welcome to moafloribunda, a frenchy world ruled by imagination (and cliche, because we're worth it)
léa ● presque trente ans mais en fait 19 ● pense et parle beaucoup en anglais parce que c'est so much better dans ma tête but écrit en français pour les french kpop stans qui ne sont pas forcément à l'aise avec la langue de shakespeare mais qui ont aussi des besoins ● multistan : et assumée parce que pourquoi se limiter avec autant de talent à disposition ??? ● aime reblogguer avec des commentaires en anglais, sorry, c'est tellement plus satisfaisant ● ouverte aux demandes si ça rentre dans mes valeurs
les valeurs : beaucoup d'amour, de l'humour, du sarcasme BEAUCOUP DE SARCASME, de la cohérence avec les caractères des messieurs utilisés, moult utilisation de références pop culture et d'anecdotes sur lesdits messieurs, du rougissement en masse, des clichés à MORT parce qu'on le vaut bien, des papillons qui volent dans la poitrine et plus si affinités
♤ ouverte au suggestif mais pas intéressée par plus et les bails sombres avec des membres jeunes c'est non (la prison vous guette)
genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, superhero au
synopsis: you never thought you’d meet spiderman. hell, you didn’t even like him. but thanks to a very unfortunate web malfunction, you’re now stuck—literally tethered—to him for three whole days. surely it can’t get worse… right?
warnings: kissing obviously, making out, mentions of blood and blasts, reader is lowkey mean, cursing, not proofread
note: hi so i wrote this in like 2 days because all i could think of was the upside down spider-man kiss everytime i listened to upside down kiss. so here's a kind of rushed?yeonjun version, enjoyy!
word count: 5.6k
i made the yeonjun gif out of a tiktok video by user yeonjun_fp, so credits to them for the art!
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
you were dead on your feet.
after back to back lectures, a surprise quiz, and a final group project meeting where no one did their assigned slides, all you wanted was to go home, kick off your shoes, and disintegrate into your bed for the long weekend. you had no intentions of making any plans or attending parties, you just wanted sleep, junk food, and whatever show netflix decided to shove in your face.
you put on your headphones the moment you stepped onto the subway platform, letting the music drown out the evening rush. when the train arrived, you shuffled in, found a seat by the window, and slumped into it like a corpse, your limbs aching in that warm, heavy way that begged for rest.
you were half-dozing by the time the train screeched into the next station. but then—everything jolted violently.
the brakes screamed louder than your music. your body lurched forward. the lights overhead flickered and died. people gasped. someone screamed. and then, before you could even register what was happening, a deafening boom tore through the air. the floor shook, making the train car tilt slightly to one side. your heart jumped into your throat.
“everyone out! get out!” someone shouted.
panic swallowed the crowd like wildfire. passengers shoved, tripped, yelled over each other. in the blur of limbs and chaos, you were pushed out of your seat and jostled toward the open subway doors.
your headphones were ripped from your ears. you barely heard your own gasp as you stumbled out onto the platform, trying to get your bearings, when another explosion rocked the tunnel, stronger this time. dust and smoke poured through the gaