood what Conrad had felt for her. You thought maybe something would switch and you’d wake up to realise how you felt. You loved him, but not the yearning, deep, soulful kind of love that Conrad described. You didn’t feel your eyes burning to see him, your heart breaking to reach him. You knew, last summer, Conrad would have torn apart every single thing in his life if it meant Belly would return that same love to him. You were completely and utterly sure of it. Would you ever feel that way for someone?
Before you can ponder on the thought for any longer, your phone flashes and buzzes on the nightstand. Jason’s contact photo flashes up.
You groan, rubbing your eyes, half-sitting up in the bed, accepting the call, “Hello?”
“Babyyyyyy,” His voice trails off into the microphone, “Come pick me up.”
“What?” You frown into the screen, “Where are you?”
“Come get me baby the taxi,” He pauses to belch and you recoil away from the phone, “The taxi man won’t let me in.”
You sit more upright, trying to force yourself to focus, “You can’t get home?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Jason it’s the middle of the night,” You check the time on your phone, “Where are you?”
“Come onnnn what are girlfriends for?” He hiccups, “Come get me.”
“Fine, yeah, okay,” You exhale, “Just stay where you are, I’ve got your location.”
You shift out of the bed, grabbing a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt and tugging them both over your pyjamas, pulling on your nearest pair of sneakers. You just about manage to creep out of the room when Conrad’s bedroom door opens at the same time.
“What are you doing?” He rubs a hand over his eyes, frowning at you in his slumber.
“Jason needs me to pick him up,” You return, “Go back to sleep, I’ll be okay.”
“You hate driving in the dark,” Conrad points out, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his joggers, his head tilted to the side, eyes still squinting, “Doesn’t he know that?”
“I think he’s too drunk to know anything,” You grimace, “I’ll be okay, he’s not far.”
“Be safe, okay?”
You nod, grabbing your car keys from the bowl and hurrying out of the apartment.
Jason is a ten minute drive from your apartment, outside a bar downtown. As you pull into the street, you can make him out amongst the entire crowd. There he stands, on the corner, each of his arms slung around a girl’s shoulders - one auburn, one blonde, both beautiful. Your stomach churns a little at the sight, that kind of dreaded pit feeling sinking into you.
“Jason?” You pull up in the car beside him and instantly he looks up.
“Baby!” He exclaims, “This is my girl I’ve been telling you about!”
Every one of his words is slurred, every step stumbling. The girls look at you somewhat apologetically, pushing away from his looped arms to step away from him. Jason stumbles towards your car and hangs himself into your open window.
“Get in the car Jason,” You simply state, “Now, please.”
He mumbles something under his breath and stumbles around until he reaches the passenger side, flopping into the seat as if his limbs had completely given up on him.
You indicate out into the road and start to drive in the direction of Jason’s house.
“I’ll go back to yours,” He grumbles, taking the water bottle from your cup holder and drinking nearly half of it.
“No, I’ll drop you home,” You return.
Jason scoffs in exaggerated disgust, “So you can go back to him?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“God you’re obsessed with him!” Jason laughs outwardly, “I’m surprised you two haven’t been fucking this whole time. But something tells me this is worse.”
He’s slurring and yet his words sound so crystal clear they churn your stomach.
“He’s my friend Jason, you knew that from when we started dating,” You state coldly, “And he’s had a pretty shitty year all things considered, would it kill you to have a bit of empathy?”
“Empathy? For what? That butthurt freak wanting to fuck my girlfriend?” He laughs, eyes wild in his anger.
“For a guy your girlfriend cares about,” You return, “Where is this even coming from? Why now?”
“It’s not now! It’s always!” He defends, “Last Christmas? The family photo with your parents? He drew you a map.”
“You’re being childish, Jason.”
“And you want to fuck your best friend!” He shouts the words, practically spitting them like venom, “I guess neither of us are perfect.”
You turn down onto his street, slowing the car in front of his house.
“So let me get this straight,” You take a breath, “You call me in the middle of the night to pick you up, you’re drunk out of your mind, you sit in my passenger seat to hurl abuse at me about Conrad.”
Jason shakes his head, “You’re unbelievable. What do you think people say when they see my girlfriend-“
“I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
You’re cold, numb, emotionless.
“What?” He spits, eyes ablaze in fury.
“If this is how you feel, if you’re going to talk to me like this,” You shrug, focusing on a single mark on your steering wheel, “Then I won’t be your girlfriend anymore. I’m not, actually. We’re not. It’s over.”
“Brilliant,” Jason scoffs sarcastically, “Really great decision, yeah. And when Conrad won’t love anyone but that girl that doesn’t want him, you’ll regret wasting so much time on him.”
You clench your jaw, expecting to be more upset than you are, focusing on the way your breathing doesn’t even feel out of sync yet. It was like your body had no reaction.
“His family were right to not want him, you know? So was that bitch he fell in love with,” Jason smirks, “Nobody but you would be stupid enough to deal with that.”
“Get out of my car,” You grip the wheel, staring blankly at the road in front of you.
“Yeah, gladly,” Jason mutters under his breath, standing up out of the car as if the conversation had just sobered him completely, the door slamming behind him as he trails up towards his house.
You shift the car into drive, swing it around to turn back in the direction of your apartment, and drive like nothing had happened. The car is silent, engine rumble fading into the night. You don’t cry, you don’t even hold back tears. You just drive. Your hands don’t shake, your chest doesn’t feel tight. You didn’t feel a single thing.
You don’t feel at all, all the way until you get back to your apartment, traipsing tiredly up the stairs.
As soon as your key clicks in the door, Conrad’s bedroom door opens, joggers hanging low around his waist, torso bare, muscles looking softer in the dark. He rubs a hand over his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“Um,” You look over at him, dragging a hand through your hair, “I think we just broke up.”
Conrad stands upright from where he’d been leaning against the door frame, pausing as if he was trying to figure out if he’d still been asleep, “Wh- he broke up with you?”
“No, no,” You shake your head, “I broke up with him.”
“Are you okay?” Conrad steps forward, “Shouldn’t you be… upset? Or something?”
You pause, “Yeah, I should be.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not,” You look at him like he could give you answers, “Why am I not?”
“Should I be hugging you now or something?”
You laugh tiredly, “I should be crying, right?”
Conrad chuckles, low the way it was when he just woke up. He steps over from his room, crossing the apartment to you. He extends his arms, wrapping around you to pull you to his chest. You wrap your arms around him, your ear pressed against his heart, hearing the dull beat echo against you.
“Am I heartless?” You mumble, hoping for just a moment that your body would react in any sort of way. That you’d cry, that you’d feel your heart break, that you’d want to crawl into bed and eat your body weight in chocolate.
“Maybe,” Conrad says softly, “Or maybe you just made the right decision.”
In the moment, you think of telling Conrad what Jason had said - the argument that had started it all. And yet something stops you from doing so. You want this moment to remain just the two of you. Your best friend, your closest confidante, the boy that would be there for you at the end of every night, at the beginning of every morning. That was all this needed to be.
———
The following morning, you are up later than usual - the fatigue clearly catching up with you. Your chest feels tight this morning, evidently the effects of last night catching up with you too.
You were sadder than last night had made you realise. Not to say that you’d lost the perfect boyfriend - your relationship had been far from perfect. Instead, you’d simply just lost someone that had been in your life for the past year. Someone you’d cared for, you’d loved, you’d made memories with. And it had all ended in one night. Part of you figured you always knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you hadn’t ever thought it would come to a moment like last night. The anger, the hatred, the fiery exchange. You’d seen a side of Jason you’d never seen before, and you didn’t want to see again.
You take a deep breath, checking your phone to see a message from Jason.
we need to talk about last night
It’s instinct when you lock your phone, ignoring the reality for a moment longer. You tug a baggy hoodie over your head, pull your hair up away from your face and drag yourself out of the room.
“Good morning,” Conrad looks up when he sees you, a smile on his lips.
He stood in the kitchen, layering some eggs over avocado and toast on a plate.
“I was just about to wake you,” He continues, “I figured you could do with a good breakfast.”
You smile tiredly, sitting down onto one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, “Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Um,” You take a moment, “Confused.”
“Are you still glad you did it?”
You place a palm to your chest, pressing against it to ease the tension. Conrad knows the sign almost instantly, setting down everything in his hands as if he was preparing for any way that he could help.
“I am,” You breathe out, “I just… I don’t know. It was so angry, like we hated each other. I might not want to be with him but I don’t want to hate him.”
“What changed? I mean, I thought you guys were happy.”
“Come on, Con,” You shake your head, “You never thought it would last forever.”
He pauses. Conrad had only been in one relationship in his life that had felt like it could last. And it had consumed him. And, inevitably, it had broken him. He couldn’t imagine not feeling everything, so deeply, all at once like that. And yet here you were, honest with yourself that this wasn’t right for you, and capable of moving past it. He couldn’t figure out how. His eyes find themselves drifting towards the small terrace you had outside the apartment, with a tiny table and chairs on there you’d found at a flea market. And, on one side, in a much larger pot than last Christmas, the sunflower growing. It was a few feet tall now, sprouting after the spring, a flower blooming widely atop it. He felt his heart swell at the sight, a reminder of how much time had passed, and how the only constant in all of the pain had been you.
“Would you rather I be unwaveringly depressed for the next nine months?” You taunt, taking the plate of food from him.
“Hey!” He points a fork at you accusingly, “It was six months at most.”
You narrow your eyes, “Jury’s still out on that one.”
———
Another six months pass in blissful routine. You and Conrad both get a place on Dr Namazy’s placement and spend every day working together, loving it, complaining about it, still getting up to do it all again. You cook for him on your day off, he does the same for you on his, and when both of you are working you would stumble in tired from a shift and make anything remotely quick, curled up on the couch with aching feet and tired brains. Your classes start back in the fall, both of you knee deep in scientific papers and reports and research. It’s the day after halloween when Conrad gets the call.
“Wow, that’s great news! Congrats man, seriously,” Conrad speaks into the phone.
You furrow your brows at him, trying to figure out the conversation without hearing a word.
“Yeah, um, wow,” He drags a hand through his hair, “Can I be there for thanksgiving?”
He looks at you as if hoping you’ll answer for him.
“Yes, yes we can,” He keeps his eyes on you, widening them, “Sure, yeah, I’ll let her know now. I’ll text you, yeah.”
Conrad finishes up the conversation and hangs up, looking to you.
“How do you feel about going to Cousins for thanksgiving?”
You pause, the book in your hands almost slipping through, “Wh- what? I mean, how do you feel about going to Cousins?”
“Taylor and Steven are engaged,” He explains, “They want us all there to celebrate.”
“Do they know how much of a bad idea that is?” You half-laugh, “Nobody’s seen each other since last summer!”
“That’s not true, they’ve just not seen me,” He points out, “They’re all still friends - even Jere and Belly.”
“Con,” You say softly, setting down your book, watching as he walks around to sit down with you on the couch, “Are you sure about this?”
“I can’t go the rest of my life without seeing them,” He shakes his head, “If it’s not now, when will it be?”
“And you want me to come with you?”
“Are you kidding?” Conrad laughs, “Where do I go without you?”
Without saying another word, you’ve agreed. Of course you wouldn’t let him go alone. In fact, you’re sure you’d go anywhere he needed you to go. Scarily so, in fact. And to the same degree of certainty, he’d do the same for you. So you’d go to Cousins. And you’d be stood behind him to pick up any of the rebuilt pieces that broke down when he returned to them all. It had taken months to rebuild him before, and you feared for him to crumble again.
And so, only a few weeks later, the two of you are packing a bag and getting on the early flight to Boston. Conrad spends the entire flight with his headphones on and a crossword in his hands, tapping you every so often for help with an answer. You finish the book you were reading, and Conrad holds his hand out to take it from you - having developed a habit of reading every book you finished. He said it was the perfect review - if you’d finished it, it had to be somewhat good.
You get a taxi to his father’s place in Boston where you transfer into Conrad’s waiting car, a Range Rover as if he were a Dad of three. He lets you pick the music, as the two of you drive to Cousins, the sun already setting over the town. He points out a few spots that held certain memories, and the two of you stop at his Mom’s garden on the way. It felt like walking into a film to be somewhere you’d heard so much about, like these places that hadn’t felt real were suddenly coming to fruition.
“I think everyone is already there,” Conrad mentions, turning onto another street of towering, grand houses.
“Okay, is that good or bad?”
“Maybe better that we bite the bullet,” Conrad shrugs, looking at your reflection through the rear view mirror.
He turns once more, slowing down as he turns onto the driveway up to the house. You’d seen enough pictures of the place to be able to map it out yourself. Conrad steps out of the car, taking your bag in one hand and his in the other.
“Conrad!” Steven swings the door wide open, “You made it just in time, we’re just having dinner.”
“Great,” Conrad nods, setting the bags down at his feet to embrace his friend, “Congrats, man.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Steven puts a hand to his chest, “I’m all grown up.”
Steven hugs you too, telling you it was good to see you again.
“Come on, come through, the foods going to get cold,” Steven clasps Conrad on the shoulder, “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s been a long time,” Conrad reminds him.
You follow behind the two of them to walk into the house, past the staircase decorated with paintings of each of them into the dining room just next to the corridor. Inside, there are Taylor, Jeremiah, and Belly.
“Conrad,” Jeremiah stands up from his chair, “You made it.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you,” Conrad nods.
Jeremiah steps towards him and wraps his arms around his brother, both of them embracing for a moment longer. More could be said later. Now could just be this.
It’s like you feel the shift then. The sort of dreaded energy in the room when Conrad’s eyes fall to Belly. His shoulders tense. But they don’t fall. They don’t slump. His breath doesn’t catch in his throat, he doesn’t suddenly feel like he couldn’t control his own limbs if he tried.
“You too, Belly,” Conrad nods to her.
He glances over his shoulder then, back to you, his lips curling up just a little when he does.
“You guys haven’t met (Y/n),” He steps back to stand beside you, “We live together in California.”
“Live together?” Jere raises his brows, “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
“Oh, no, no,” You shake your head, “Separate bedrooms.”
Jeremiah nods knowingly, “Well it’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah you too, I’ve heard so much about you all,” You smile, feeling your cheeks heat up.
You look over to Belly and offer her a smile too. Her eyes are still on Conrad, only turning to you once she can feel you looking towards her. She smiles back but it doesn’t meet her eyes. She was beautiful, just as beautiful as Conrad described, just as beautiful as the photos you’d seen of her. She seemed older, matured by all that the last year had brought.
Before you can consider her for too much longer, you look back to Conrad. His eyes flash in a moment of fleeting panic, like his brain had just caught up to the awkward energy of the long awaited reunion. You step forward, squeezing his arm quickly.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
And with just a few words from you, he settles a little too, tension in his shoulders relaxing. There aren’t two seats together so the two of you end up separated - him beside Jeremiah, you beside Belly.
“Hey,” She smiles warmly, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” You nod.
It felt weird really. All you knew of Belly was Conrad’s depiction of her. Like without even trying she could lift the sun in the night to bring out the next morning. And yet last summer it seemed she had torn that sunshine from him, held it in her hands and left him with the remaining darkness. As you looked at her then, you could see the power she’d held over him, the love he held for her. She was beautiful with the kind of beauty that radiated deep within her, the kind of warmth that echoed into those around her. Conrad looks over at you and you expect to see the same crumbling devastation at the sight of Belly, like it would knock him all the way back to last year. But he doesn’t. He looks to you, he smiles as if reassuringly, and he looks to his brother by his side, as if doubting that he were actually there.
———
They offer for you to take Laurel’s room for the time that you were here. Belly has gone to her room, Jere had gone to his, Steven and Taylor to theirs, leaving just you and Conrad to your own company. The two of you sit on either end of the couch downstairs, as if wanting to replicate the same comfort of being in your own apartment.
“Oooh thank you!” You beam as he hands you over a hot cup of cocoa.
He sits down beside you, his own cup set in his grasp.
“How does it feel to be back?” You ask after taking a sip, holding the cup in your hands to soak in the warmth.
“Honestly? I’m just happy to have Jere back.”
You smile at the feeling of him being content. For the first time since the start of last summer, he actually seemed content.
“It’s nice to see you two together,” You nod, “It’s like seeing the two halves of your Mom.”
“You think so?” Conrad’s eyes brighten a little.
“Yeah, I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like both of you are so much of her,” You comment, “I’m sure she’d be really happy that the two of you are back together.”
“He even said about coming to visit in California,” Conrad says excitedly, like he’s back to being a kid again, “Mom always wanted us to stay friends when we were adults.”
“And you’ve got the rest of your lives to make sure that always happens,” You nod, so certain in that moment that Conrad would do whatever he could to keep that promise, “And what about seeing Belly again?”
Sometimes it felt weird to speak her name to him, you’d spent so long trying to help him keep his mind far from her.
“Honestly?” He pauses.
You nod.
“I didn’t feel how I thought I would.”
You feel your heart sink a little - had seeing her again broken him?
“I thought I’d… I don’t know. I thought it would feel like last summer, like anything I’d learnt over the last year would just disappear,” He shakes his head as if shaking out the thought, “And then I saw her and I just… I was just happy that she was okay.”
You don’t reply, knowing he has more to say.
“She seems okay, and she seems happy and I just… I don’t feel like I need to be there to make that happen anymore. I can just let her be,” He breathes out, “I can let her go.”
“Do you really think you can?” You ask softly, gripping onto the mug in your hands tightly.
“I think I already have.”
You smile, feeling the weight of a year rise just slightly from your shoulders, your chest that seemed to be always just a little tight unclenching over his words, “Well would you look at that, my little boy Fisher is all grown up.”
He extends his leg and kicks you softly, teasingly. But he sees the look in your eyes and in that moment Conrad knows for certain, you were the single reason he had managed to rebuild. In those worst days, in the ones that got slightly better, and the ones that got worse again, it had been you. Constant and unwavering like the waves returning to the shore, resilient and consistent like the gravity that pulled him to the ground. It was you. And it was the person you helped him to be.
———
There were more people arriving at the house the following day, a party of sorts to celebrate the occasion for Taylor and Steven. You’d offered to help set up with the girls and the boys had gone to the store to buy everything they needed. By the time the evening starts to fall, people start to filter through into the house - a few of their friends from Cousins, Jere and Conrad’s father, Laurel and John, Taylor’s Mom too.
You’re pouring yourself a drink when Conrad comes over, his father beside him.
“I wanted you to meet my Dad,” Conrad begins.
In the moment, you’re transported to the time when the two of you first became friends, and the few moments later when a drunk Conrad had told you that he would always wish you met his Mom.
“It’s lovely to meet you Mr Fisher,” You smile, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Well, I can’t imagine it’s all positive if you’re hearing about me from Conrad,” Adam grimaces, “But I’ve heard a lot of great things about you too, thank you for being a wonderful friend to my son.”
You look over to Conrad and he looks down bashfully as if he was already hoping the conversation would end.
“Thank you,” You nod, “He’s a great guy, it’s pretty easy to be friends with him.”
Adam chuckles, “Not many people have ever said that about our Conrad.”
“Alright that’s enough Dad,” Conrad winces, “I think Jere is looking for you.”
You giggle, taking your filled cup into your hands.
“Are you going to be okay?” Conrad places a hand on your back before he steps away.
“Yeah, of course,” You smile, “I should probably be social anyway.”
“Okay, well just find me if you need me, yeah?”
You think then to tell him that you’d probably always need him, a little bit at least. But instead you nod, squeeze his arm, and let him disappear off with his father to revel in the feeling of family for a few moments longer.
You’re about to make your way through the house to find a familiar face when Belly comes up to you.
“I was hoping I would find you,” She says, “Do you mind if we talk?”
“Sure,” You smile, “Do you want to go outside?”
She agrees and the two of you walk towards the yard, stepping out into the clear air. You’re both quiet for a moment, realising neither of you were too sure of where to start in each other’s company.
“So you and Conrad are close huh?” She begins.
“Um,” You drag a hand through your hair nervously, “Yeah, yeah, we spend a lot of time together in Cali.”
She nods, pausing as if trying to re-gather her thoughts, “Has he been okay?”
You inhale sharply, a question you knew was coming and yet would never be prepared for, “No.”
Her face falls, her brows furrowing, worry across her features.
“I think it’s taken a long time for him to get to this,” You nod, “He had to face what he’d done, what he’d lost, what had changed. But he did it, he’s doing better, he’s figured it out.”
Her tension seems to relax, “It was so easy to not think about everything when I was in Paris and I guess… I guess now I’ve been back I’ve just been worried about him.”
“Of course, yeah, you’d have every reason to,” You reassure her, “But he’s doing better, so much better. And I think he’s glad that you are too.”
“I felt so awful for breaking his heart, really. I never wanted to do that to him.”
You shake your head, “Nobody would. But you’re also okay to feel how you did. I don’t think I’d have been able to cope with all of that.”
She laughs, “Oh god I bet you were dreading meeting me! A failed wedding with one brother and a devastating heartbreak with the other?”
You laugh too, “Dread is the wrong word. I was more fascinated than anything, you’ve really been through it.”
She smiles, both of you relaxing into each other’s company.
“Conrad’s seriously lucky to have you,” She says so certainly you have no choice but to believe her, “It’s like you were made for him.”
Before she can say anything more, Taylor calls her from the house, something about a dress emergency. And Belly apologises, fleeing quickly to return to her friend.
Her words play over in your mind. Made for him. Perhaps the two of you were. Platonically, you were made for your paths to cross, to intertwine, to run alongside each other and be there for each bump in the road.
As you think to ponder it any longer, you’re stopped once more.
“Laurel,” You smile when you see her.
“Hey! I was hoping to speak to you,” She says.
“You know your daughter just said the same thing,” You laugh, “I’m in demand apparently.”
“I think we’ve all been keen to meet the girl we’ve heard so much about,” She returns, her voice smooth and comforting.
“Yeah, it’s good to finally meet you all too.”
“Conrad seems to care a lot about you.”
“I care a lot about him too.”
She smiles, taking a deep breath, “I don’t think he would have gotten through the last year without you.”
“That’s not true,” You shake your head, “I just did what anyone would do. He had to figure out a lot of it for himself.”
“Maybe,” She breathes, “I’ve never seen him that bad, though. I was really worried about him.”
“I was too,” You return, “I still was, before this weekend at least.”
Laurel glances around, grateful in the moment that the two of you are alone, “You know Conrad called me, a few months ago. In the summer. It was actually only a few days after a year had passed.”
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart clenching. Had you missed something? Had he been struggling more than you’d thought?
“I thought he was going to be right back to last year. But we just talked. He asked me how I was, how Steven and Belly were, we talked about my book. He told me about you and these plans you two had and the apartment and your placement and…” She pauses, inhaling sharply, “It’s the most Conrad I’ve seen all year, maybe for even longer.”
Your heart swells, your body breathing in the relief.
“Beck would have loved you,” Laurel reaches out to squeeze your hand, “You are the kind of person our Connie needs.”
You feel your eyes prick with tears, “God you’re going to make me cry.”
She laughs, shakily too as tears trickle underneath her own eyes, “Come here.”
She folds her arms around you, pressing you to her slight form, both of you chuckling against each other. You know why Conrad cared so deeply for Laurel - she understood him. She reminded him of home, reasoned with him when he was a million miles away. She might have thought that he needed you, but he needed her too. And you know in the moment, without having to think twice, that you both needed him just as much.
“Alright well this is supposed to be a party,” Laurel shakes her head, stepping away from you, “Let’s stop making each other cry.”
You agree, smoothing out the top you wore.
Laurel links her arm with yours, the two of you passing back through the yard and up towards the house. Just before you reach the doors, they open and Conrad steps out. Laurel looks to you and smiles warmly, as if speaking a thousand words. She steps ahead of you and inside the house, leaving you to Conrad’s company.
“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” He says, “Was starting to think you’d made a run for it.”
“Not yet,” You shake your head.
“I’m sorry if this is a bit weird,” He scratches the back of his neck, “But I’m really glad you came with me.”
You laugh, sipping down the rest of your drink, “Honestly? It’s really nice to meet everyone.”
“Yeah Laurel seems to like you,” He glances behind him, in the direction that she had disappeared to, “She’s heard a lot about you so, it makes sense.”
You laugh, “Yeah, yeah, she told me.”
“Oh god,” He scrunches up his nose, “What did she say?”
In the moment, you seem to lose all words. It felt like the past few months you’d started to see a new version of Conrad, and that had shone through even more so in the days that you’d been in Cousins. It wasn’t that he was back to his old self, it was that he was a new version of him. He was every bit the boy you knew, but lighter, brighter, more hopeful. And it made you see him differently too. As much as people could tell you how much you’d been there for Conrad, you were sure you couldn’t have imagined that last years of your life without him. And, almost scarily, you couldn’t imagine the rest of it without him either. Would that be how you’d feel for a friend? Or was the clenching in your heart proof of a whole new feeling entirely? And how could you stand in front of him now if you doubted if you saw him as a friend?
“She just said she felt like you were yourself,” You swallow the lump in your throat, the words feeling shaky and uncertain.
Conrad smiles, dragging a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I guess it’s been a while.”
When you don’t reply, his face softens, his concern growing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um,” You look up to him, your eyes a little glassy, your lips parted with a lack of words, “Nothing, no, I’m okay.”
Conrad frowns a little, a furrow between his brows.
You compose yourself, smile, squeeze his arm, “Come on, they’ll be wondering where we are.”
———
The two of you return to California the following night, getting a late flight back from Boston, landing when it was already dark over the west coast. You are more than aware of the fact that you’ve been quiet with Conrad since that day at the party. Not that you hadn’t spoken, you’d just gravitated towards him less. You’d stayed in bed later this morning, you’d closed your eyes as if asleep on the drive back to Boston and, on the flight, you’d left the middle seat empty between the two of you. It wasn’t to say you didn’t want to speak to him, just that undoubtedly you weren’t sure how to. You were fearful of saying something you would regret.
By the time you arrive back the apartment, you’re about ready to disappear into your room and spend the night trying to reset yourself before tomorrow came around. That’s all you needed. You needed to be back in routine, back to reality, back to you and Conrad being nothing more than flatmates.
“I think I’m going to go to bed,” You say tiredly, lifting your bag from the floor.
“You don’t want any dinner?”
“Um,” You drag a hand through your hair, “No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Conrad asks, “You haven’t seemed like yourself since we left Cousins.”
“I’m just… I’m good,” You shake your head, “Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you,” He points out.
You laugh insincerely, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
If Conrad was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure you’d been okay since that conversation you’d had with Laurel. What had changed?
He watched you walk away into your room, the door closing behind you, and found himself thinking back to his own conversation with Laurel a mere twenty four hours before.
———Last Night———
Everyone else was sat around the dock outside. Belly and Taylor were on one side, looking at something on Taylor’s phone. Steven and Jeremiah had you in some kind of conversation they seemed very invested in. You said something and Steven laughed loudly. Conrad had stepped inside, cracking open beers for everyone.
“There you are!” Laurel’s voice echoes into the otherwise empty house, “I was just about to leave, I wanted to see you before you left.”
“You’re not staying?” Conrad frowns, “I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”
“No, no, I want you kids to enjoy tonight,” She squeezes his hand, “It’s the first time in so long that you’ve all been together, enjoy it.”
“It’s good to see them all again,” Conrad glances out towards the faint view he still had of the group.
“Belly’s really glad to have her friend back,” Laurel assures him.
“Yeah,” He exhales, “Yeah, I am too.”
“Conrad, you know I have to ask you,” Laurel sighs, “Do you still love my daughter?”
His eyes flick down to where Laurel stood in front of him, his brows furrowing.
“I-“ He shakes his head, “I’ll always love her. But not in that way, not anymore.”
Laurel pauses for a moment, “Then why do you still have that look in your eye?”
Conrad half-laughs, “I have a look?”
“You look different when you’re in love, I’ve seen it before,” She points out, “This time even more than before.”
Conrad finds his eyes drifting back outside, to where Belly still remained in the same spot, now laughing at something Taylor was telling her. But his eyes continue to drift, past her as if she were a floating memory, to the girl stood still making Steven laugh. You had a beer in your hand that you’d been nursing for the past half an hour, one of his jackets around your shoulders where you’d forgotten to bring your own. He wasn’t sure at what point his view on you had shifted but Conrad knew then in that moment that he didn’t just see his friend stood there. He saw you. But in a different light, with a different future mapped out in his head. And he was sure then that maybe he knew what Laurel had meant - to love someone this much would make it impossible for his eyes to not tell the story too.
“Oh Connie,” Laurel sighs, almost in a way of contentment, “If you love her you’ve got to tell her.”
“Yeah,” Conrad exhales, “We’ve always agreed it wouldn’t be in this life.”
“Would it be so bad if it was?”
———Now———
The following morning, you get up before Conrad is out of his room. You take whatever you can from the kitchen and make up some al form of breakfast - eggs, bacon, cheese, bagels - that would suffice. You put on the album Conrad always played on repeat, letting it sound out through the apartment, with any luck loud enough to coax him out of his room.
Just then, the door opens. Although not the one you were expecting. The front door to the apartment swings open and Conrad comes through. He has a brown paper bag in one hand and a bunch of flowers in another - various shades of pastels sprouting out of the bouquet.
“Hey!” He stops in his tracks, “I bought breakfast.”
You scrunch up your nose, “And I made breakfast.”
Conrad laughs, “You put my album on.”
“You bought me flowers.”
He smiles, outstretching his arm to give them to you, “M’lady.”
“Why thank you,” You return in jest, taking them from him and filling up the empty vase to set them into.
“Okay well I bought muffins so we can have them for dessert,” He offers, setting them onto the countertop, “You need any help with this?”
“Nope, nope, I’ve got it,” You shake your head, plating up the second bagel and turning around with the two plates, “Bagels!”
“Bagels,” Conrad repeats, taking one of the plates from you.
He lets you walk around the kitchen island, both of you taking seats on the barstools.
Conrad bites into the bagel, groaning over the bite, “Holy shit.”
“Good, right?” You grin, taking a bite yourself. The egg splits, the yolk dripping down your chin.
“So good,” Conrad chuckles, “Just… very messy.”
He extends his hand over to you, his thumb wiping over your chin. In the moment, the two of you pause, eyes on each other, focused. You pull away a moment before Conrad does.
“Hey, um,” Conrad sets his bagel down, wiping his hands on a napkin, “We’re okay, right?”
“Wh-“ You go to come up with some sort of dismissive excuse but stop yourself when you look back to his eyes, “Yeah, I’m sorry if it didn’t seem that way.”
“No, no, don’t apologise,” Conrad shakes his head, “I was just worried something had happened… like Laurel had said something to you.”
You frown, “Laurel? No, I only saw her to say goodbye after that time you saw us.”
“Right, yeah,” Conrad clears his throat, “No problem then?”
“Unless you have a problem?”
“No, no, nothing.”
Both of you fall into silence then, one of the few moments where neither of you were sure of what to say to each other.
You try to force your mind to think of anything else.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, “I have that seminar tomorrow and I haven’t read the paper for it! I knew I’d forgotten something this weekend!”
You jump down off from the stool and hurry into your room.
Conrad stands up from his chair like he should follow after you, pausing in his movements.
Moments after, you come back out of the room, paper held in your hands, “Well I guess we have some reading for-“ You stop mid-sentence, breath catching in your throat, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Would it be so bad if something happened in this life?”
You pause, your brows furrowing, “What are you talking about?”
“I-“ Conrad drags a hand through his hair, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“Con what are you talking about?”
You stay where you are as if you’re scared to take a step away or towards this moment.
“We always say that,” He begins again, “When someone says we’d be good together we always say-“
“Not in this life.”
“Yeah,” He exhales, his shoulders shrugging as he says, “But would it be so terrible?”
“Would what be so terrible?”
He sighs, as if battling with himself, “I don’t want to love some other version of you, I want to love this version, in this life.”
“Con…” You feel your heart aching for him, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying-“ He half-laughs, “We already live together, we spend every day together, you’re literally the only person here I give a shit about. Would it be so terrible if… if we just did all of that as a couple?”
“I…” Your breath catches, “I can’t.”
His shoulders drop, defeated.
“I saw you in love with Belly, I saw how much it broke you, I saw how much she broke you,” Your bottom lip trembles, “I don’t want you to feel this way just because… just because I was here.”
“Are you kidding?” He shakes his head, “You’ve been everything since… well, since I moved to California. Last year, how I felt for Belly… I would’ve broken myself for her. I did break myself for her.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re losing him and yourself with it.
“It’s not like that with you,” Conrad assures you, stepping forward, “You make me be better, you make me want to be better, you convince me that every day could be okay, in fact you make every day fucking great.”
You exhale shakily, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.
“You’re not just the person that makes me get out of bed in the morning,” He shakes his head, “You’re the person that makes me want to get out of bed. You’re the person I want to buy flowers for, I want to eat every breakfast with, I want to travel with and see our families with and graduate with and… I want to grow old with you.”
“I do too,” You whisper out, laughing a little about how insane this all felt.
He steps another stride closer to you, “In this life?”
You laugh, “Yes, in this life.”
Conrad crosses the rest of the way over to you, his hands gripping your face, one drawing back to tangle into your hair. You gasp against the contact, papers dropping to the floor as you grip onto his shirt around his chest, twisting it into your grasp.
He rests his forehead against yours, both of you breathing rapidly in the aftermath.
You were grateful in that moment that it was this life that you and Conrad found each other in. That this life had given you a messy, broken, pieced together few years where the only constant had been each other. And in every life it would be him you would choose again and again … though you were happy to start with this life for now.
——
LOST SAINTS (part one)
he sits on the throne of blood and diamonds. she is the girl who lives by a single rule—never cross his path even while sleepwalking. her life begins to unfurl when she lets herself take a closer look at him and sees not a monster, but a mirror bringing her face to face with everything she has ever suppressed.
part 1 -> part 2 -> part 3
⚬ pairing: uni au! kim mingyu x fem! reader ⚬ word count: 4.6k ⚬ warnings: FLAWED CHARACTERS (esp in the first few chapters), nsfw language, implication of violence, frequent drug and alcohol use, childhood trauma, academic distress, use of insensitive and harassing language towards the working class and women, possession kink, eventual smut (hence the mature tags) MDNI ⚬ genres: uni au, dark academia, class struggle, slowwwww burn, slight (?) enemies to lovers, a very weak love triangle, London setting
character aesthetics and playlists
song recommended for this part:
sweater weather by the neighborhood (young saab remix)
author's note: this might be the slowest fic i've ever written, it was so tough for me to write that i almost scrapped it. but because i promised it to my readers, here it is. p.s. - the title of the fic is inspired by a line from one of elizabeth barret browning's sonnets titled 'how do i love thee?' where she says: 'I love thee with a love I seemed to lose, With my lost saints' there can be several interpretations to it, this fic is my understanding of it. i hope you enjoy! <3 a big thanks to my girlie @supi-wupi for beta reading the first (and a very poorly written) draft of the initial chapters, your sweet lil comments/notes def pushed me to write more haha.
edit #1: i really don't recommend you saving this fic and reading it all at once. i cannot emphasize just how lengthy and plot heavy it's going to be. so please, i advice you to take your time with it.
PART 1: NO MASTERS OR KINGS WHEN THE RITUAL BEGINS
There are the rich.
There are the filthy rich.
There are people who would give a tight smile and say, “we’re comfortable” when asked about wealth.
And above them all, holding their reins in one hand and spliffs in the other, are the debauched kids of the CEOs of everything.
Daughters like Sutton Price and Jennie Kaiser. Sons like Lee Seokmin and Kim Mingyu.
The kids who got high last night on stuff inaccessible even to the most affluent science labs in the country. Kids who were now lounging around the marble benches in the quad their parents paid for.
Large Gucci glasses perched sleek on their perfect noses, shielding their pink rimmed eyes. Not that they had to hide them from anyone—no one dared step foot within a five foot radius around them.
But because it was convenient, because it gave the onlooker an illusion of mystery, of curiosity.
Smoking was banned on campus for everyone who wasn’t Kim Mingyu or the ones shouldering his sinful escapades.
The notorious heir to Kim Enterprises was lying on his back in the dewy grass, a silver hip flask balanced on his toned stomach as he squinted at the sky like he owned it.
Well, considering all the airlines and network spectrums that operated under the Kim Group, he technically did own most of it.
He eyed Sutton through the snake of smoke swirling up from between his lips when she huffed. “My bra is missing.”
“The one that costs more than my rent?” Theo, the freeloader whom Seokmin kept around for some reason, questioned.
Sutton didn’t even deem him human enough to be answered. “Took it off during last night’s disaster and now it's probably hanging off some pleb’s dormitory lamp.”
“Or maybe Theo stole it and sold it to avoid being evicted.” Jennie sniped without even looking up from her compact mirror as she retouched her blood orange lipstick.
Mingyu just shook his head while the others snickered, lazing with his palms planted on the ground.
“It was vintage Versace.”
Sutton groaned, still hung up on one of the many designer bras she owned.
“Iconic. ” Seokmin murmured, sprawled next to Mingyu, shirt unbuttoned, hair damp from a sink rinse and questionable decisions. “Honestly, I am just grateful the sun doesn’t shine here in London. Remember how bad it was when we woke up hungover in Monaco last week?”
Jennie’s frown deepened.
“Wait, wasn’t it Mykonos?”
“Pretty sure that was Morocco.” Mingyu stated, effectively putting an end to that debate.
If Kim Mingyu said it was Morocco, then it was Morocco.
No words were uttered for several seconds as the group smoked some more.
Sutton cracked the silence yet again. “Guys don’t you have a quiz today?”
Jennie, Seokmin, Theo and Mingyu who shared the class where the quiz was about to be held, instantly soured at the very mention of it.
“We do.” Mingyu groaned. Not because he had to get graded on his knowledge, but because it meant he would have to drag himself to the room full of his fussy peers and actually sit there idle for an hour.
Having learnt way earlier that failure was a fiction reserved for the underfunded, he didn’t care about the result.
But it had been made very clear to him that he’d at least have to keep up appearances, show face here and there, and avoid ruffling the feathers of the student body who might make it an issue about him passing each term without ever stepping foot into a lecture hall.
Nate, perched stiffly on the bench beside them, clutched his coffee like a lifeline. He wasn’t one of them, not really, but rich enough to hover around the edges of their world.
“Shouldn’t you look at the syllabus or something?” Nate asked, tapping his leg nervously against the gravel. “The quiz is worth thirty percent of the grade.”
Jennie grunted, pressing a cigarette between her lips. “We don’t do syllabi, Nathaniel.”
“You might not, Jennie, but some of us don’t have trust funds cushioning our GPA.” Nate bittered, then turned to Theo sitting cross-legged on the stone ledge.
“What about you Theodore? Aren’t you afraid the professor will fail you? Didn’t you and Seokmin take turns fucking his wife last term?”
Seokmin smirked at the memory, tipping his head to Mingyu who had actually been the first one to seduce the said wife.
“Nah, I’m chill.” Theo shrugged, crunching off the last of his cigarette with his boot, “I’ll just copy off this nerdy chick who sits next to me.”
“Who?”
“Scholarship girl. Always gets full marks. Was on top of the dean’s list twice.”
Mingyu tilted his head, amused. “Corduroy jacket and ugly ballet flats?”
Mingyu didn’t even bother racking his brain to remember your name. Though he did spare you the honor of knowing what you looked like.
Not a lot of people could boast that Kim Mingyu remembered the details of their wardrobe.
Theo nodded. “That’s the one.”
Jennie butted in, vocalizing your real name for once.
“She’s smart. I think she knows more than the professor.”
What followed was a slew of slanderous comments about Professor Astor and how he was trying “couples therapy” with his wife who was still, in fact, bombarding Seokmin’s mobile phone with explicit texts and desperate calls.
But Mingyu had stopped listening since Jennie mentioned your name.
The deep specks of hazel in the eyes of the corduroy jacket girl were beginning to take form behind his closed lids. Faint vanilla perfume. The tattered leather of an old wrist-watch scratching against paper with urgency. Turned in shoulders, lowered lashes, a tiny dimple–barely pressed there like an afterthought. Left or right cheek? He’d have to check.
Some say a name is the shortest poem. Yours stuck in his teeth like a splinter.
⸻
You always arrived earlier than the rest of the class like you were racing against time before it could even begin to crawl.
Your tote bag, hanging heavy with notes, pens and a plastic water-bottle thudded against your hip. You knew it was the right class, yet you checked the room number embossed on the door like a routine.
The little extra effort, the preparation—those were the only tools you had to carve out your way through a world of concrete privilege.
You checked your watch before anything else. Breath shallow and something like a dreadful anticipation tensing your temples.
Ten minutes to go.
You knew the material. Practiced all the possible numerical.
But was it enough?
Were you ever enough?
Your eyes lifted, movement of a few bodies catching up your gaze in what was supposed to be a vacant exam hall.
The tired fluorescent lights buzzing like bees overhead casted a blinking blue over the last row. It was already occupied by the people whom you had expected to arrive thirty minutes after the quiz had begun.
Even the mellow glow of the dusk filtering in couldn’t soften their sharp arrogance.
Jennie, Seokmin, Theo and him.
Kim Mingyu.
You knew their names like the back of your hands.
Everyone did.
It was on the billboards in front of the pub you worked at, in the headlines of the crumpled up newspaper lying forgotten on your dining table, the flyers of parties and galas across the campus advertised as the rager of the year because one of them had RSVP’ed yes.
But you remembered his name especially well. Like if your skull was marble and someone had carved it in with the sharpest chisel.
You couldn’t escape him. So you just kept away from him.
Their chattering thwarted for a split second when Jennie Kaiser, eldest daughter and heiress to the Kaiser Legacy Trust, flicked her eyes to you and then went back to doodling obscene cartoons in the margins of her notebook.
With a lazy hand thrown across the back of Jennie’s chair beside him, Mingyu tilted his head when he took note of you.
Curious yet amused, like with just a single gaze up and down your body, he had already read your entire history and predicted your future—a bleak and boring one.
Like he knew exactly where you’d end up in a few years. A kindergarten teacher at worst. A researcher at best.
He was staring you down like a panther in his kingdom, eyes unblinking and dangerously focused on the stagger of your steps when you spotted them.
Too tall to not duck through most doorways, too loud—not with his words, but with his presence—to be ignored, too confident to not appear cocky. Too much. Too visible.
He was pervasive, you had to be looked for.
When your eyes met, it was like looking straight up at the afternoon summer sun which could scorch your irises permanently.
You quickly averted your attention like you had been caught touching something forbidden.
You shuffled into your usual seat—third row from the last, adjacent to the window. In a limbo between the careless bravado of the last seats and the jittery nerves of the front.
There was a faint round of hushed mumbles behind you. Well, not whispers to be exact, the group never lowered their voices—just expected the commoners like you to pour molten lava in your ears and give them privacy if they wanted to discuss something among themselves.
Then, the unmistakable creaks of multiple chairs scraping behind in tandem.
‘Maybe they’re just going out for a smoke break,’ you told yourself, aligning your numbered notes for one last revision as your nerves pulsed under the frosty armor you had learnt to squeeze in.
All your plans of keeping your head down, being invisible and just doing what you were supposed to do were squashed when you were ambushed by a cloud of expensive perfumes made from the blood of virgins or some flower that only blooms in the gardens of multi-million-dollar mansions.
There were three shadows looming over you.
Theo, Seokmin and Jennie.
They were too smooth. Slick like oil on marble.
You didn’t even hear a single rustle when Jennie pinched your pencil between her two sleek manicured fingers, studied it for a few seconds like it was the most interesting thing she had seen all week and then let it drop down. The hammering sound of wood hitting wood made you tighten your hold over the work-sheets.
“Hey, nice sweater.” She hummed, her voice a vial of poison laced with honey. “Vintage, perhaps?”
Your fist unconsciously curled over the frayed sleeve of your fading slate blue cardigan.
It was so evident that they had walked up here with intent to corner you, to toy with you, and intimidate you even.
But fear is a contagious thing, it travels eye to eye. How were they supposed to scare the girl in a ratty cardigan and chipped nail polish when she didn’t even bother to lift her eyes and spare them a single glance?
“What do you want Jennie?” You cut to the chase, flipping through your ink smudged notes with absolute boredom.
That dull sigh and that refusal to meet her gaze when she was talking to you? Yeah, that might have been the most disrespect Jennie had faced in all her years of existence.
Yet, with arms tightened under her chest, she persisted.
“Look, we never really do this but…we’re in a predicament and were wondering if you’d help us?”
Interesting.
“How might I do that?” you asked, finally squinting your eyes at the girl like she was the most complicated equation you had to solve today.
Jennie smirked, you were finally looking at her.
“There’s a slight disagreement between us and Professor Astor and we’re worried it might reflect in the way he grades us.”
“I don’t see that being a problem if you mark the right answers.” You shrugged. “Grading is pretty transparent.”
“Mhmm,” Jennie’s lips pursed in the fakest smile in London at the moment. “See that’s where you come in. We want you to—”
Theo and Seokmin exchanged a despairing look from either side of Jennie—a look that screamed that their friend was gloriously fucking this up by making demands.
They had no choice but to interrupt if they wanted to pass.
“It would be a huge favor,” Seokmin cut in, voice syrupy sweet and a hand on Jennie’s back to signal her to stop talking already, “if you could maybe help us out. Just a little. Quiz-wise.”
Theo didn’t bother sugarcoating it like his posh friends. He just shrugged, “I’m sitting beside you.”
You blinked at them once, twice. The pen you had been capping and uncapping between your thumbs stilled.
You weren’t surprised. Not really. This wasn’t the first time the diamond-spoon mafia tried to milk the people they usually pretended not to see.
“I’m not giving you my answers.” You announced flatly.
Seokmin held up his hands, mock innocent. “Of course not. Just… be visible. That’s all.”
“Visible?” You repeated, dry.
Jennie scoffed. “It’s not like we’ll fail. This is just insurance.”
You didn’t wait. “And what do I get?”
All three of them paused.
“Oh,” Seokmin smirked, a tad off guard. “You want something, goody-good?”
The patronization dripping in his voice made you want to roll your eyes. But you didn’t, you held their gaze. Unwavering and steely.
And then, like you had been waiting for a chance to say it all your life.
“I want you guys to never talk to me again.”
⸻
Across the room, Mingyu watched it all from behind his sunglasses.
He sat slouched in his seat, unwavering eyes stilled on you.
The girl who fidgeted with her pen cap under the table, yet spoke to his friends like she wasn’t supposed to be intimidated.
He’d never really looked at you before. Not properly.
You were quiet. Background. Elusive. Easily labeled as the smart-shy girl before you could even introduce yourself.
The kind of girl who didn’t orbit their world—no, scratch that, who didn’t even acknowledge it.
But now, as Theo, Jennie and Seokmin leaned against your desk like vultures, Mingyu found himself…watching.
You didn’t flirt. Didn’t shrink. Didn’t even smile.
You just nodded once, flipped your page, and let them cheat. Like it costed you nothing. Like you expected no gratitude at all.
Mingyu was sitting an arm’s length of distance behind you. The professor, knowing better, quickly averted his eyes to the other corner when Mingyu leaned in and tapped your shoulder.
The boy didn’t even know what to say to you. So when you glanced over your shoulder, hazel orbs studying him like he was an inconvenience, Mingyu found himself at a loss for words for the first time ever.
He had never realized someone’s eyes could be that big and expressive, like they weren’t ever weighed down with lies or nightmares. Like those of a child, innocent and truthful…or divine, like those of God.
A slight quirk of your brow was what jerked him back into the classroom that smelled like printer paper and dried marker ink.
He cleared his throat, lazing back in his seat like he wasn’t just admiring the way your long lashes fanned over your cheeks.
“What’d you get for 17?”
You didn’t even look at your answer sheet when you answered, clipped and polite.
“Option C.”
He nodded, but you had already turned your back to him—hunched over your own paper, pen caught between your teeth, too focused on tallying your answers in the final ten minutes.
By the time the alarm buzzed, signaling the end of the quiz, you were already packing your things with the same clinical precision you applied to everything else. Around you, the room rustled with groans and torn papers, Seokmin bickering with Theo for hogging you up the entire time.
But you drowned out all that noise like you had trained yourself to. At the pub where men leered at you. At the parties when someone brought them up. In class, when girls fawned over Mingyu if he ever asked them for a pen.
You just stood up, didn’t even smile when Jennie muttered a quick ‘thanks’ like she was talking to herself, and walked past their row like they didn’t exist.
Only Mingyu’s eyes followed.
Outside, your boyfriend waited for you.
Ethan Ashby. Clean-cut, thrift-store stylish, always five seconds from saying something embarrassing. He smiled when he saw you, took your bag like he was born to serve and slung it over his own shoulder.
You smiled back—soft, real, unguarded.
But it wasn’t so unguarded from the gaze glued to you from behind the glass panels.
It was only when Ethan leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead that Mingyu looked away.
When he handed his answer sheet to the TA, it was totally blank leave for a single smudged answer—option C of question 17.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
You shouldn’t have mattered.
But something about you—sharp edges, quiet presence, the way you gave answers like they were scraps from a table—it lingered.
⸻
“Do you think they saw me carry your bag? They might think I’m quite chivalrous, won’t they?”
You both were already at the bottom of the stairs leading you out of the Gothic building and into the campus lawns, but Ethan kept looking back over his shoulder, occasionally slowing down in hopes that Mingyu or his friends might take notice of him somehow.
You squeezed his palm with your ink-stained fingers, bringing his attention back to yourself.
“It doesn’t matter what they think, Ethan.”
Ethan glanced down at you.
“Yeah…yeah of course.” He shook his head.
A slow gust of wind nipped at your skin through your stockings, making your knees shiver as the flimsy material of your skirt swept aside.
You quickly wrapped your arms around yourself, your threadbare cardigan not doing much to shield you.
Ethan had two layers on, but you didn’t ask him for help—it was your poor judgement to choose this outfit after all, why should your boyfriend bear the brunt of it?
Besides, Ethan didn’t even notice that you had dropped his hand and were cradling your own numb elbows.
His attention had already drifted away from you to orbit the center of his universe—Mingyu and Seokmin coming out of the exam room with a bickering Jennie and Theo in tow.
The disappointment that stung at your heart? It wasn’t something new.
But you didn’t complain. You never complained.
You just tugged at the sleeves of your sweater and ducked your chin into your chest where a scarf should have been, your pace already quickening.
Still enamored by the group smoking cigarettes on top of the stairs, Ethan slowed to a halt when he saw something that might’ve only been his wishful thinking.
But he swore it was true.
Kim Mingyu—leaning nonchalantly against the ivory pillar with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his expensive looking coat and a cloud of smoke cutting lucid shapes in front of his face—was staring down at Ethan Ashby.
As opposed to Mingyu who only lazed even more, Ethan’s spine shot up alert and his shoulders straightened.
Did Mingyu think he was interesting? Might he want to invite Ethan to one of his next ragers?
Adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder, Ethan gave Mingyu a tight, grateful, breathless smile.
Mingyu never returned it.
⸻
Ethan dropped you off at your shift at the pub right after.
“Don’t you wanna go home and change into something warmer?” He asked.
“Not really, I need to change into the uniform regardless.” You shrugged, collecting your bag from the back seat. “Besides, the pub is warm, Tom just got the heating repaired.”
Ethan didn’t prod further, didn’t argue that you might still have to walk back to your apartment at night in this cold.
He just gave you a quick peck before driving off for dinner with his parents.
Your spirits were already dimming like they always did whenever you came here for your shifts. Your personal purgatory, that’s what the pub felt like. Like a foreign land you didn’t belong in, but crossed the threshold of to search for food anyway.
Too suffocating. Too despairing. Almost hopeless.
But at least it was familiar.
There were no surprises awaiting you every time you walked in, just the unsaid greetings of the same, tired, ashen faces. The smell of beer and thick oil simmering over stoves like tar that once made your gut crawl, but you had grown accustomed to it now.
No matter how fast you changed into the pink uniform that was still a size too small for you—sitting snug against your chest and stretching over your hips—you were a few minutes late by the time you emerged from the bathroom.
Hair escaping in wisps from your loosely tied ponytail, lips chapped and stomach grumbling because all you had eaten all day was a granola bar.
Yet, you worked swiftly. You always did. Serving and cleaning like it was second nature.
It wasn’t the most glamorous job ever.
In fact, everyone who knew you insisted you stop grinding your hours away here and apply for something real—internships or research opportunities perhaps. The stipend was much more lucrative, and they’d look better on your resume too.
But you had given up on them ever since…
Besides, the tips here paid well, enough for you to afford your single room apartment without burdening your grandparents.
For a while, you moved on autopilot. Balancing trays, taking orders, ringing them in to Jeremy-the line cook, burning your fingers twice because someone kept insisting their mash wasn’t hot enough, repeating the rehearsed greetings and compliments until your tongue chafed.
But soon, your load began getting unbearable.
Sophie, your co-worker for the nightshifts, was usually a tad bit slow and you often had to help her wait tables. But tonight, she was exceptionally lethargic—three of the tables assigned to her had to call you for assistance.
Your eyes skimmed over the crowd to locate the waitress.
You found her giggling at a single table.
Huffing, you stepped in closer to see who the particularly funny customer was captivating all of Sophie’s attention and—
Oh.
What the hell was he doing at a pub like this?
Did all the fancy Italian and French Michelin stars shut down tonight? Did his entourage of imported chefs go on strike?
But he looked so content, so relaxed like him and his Ralph Lauren sweater weren’t sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the pub’s usual night crowd— one of working class elders or tired taxi drivers.
His long legs were spread in a rattly chair, not in a crass man-spreading way, but with that confidence that made him comfortable owning whatever room he was in.
Easy. Open. Effortless.
The sleeves of his soft navy sweater were pushed up to his elbows—putting the veins on his forearms on display for those who fancied well-built bodies; and the wrist-watch that alone could buy the entire place for those who fancied wealth.
He always had something for everyone.
New money talks, old money whispers, Kim's money just sighed.
His tanned skin looked softer, like a honeyed summer evening. The dim, low hanging, yellow lights highlighted the amused curve of his smile at whatever Sophie was saying.
Mingyu always had this way of appearing engaged and interested, even though you doubted he hardly ever was.
The most unusual thing about this scene?
Kim Mingyu was all alone.
Not even his permanent sidekick Seokmin anywhere around.
“Hey, Pinky!” Someone called out with a crude snap of their fingers, pulling your attention.
It jolted Sophie out of her bumbling daze. She quickly apologized to Mingyu before scurrying away to the table demanding service.
Wrong table. You sighed, defeated, walking to the actual one.
Mingyu’s eyes followed you. Careful and curious.
Pinky.
Like the title of ‘waitress’, or the simple vocalization of your real name printed on your nametag was too humanizing for them, so they had to resort to addressing you by the color of your skirt.
Like having some sort of authority over a random girl serving their beer at a pub stroked these men’s egos like no other.
Worst of it all?
You didn’t even protest the demeaning nickname.
Sophie placed a steaming hot bowl of soup Mingyu had ordered but it did nothing to help the frost settling in his bones.
⸻
Mingyu was the second last customer to leave that night. The two of you didn’t talk once, didn’t even look at each other.
Strange, but not so much.
Tom was busy mopping the bar while a sweat-streaked Sophie struggled with the zipper of her windbreaker.
You were wiping the tables, mentally rehearsing your academic to-do list that demanded your attention at home, when you heard your co-worker call out.
“Hey! Some stupid bloke left their coat, what should we do?”
You glanced up at the single clock that was always ten minutes behind.
“It’s almost midnight, would they come back to find it?”
Tom considered it for a minute, looked around for a place where the giant garment could be safekept. Then, his eyes landed on you.
“You have the morning shift tomorrow, eh?” Tom asked.
You nodded.
“Why don’t you take it home and bring it back in the morning? Whoever left it might come around tomorrow to look for it.”
You bit down on your lip, eyes oscillating between the brown coat hanging at the back on a chair you had avoided all night, and then to your tired manager.
A cloud of fog was already pressing against the glass paneled windows from the outside. The night was too cold, and the idea of that big trench coat was too tempting.
It wasn’t stealing, right?
You were just borrowing it, keeping it safe for the night…or else, it would end up too damp and full of the smell of smoke and beer after marinating in the pub air all night.
“Oh just wear it home and bring it back tomorrow. You're gonna freeze to death on the curb in that foolish cardigan.” Sophie groaned, chewing loudly on her bubblegum.
That settled it.
After finishing up, you pulled the coat over your cardigan wordlessly.
It framed your body like a giant dress. Swaying past your calves, swallowing your soap scented fingers whole into its warmth and wrapping over your back like a hug that nestled your spine.
The comfort it offered was annoying. Inconveniently addicting. Unacceptable, honestly.
You tugged its collar up to shield your ears from the night’s mist, it nearly covered your entire face.
As you trudged down the dark, damp pavement, your ballet flats tapping against the cold stones, you tried not to think about how the sleeves hanging past the tips of your fingers smelt like bergamots, oakmoss, and Marlboro.
Or how it was certainly the most expensive coat on campus.
PART 2
moodboard for the chapter <3
p.s. any pictures included in the moodboards do not depict, in any way, how the reader *should* look like. i just put them in because they matched the vibe of the chapter
Taglist: (please let me know if there’s a mistake)
@aaddyyyy @producedbyjeon @iuvyuno @bunnyblasworld @ggukths @squishysquishjimin @everywonu @youtoopia @berrypinksue @seungcheolsblackcard @heedeear @hayeojhebal @cosmic-w0lf @mingyubaguette @chezsofia @myun9ho @mmessier31 @cerisecherrie @gyuiebabie @ana-marais98 @scoupscious @Helloiliketits @gyuguys @mellowamour @novalpha @lovelylonelinesssvt @lllucere @paradiseonthemoon @gnvungg @dreamingofpcy @boxsmil3 @justhereforfanfics0 @janeluvwonuuuu @belongstoheeseung @delilah-hey @chronicfic
reiterating, this fic is very long and angsty. so if its not something you might like, pls feel free to reach out and get yourself off the taglist.
lemme know if you wanna be tagged <3
love this series! it's so good in so many ways and I'm not even done through part 1 yet so im very excited for more!
what if he's written mine on my upper thigh (only in my mind)
you've been on four dates with johnny storm. you don't think it's serious. he has a different idea in mind. (johnny storm x fem!reader)
AN: this fic is VERY LOOSELY based off that one lyric in guilty as sin that became the title. i usually don't write super shy or oblivious characters, but i am too obsessed with an opposites attract dynamic. so this is what came about. i hope u enjoy & lmk what u think!!!!! also not proofread again super sorry
WORD COUNT: 5.7k
“Briefing notes?”
“Check.”
“Final printed copy of the speech?”
“In a PDF format as well! Check.”
“Lozenges?”
In honey lemon. “Check!”
“Triple shot flat white?”
You don’t vocalize your opinion, but you felt like an old man ordering that at the coffee shop. “Check.”
“You’re getting good at this.”
You fight a blush, waving off Lynne’s praise.
It’s always daunting entering the Baxter Building (especially now more than usual), but you stick behind Lynne and follow her lead. The lift attendant ushers you both into the steel-lined elevator after you showed proper identification, and you’re off. You always get a bundle of nerves at this part; waiting to reach the actual living quarters of the building. But you’ve done it enough to know to stare at your shoes to avoid feeling nauseous. It’s only when you hear the ding do you look up, straightening out your work pants and making sure the coffee cup in your hand stays upright.
At first, you and Lynne are met with nothing but silence, which is quite unusual (usually there’s Ben in the kitchen, or H.E.R.B.I.E. watching baby Franklin by the couch, his various beeps that you don’t understand greeting you upon entering). You and Lynne don’t question it, though, her muttering something about a late morning while ushering you to the kitchen area where you put everything you’re holding on the counter.
It’s only when you feel like you’re taking your first breath of the day, hands cramped, do you hear footsteps bounding down the hallway, high heels clanking on the sleek floors.
Sue Storm strides in, the pinnacle of elegance. She takes one moment to dust off a piece of lint from her red long-sleeve, made of a material that you’re sure costs more than your weekly paycheck. She greets you both with a kind smile, “Good morning.”
“Hardly,” says Lynne, frowning. It took awhile to get used to the fact that Sue and Lynne’s friendship strung for many years that Lynne no longer bothers to give her an agreeable type of kindness that others seem to give at default for the Invisible Woman. “There’s a seventy-three percent chance of rain and the wind nearly ruined my hair.”
Sue snaps her fingers, regaining her memory. “I almost forgot my coat.” She’s bounding down the hallway again, calling for Reed, but not before telling you both to get yourself comfortable and ushering you to the stools in front of the kitchen island.
You don’t look at Lynne for approval before taking a seat, legs sore from the morning run your friend made you go on before work. You busy yourself by opening the manila folder that holds Sue’s UN speech, checking thrice for any grammar mistakes (if there are any, that’d be your fault and would no doubt be getting a scolding from Lynne).
You’re too immersed, brows drawn tightly together and lips mouthing each part of the speech. You don’t notice the soft footsteps entering the room, or the slight halt in the steps, before it continues to proceed in your direction.
A hand rests on the small of your back, finger splayed out on the material of your sweater.
You jolt, not expecting the contact.
You swivel the seat and are met with the eyes of Johnny Storm.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” he says flatly—a fact, yet there’s something else hidden beneath his tone. A slight surprise, maybe hurt, as if he expected you to let him know every time you’d be making an appearance in his vicinity.
His hand stays on your back.
You open your mouth to reply, though with what you’re not sure, but his movements stop you. He reaches his other hand to your face, thumbs brushing in between your eyebrows and smoothing out the furrowed line. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.”
You glance at Lynne. She has a compact in her hand, angling the mirror at a stray piece of hair, pretending not to notice.
When you look back, Johnny’s eyes are still on you. Observing, memorizing, whatever it is he does.
Your association with Johnny is… new. You’ve been on a few dates, four to be exact, and each time your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you returned home and he’s already calling to schedule a new one. You’re unsure if you’re part of a rotation of girls, or if you’re the only one he’s seeing. You don't think it's the latter. You’re too shy to ask. What you do know, however, is that you’re certainly not seeing anyone else. Dating is a fickle thing for you, really, and you had only agreed to going out with Johnny because he’d been incredibly persistent. Plus, it is an undeniable and unmoving fact that he is—to the eyes of all—incredibly attractive. You never had it in you to say no.
You feel your face warm up at the intensity of his gaze, looking down briefly at your ballet flats to collect yourself. You look back up and manage a small smile, hoping it comes as casual and not the complete mess you feel inside.
You’re quiet—a plain fact that even Johnny has to have already gotten used to. Words don’t leave your mouth as you hoped it would. You imagine saying something that would elicit a smirk, or something. Instead, you remain silent.
If he notices your nerves, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances behind you at the counter before his eyes light up. “‘That the big speech?”
You nod, instinctively turning and moving the paper to the side and in Johnny’s line of vision to read. You feel the heat of him press against your back.
He pretends to scan the page. His eyes dot over the little notes on the margin, arrows pointing before and between words. His mouth crinkle upwards when he notices the tiny smiley face you’ve written after a particular note, commending Sue on a certain sentence. “So professional,” he says coolly.
Sue finally comes back down the hallway, coat splaying on her arm. She notices you and Johnny and a knowing smile plays on her lips. “Time to go. Are you done flirting with my assistant, Johnny?”
“Not yet,” he rapidly replies, barely sparing his sister a glance before his eyes shift to you and he smiles. It’s small, but carries the weight of mischief and reassurance. “So—how about dinner tonight?”
You blink. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. When you’re done with all this UN business.” His tone is light, but there’s a shift in his eyes like he’s unsure of whether or not your answer will be yes. Hope flickers.
You hesitate, aware of Sue and Lynne’s attention and the fact that your heart is beating way too fast. “I’ll see how late we’re there.”
“That’s not really the answer I was hopi—“
“Johnny,” Sue’s voice cuts through, demanding but light. “I’ll make sure she’s back in ample time if you can let us go.” She frowns at Lynne apologetically. “We’re already running late.”
They’re actually running early, but Lynne has always been a stickler for time. Sue seems to know that.
Johnny grins, as if the answer is as good as yes. “I’ll take it.” He pushes off the counter, standing tall with a kind of confidence only the Human Torch can carry. He leans in and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes scanning your nervous face. “Try not to frown too much until then.”
The weight of Sue and Lynne’s gazes on you is strong.
You try your best to ignore it, following them down the building and into the waiting car.
—
The UN conference goes by smoothly (for the most part), you not really doing much except standing to the side with Lynne while Sue delivers her speech with natural poise. At one point, a reporter walked up to you—nervous, unassuming you—to see if they could get the scoop of something, anything, on Sue Storm. You stared blankly at the reporter, not being trained for anything like this, until Lynne yanked your arm and said unequivocally, “We won’t be taking any questions.” The interaction was over soon after it started, but had left you shaken up, cursing at yourself for not knowing what to do.
The interaction still haunts you as you toe off your flats upon entering your apartment, slinging your bag down on the floor as you make your way to the couch and flop. You wonder if the reporter approached you because maybe you looked too meek to deny anyone a question. You hate that feeling. You always thought a job like yours would be a great way to make an impact while still staying away from the spotlight and glamour of politics, but clearly you had been wrong. Especially if you’re affiliated with someone from the Fantastic Four.
You’re contemplating your life decisions when your chubby tabby, Kiwi, curls himself around your right leg. He sniffs lightly at your work pants before nuzzling his head softly on your shin. You smile, reaching down to pluck the docile animal from the floor and lay him carefully in your arms.
“You don’t have to worry about the press, do you, Kiwi?” you say softly to the cat in your arms, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Well neither do I—anymore, at least. Let’s feed you.”
You make your way to your small kitchen and into the cupboards until you find Kiwi’s food. Your nervous system calms down at the mundanity, continuing your late-afternoon routine of making sure the bowl of food and water is full. When you’re sure that Kiwi is properly satisfied, you leave him and walk into your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes.
You’re slipping off your blazer and blouse, eyes rummaging through your array of t-shirts in your drawer to see which one would be the comfiest to slip on. You pick a tattered college tee, the one where it slips off your shoulders to combat the light warmth with a pair of shorts to match. They have kiss marks printed in a straight pattern, something a friend got you for Valentine’s Day. It’s silk and feels nice on your skin. You slip off the remaining rings that adorn your fingers and hoop earrings, delicately placing them on a tray over your dresser. You breathe in relief, finally feeling normal again.
This is how the rest of your night goes, rummaging through your pantry for a snack and coddling Kiwi on the couch as you sift through various channels on your television. You’re praising Kiwi as he lets out continuous purrs on your lap when there’s a knock on your door.
Your head jolts us, eyebrows furrowing as you gently set Kiwi to the side before making your way to the door.
You open your door curiously, a hint of nerves, only to be met with Johnny.
Your nerves suddenly make more sense.
Your eyes angle up to meet his expression, one showing a bit of alarm.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks plainly, peering into your apartment.
You follow his line of vision, taking in everything he is. There’s a bunch of scattered papers, copies of the latest speech, on your small dining table. Various blankets litter your couch and you have two bottles of polish (one a top coat) on your rug. One part of the string lights you hung around your living room dangles down from when a tack broke and you were too lazy to fix it. Kiwi nudged a few pieces of kibble from his bowl and onto the floor.
It’s definitely not a sight to see for guests.
The silence stretches as you don’t have it in you to reply. What would you say? You were talking to your cat?
Thankfully, Johnny doesn’t wait for your reply. He peers down at your face, a lackluster and slightly disappointed expression. “Sue said you were too tired for dinner.”
You do remember telling Sue that, apologetically asking her to relay the information to Johnny since you probably wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day. It was a little embarrassing, a little scary, as you deny seeing Johnny to his sister. But still, she gave you a kind smile and said that she would tell him.
“But that never usually stops Johnny,” she added after, to which you only offered her a half-smile before scurrying off to Lynne’s side.
You should’ve known he’d show up.
“Sue said to leave you alone to, you know, de-stress, or whatever,” he flails a hand up to convey that he saw that advice as useless. “But you need to eat.”
It’s then that you look down and see the brown bag in his other hand, and the familiar waft of food hits your nose. Your stomach growls.
He hears it, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“It’s from that place you talked about. Chiu’s Garden, remember?”
The shock in you passes like a splash of cold water. You do remember. You said it in passing, once, about the Chinese takeout you get when work gets too busy and the ache in your head gets hard to manage and you don’t want to cook. You had their number memorized, and the workers there greeted you by name. The place isn’t what shocks you. It’s the fact that Johnny of all people remembers.
There are many things you want to say. Starting with Thank you and I hope you plucked the sauce that’s on the counter before you left. But mostly How do you remember?
If Johnny notices your shock at the gesture, he doesn’t comment. Only raising a single eyebrow at you. “Can I come in?”
You realize you haven’t spoken yet. “Are you a vampire?”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, unsure if you meant it as a joke or if it just slipped out because it’s the first thing your mind went to.
Johnny stifles a laugh. “A vampire?”
Well, now you clearly have to give him an explanation. “Vampires need permission to be let into private areas.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in your voice, and you curse yourself once again for not knowing what to say and saying the wrong thing.
He peers at you, eyes squinting and assessing your face. “What have you been watching lately?”
You shrug. You don’t tell him you watched the Scars of Dracula while you were finalizing the last of Sue’s speech the night before. Or how you got fully immersed into it. Or how you talked to Kiwi about how thankful you are that you don’t have a roommate to let unknown strangers into your apartment.
“Well, I’m no vampire,” he says.
There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you realize now that you might be in on a joke you created. Not wanting to disappoint him or bring the mood down because, hey, you’re not in on a lot of jokes, you take a long backwards step back into your apartment. “Prove it.”
Johnny responds by taking a similar long step into your apartment, now standing right in front of you. Your chest nearly meets his as he looks down at you with a smirk. Your heart stutters, and you hope the lack of space between you two doesn’t mean that he can hear it. “See?”
You manage a small nod, walking around him to shut your door. You think your stomach might start doing backflips if you stay that close to Johnny, mind unsure if it’s a rush of nervousness or excitement.
He seems to take your interaction as an acceptance that he’s allowed to be here, in your apartment, and though he’s never been inside, he quickly assesses the layout and walks towards your kitchen.
Kiwi looks as if to say, you let a man into the apartment.
Your eyes reply, I didn’t know he was coming!
“I know I didn’t show it—“ Johnny calls out from the kitchen. You hear the crinkle of the brown bag and food being brought out. “—but I was really nervous that I knocked on the wrong apartment. I only ever walked you to the front of the building!”
You pad the small way to the kitchen, peering in to see him open a plastic container and dip his fingers in to snipe a piece of broccoli.
“I had to look at each door to find your last name,” he says through a mouthful of broccoli. “Thank God you live on the second floor, right?” He turns to meet your eyes, giving you a close-lipped, goofy smile that has your mouth threatening to smile back. When he swallows, he motions to all the cupboards above him. “Do you usually eat with plates or out of the container? Also I brought you orange soda.”
“I—I just eat out the container,” you say softly, leaning against the entryway, arms crossed.
“Perfect! Me too.” He gathers the food into his arms in a perfect balance, picking up the soda can last before motioning past you. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
You watch him maneuver your apartment with ease, as if it isn’t the first time he’s been here. He tiptoes past Kiwi’s kibble on the floor and barely manages to knock down a picture frame that sits at the edge of your coffee table. He mutters an apology before putting the food down and sitting on your couch. “So what are we watching—oh. Hello.” He peers down at your cat, who stares back at him blankly. “Is this the infamous Kiwi? Is this who you were talking to?” He reaches his hand out and scratches behind Kiwi’s ear tentatively, unsure if he would be squeamish or not. Unsurprisingly, Kiwi leans into his touch. Johnny is delighted “We’re going to have great conversations,” he whispers, as if keeping a secret between him and the cat.
You find the sight awfully endearing. You don’t realize you’ve been staring as long as you have until Johnny turns his head to stare at you. “You coming?”
You timidly make your way to the couch, now unsure of how to feel at place in your home when Johnny Storm is in it. Johnny Storm, who despite four dates, you’ve barely gotten used to. You like him (obviously, you’ve let him take you out continuously), but you’re still unsure of what he is to you. The ambiguity of your relationship to him is much easier to stomach when he’s across from you at a restaurant booth, or walking in the park with fresh air around you.
Now—here—with him on your couch, you don’t think you understand your relationship with him all too well. You wonder if he shows up at other dates’ houses like this; their favorite takeout and a soft smile that can quiet any ache. You wonder how different the other girls he sees are from you; if they stumble on their words despite ample practice.
You take a seat on the other end of the couch, Kiwi already taking up space in the middle. You angle yourself to face him, legs tucked under you with your arms still crossed.
“You’re too far away,” he says plainly, as if stating a fact instead of discontentment. “But I have a feeling he’s not going to move anytime soon, is he?”
This gets a laugh out of you, looking down at Kiwi, who blinks slowly at your face. “He’s the boss.”
Johnny lets out a tsk tsk, shaking his head with a grin. “I should’ve known. Guess I’m gonna have to share you tonight.”
The rest of the night goes like this: Johnny shows the various things he bought you from the Chiu’s Garden menu, as he was unsure of what to get you. He has a delightful expression as you express that you like all of them. He pumps a fist in the air and you laugh, leaning down from the couch to pick your food of choice from the coffee table. He makes sure to give you a review of everything he tries, and he’s deeply satisfied, muttering about how you two need to go back together next time. Something flutters in your stomach at the mention of a next time.
Eventually, Kiwi grows bored of the Ted Gilbert Show and hops off the couch, lightly swaying as he makes his way into your bedroom for some peace and quiet. Johnny takes that as an opportunity to sit closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and reaching his other to rest on your knee. He barely pays attention to the ministrations his thumb does on your knee, but it affects you greatly. You, again, wonder if he does this to other girls he’s with. You wonder if it’s stupid that you feel so special.
“Hey.”
You look up at him, brows already furrowed from how hard you were thinking.
“What did I say?” he scolds softly, his hand on your knee leaving as he reaches his thumb in between your eyebrows again. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.”
—
When you’re not suffering from severe imposter syndrome as you play assistant with Lynne for Sue, you’re taking up extra shifts at the coffee shop down your street. You’ve been working here since you were eighteen and trying to pay for college. Now, you’re a little older and trying to pay your college debts. Still, you know the owner, and they’re more than willing to pay you under the table for your efforts to keep the shop afloat when you can.
The line isn’t long and you’re striking up a conversation with Miss Sutton, a regular, as she fishes her purse for change.
“And, Freddie—“ she says, her eyes down at her bag, “—he keeps crying. He’s getting old. ‘Vet said he might be going blind in his right eye.”
Your heart lurches immediately as you imagine yourself in that position; Kiwi growing old and going blind. But he’s only four and you make sure to take him to regular checkups. “I’m so sorry, Miss Sutton,” you say honestly. “Maybe he and Kiwi can have a play date! It might cheer him up.”
She places a few dollars onto the counter and looks at you flatly. “Or remind him of what he no longer has.”
Well, that took a turn.
You smile tensely at the older woman, taking the dollars and commit yourself to counting them instead of making the conversation worse. So much for comfort. She’s fifty cents off, but you don’t mention it.
You busy yourself with making chamomile tea, which is one of the easier orders you’ve had all day (you love a good macchiato with lavender syrup with the nice cold foam on the top, but it’s a fucking hassle to make). You hum a little to yourself, in your element at a place you’re comfortable in. Thoughts of a sick Kiwi and a grumpy Miss Sutton exit your mind.
The bell over the door dings, alerting you of a new customer. You pass the finished drink to your coworker as she finishes heating a pastry. You dust off your hands and turn around.
“Hello, welcome to—“
You’re met with blue eyes, blond hair, and an accusatory look.
Your mind goes blank.
Johnny doesn’t wait for you to finish your obligatory customer greeting, “You’ve been overworking yourself.”
“I—what?”
“You were with Sue all day Tuesday, you cancelled our date yesterday to take a shift here and had an emergency meetup with Lynne, and now you’re back today. You’re overworking yourself.”
You want to say that this is actually what normal people do to make a living, but you don’t say that. Instead, you stare up at his unrelenting gaze and gulp. “Aren’t you—“ your voice comes out squeaky and you clear your throat. “Aren’t you, like, a superhero? You save Earth for a living.”
He shrugs off your answer like it’s nothing.
Beside you, your coworker takes note of Johnny, and gasps.
You both turn your head to the sound.
“You weren’t lying?” she says, mouth wide. “You’re friends with Johnny Storm?”
Johnny immediately looks offended. “Friends?”
“Viv,” you say, ignoring him, “can you go to the back and make sure Hal is done with the croissants batch? We’re out up here.”
Viv looks at you as if to say, you’re kicking me out as if Johnny Storm isn’t right here?
You manage a harsher look, and she’s off, muttering something about getting her camera. You hope to God out of embarrassment that she doesn’t. Johnny visits your place of work and the first thing that happens is your coworker ambushes him. And know he knows that you talk about him.
“I’m sorry about her, I’ll tell her to put her camera away,” you say.
Johnny looks at you, brows furrowing before shaking his head rapidly. “I don’t care about a photo. I care about you. When was the last time you took a break for yourself? Doesn’t Kiwi miss you?”
“… I did a face mask last night,” you say dumbly. You leave out the part where you were on the phone with an airline company until 2AM because you stupidly booked the wrong time for Sue and Reed’s flight to Chicago, face mask forgotten and on for hours while you tried to fix your mistake before Lynne noticed.
The admission seems to calm him down a bit, shoulders sagging as his mind recalibrates. “When do you get off here?”
You don’t really have set shifts, you’ve been here since 10AM and helping out any way you can. Hal had you making croissants with him for two hours until Viv asked for your help at the front. Now, it’s 5PM and the sun is getting ready to set—and you hate that Johnny is right, because you feel wrung out. Your body suddenly becomes more alert of the ache on your temples, and the emptiness of your stomach.
“I can technically leave whenever.”
His eyes light up. “Perfect! You’re leaving now. Grab your coat.”
“Johnny—“
“You can go,” a voice behind you says.
You turn to see Hal and Viv standing together by the door to the back, eyes wide in wonder as they continue to stare at Johnny. It’s a look you recognize from the amount of times you’ve spent with him. It’s why Johnny takes you to restaurants and you get seated at the most private corner, or why he wears sunglasses and a cap in the dead of winter when you stroll through the park. You appreciate the efforts Johnny goes to be unnoticed—knowing you don’t like the attention. But you wonder if that’s just how he’s been going around publicly lately; unnoticed. You realize it’s been awhile since you’ve seen a tabloid of him walking a girl down the street, or a blurry photo of him in a store with someone. Maybe he’s tired of the cameras.
“Are you sure?” you ask Hal.
He nods, taking his eyes away from Johnny to give you a softer look. “Croissants are done, I have Viv to work like a dog—“
“Hey!”
“—we’ll be just fine. Have fun with your friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you fight the blush that threatens to coat your cheeks.
You’re too busy going to the back to grab your coat and purse to notice the shock on Johnny’s face. You give one last goodbye to Hal and Viv before you leave the counter to join Johnny’s side. He waits for you to slip on your coat before placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you out the shop.
You swear you hear a click from Viv’s camera.
You breathe in the fresh, cool air the second you’re out on the street. You watch as Johnny inconspicuously slips on a pair of sunglasses and pulls the hood of his coat up.
He’s silent as you both walk the short distance to your apartment, which is unusual. Usually, he’s already talking your ear off about his day, or something Ben has cooked since he knows your affinity with anything cooking or baking-related. You usually stay silent when he gets like that, listening intently and only giving your input when he manages to force it out of you (even after all this time, you’re still nervous).
But there’s none of that today. Silence stretches even as you enter your apartment building, him holding the door open for you, and as you pat the snow from your boots onto the rug (normally, this is where Johnny says something stupid, like how you both look like ducks shaking water off by a pond). You walk up the stairs and open your apartment door, still silent.
Your stomach churns nervously. You wonder if Johnny is mad at you—for overworking, as he says. If the concern has stretched into anger. Or if Hal and Viv’s peering eyes,, and knowing of him, threw Johnny off, realizing you’re just like any other person who brags about his existence. But it’s not like that! You wonder if you’ve ruined what you and he have—whether you know what you guys are or not.
Finally, as both of your coats have been shrugged off and left on the hook by your door—
“I’m your friend?”
You look up from where you were staring at the floor and furrow your brows. “Hm?”
“That’s how they talked about me,” he says, and you know he’s referring to Hal and Viv. “They said I’m your friend. Is that how you talk about me?”
He stares at you, eyes searching your own as you try to string together a response. “Um… yeah?”
Because you don’t know what else to call Johnny. Johnny who takes you to the most private parts of a fancy restaurant, and brings you takeout when you’re tired, and shows up to work to make sure you haven’t been burnt out. Johnny who now looks down at you with a pained expression, for reasons you’re a little unsure of why. Isn’t that what people are in whatever stage you and Johnny are in? Friends? Isn’t he seeing other people?
Johnny exhales sharply through his nose, walking up to you and shaking his head as if your answer had been outlandish. “That’s really what you think we are?”
Your lips part, but you don’t answer. He’s standing so close now that you can see the faint tint of pink on his nose from the cold. His breath fans down at you. You try to imagine what Johnny wants to hear, but still, you’re unsure. “You and I…” you say slowly, “We’re—what else would we be?”
His jaw ticks. “Together.”
Together. As in, you and Johnny. You think about Johnny walking you to your door, eyes lingering at your lips but he moves to kiss your cheek and you’re convinced you’d just imagined it. Johnny, who has admitted to looking for restaurants with similar dishes to ones you’ve cooked, so you can compare (“I bet yours is better,” he says plainly, taking another bite. “Do you agree? Or are you too modest?”). Johnny and his thumb that grazes the middle of your eyebrows because they’re gonna get stuck like that.
You blink at him, voice small. “Together?”
Johnny genuinely looked confused at your confusion. His brows knot in the way he always tells you to stop doing. “Yeah? Like dating. Together-together. What did you think this was?”
Heat crawls up the back of your neck, mortification and disbelief tangling in a mess that makes it hard to think. “I—I thought you were just being… you know. Nice. How you treat the other girls.”
His head jerks back. “'The other girls'? Well first, nobody’s that nice. At least, not like I have been. I’ve only ever been like this with you.”
Your stomach turns at the admission.
“Second, what other girls? You think I’ve been seeing other people?”
You’re too embarrassed to answer, because you know your answer would be yes. Instead, you huff a large sigh and press your palms to your eyes. “I don’t know what to think right now, Johnny.”
You hear him sigh softly. Two hands reach your wrists. “Hey, hey,” he coos, tone soft as he gently pries your hands away from your eyes. You’re immediately met with a blue storm, swirling with thought and something else that you’re unsure how to name. “I’m sorry if I stressed you out, okay? Come here.”
He envelopes you in a hug, warm and all-encompassing, the kind that makes you realize just how cold the outside has made you without noticing. His chin rests against the top of your head.
Your arms hover at your sides at first, stiff with hesitation. But as you slowly think through Johnny’s words, you melt into him. The exhaustion from the conversation, from work, from everything presses down harder, and the steadiness of his heart against your head makes something inside you settle.
Johnny thinks you too are together.
You wonder how stupid you must really be for not noticing.
“We’re together,” you say softly into his chest, breathing him in.
“We are,” he says, a whisper.. “I’m sorry for not making it more… known. I thought you knew.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head and laughing a little.
“I didn’t know. I’m too in my head about this, you know?” you admit meekly, your mind now re-assessing every interaction you’ve ever had with the boy against you. Re-assessing with the word EXCLUSIVE over every single memory.
The two of you stay tangled in each other’s arms until a small meow interrupts your moment, Kiwi coming to curl around your feet. You untangle yourself from Johnny to pick up the cat, resting his body against your chest as you turn to the side so that Kiwi’s head is facing Johnny.
“Kiwi, this is my boyfriend. I bet you knew that already, didn’t you?” There’s a glee in your voice that has Johnny lighting up, reaching down to give Kiwi a kiss on his head.
“He’s all-knowing,” he adds with a grin. He reaches out to caress your cheek, pulling you back in, Kiwi in the middle. He sighs happily. “You better reintroduce me to Hal and Viv,” he whispers softly into your hair.
I don't even go here but this was such a good fic, the buildup, the tension and the confusion i loved loved loved it! Thank you for this dear author 🫶😋
litany 𓄧 k.mg | masterlist
summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.
and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.
tags 𓄧 detective!au, crime!au vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow burn. fake dating. forced proximity. friends/coworkers to lovers. undercover ops. morally grey characters. mutual pining. found family. feat. various svt members/idols.
warnings 𓄧 this fic contains mentions of blood, death, feeding, ritualistic feedings, medical trauma, abduction, psychological manipulation, and coercive social structures. depictions of violence and systemic corruption are present. themes of bodily autonomy, identity, and consent are central throughout. eventual smut. chapter-specific warnings are included in each chapter’s summary.
velvet eden setlist | mingyu’s stakeout playlist
i. tie a cherry. ii. evidence of absence.
iii. dizzy. iv. parlay. v. the rite.
vi. someone to come home to. vii. fracture.
viii. soft animals. ix. in your mouth, amen.
x. a saint's reliquary. xi. penance.
click here for tag list submission / removal.
The Hunted | JJK x f.Reader
“The lands you were born in long stopped being homes of dragons. Once seen as gods until the humans turned on them. Poverty, war and famine is blamed on them, hatred and prejudices are thrown at them. The so-called Hunters were born out of the human necessity to annihilate anything which doesn’t fit their standards. The true blooded dragons left for better lands, while their half-blood offspring was left behind and persecuted. You were such an offspring. Born on a stormy, cold night, you were abandoned the moment you took your first breath. Jungkook was a Hunter hellbent on claiming your last breath. Unless, funny little destiny plays into his cards.”
Pairing: Monster Hunter!Jungkook x f. Dragonborn!Reader
Genre: Fantasy!AU, e2l!AU, Dark Romance, Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Smut, Fluff in later chapters
Disclaimer: This story contains fantasy racism (humans vs. dragons), very strong language and violence as well as heavy themes of non-con drugging and talks about death in childbirth. It also includes themes of loss & abandonment as well as mentions of violent sex crimes (not by Jungkook). The author does not endorse these actions. On a lighter note, it also includes consensual & very descriptive sexual scenes as well as genuine character development and soft fluff scenes as the story progresses. If you are sensitive to such topics, I advise you read with care. This is a work of fiction and does not correlate with any real-life people.
Wordcount: 120.216
#01 - Long Roads
#02 - Coin, Kings & History
#03 - A Question Answered
#04 - A Small Patch of Home
#05 - The Wandering Market
#06 - Run, Little Dragon, Run
#07 - It Means Nothing, It Doesn’t.
#08 - The Purpose of Doing Good
#09 - So History Doesn‘t Repeat Itself
#10 - The Last Night
#11 - Bounty
#12 - One Year
A Still Day or A Hurricane (Series Masterlist) | JJK
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: single mom lawyer!OC x pastry chef!Jungkook; angst, fluff, smut; slow burn; age gap
Series Warnings: foul/explicit language; mentions of abandonment, death, cheating; case mentions of murder, sexual harassment but I’m shit at law linggo pls forgive me; pregnancy, artificial insemination, child birth; bits of 💔 but so much 💞🌸🌈; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)
Word count: 139.3k
Status: Completed
Series summary: Driven by your perfectionist attitude and need to have everything in order, you planned that by age 30, you’d have made junior partner, bought your own apartment, and have children. You achieved them, of course, and while the last bit required you to take matters into your own hands - no thanks to your ex-boyfriend who dumped you but to your best friend who directed you to a fertility clinic - you’re now a 31-year old who pretty much has her life under control. You’re ready to raise your child on your own, that is, until the 20-something pastry chef flirts his way into your heart, messing up the perfect little life you worked so hard to have for yourself.
Playlist 🎶
A/N: The story that kept me afloat the past few weeks is here! I got an ask a few months ago from @rodejeon about what I think of single mom OC bc we always get single dad jk and I said the first thing I thought of was Leslie Mann’s character in How to Be Single. So that was my inspiration for this - successful woman, flirty younger man - but more.
It’s a little different than what I’m used to writing but I hope you don’t get put off by all the fluff and flirting. Blame instagram and vlive JK. But I just srsly wanted to feel happy and that’s what this story makes me feel. Also features all our favorite men (w/ wooga squad cameo) and an adorable little one whom I fell in love with as well 😍 Please watch out!
Chapter 01 (wc: 10.4K)
Chapter 02 (wc: 10.2k)
Chapter 03 (wc: 9.7k)
Chapter 04 (wc: 10.6k)
Chapter 05 (wc: 8.6k)
Chapter 06 (wc: 11.2k)
Chapter 07 (wc: 13.8k)
Chapter 08 (wc: 11.8k)
Chapter 09 (wc: 12.5k)
Chapter 10 (wc: 12k)
Chapter 11 (wc: 16.2k)
Chapter 12 (wc: 12.3k) || End
#Extras:ASDOAH
masterlist
throttle | jjk - series masterlist
pairing: boyracer!jk x fem reader - mutual disdain to lovers
synopsis
in which jeon jungkook hates speed limits, the local government, and the way that min yoongi looks at you.
current wc: 160,244
warnings: explicit language, drug usage, violence, dangerous driving, smut, and themes of an adult nature. not a mafia au, but teeters around the edges of it. organised crime and corruption are at the heart of the story. the characters have questionable morals and do dumb shit. be prepared to hate them as much as you love them. jungkook is a tittie luvr. no further questions.
specific smut warnings will be given at the start of each chapter - just know that jungkook loves tits, showers frequently and has a tongue piercing. oh and he's blonde he he <3 <3
cross posted to wattpad & ao3
minors dni | start date - late 2021
one - 17.8k
jungkook stops for gas. his receipt reads: petrol (38 litres), samgak gimbap (one), bottle of soju (one), curiosity of the cashier (piqued). - dangerous driving, depictions of violence, foul language, alcohol
two - 13.4 k
you consummate a hypothetical marriage - but hey, on the plus side, at least you can't testify against a spouse, right? - dangerous driving, smut, tipsy hookup
three - 7.5k
in the words of jimin, jungkook is 'all cock and balls, no brain', but luckily that's just how you like your men - smut, car sex
four - 9.1k
jungkook is a pied piper. whether you like it or not, you know you'll let him drag you to the river, just for him to watch you drown. - smut, the angst is upon us
five - 18.5k
you're 'just a friend from daegu' and jungkook is just a big fat filthy liar. - smut, angst intensifies
six - 20k
with lovers like jungkook, there's really no need for enemies - smut, angst
seven - 13.5k
jungkook sniffs powder how he used to sniff your hair; incessantly, obsessively. - depictions of violence, drug usage, angst
eight - 16.5k
yoongi chokes; on your hand around his throat, on his unspoken feelings, and on the courage it takes to tell you he's seeing someone else. - smut, infidelity
nine - 11.4k
you hate jungkook in the same way that teenagers hate their hometowns: no matter how much you want to run from it, you know it will always be the place you go back to.
ten
eleven
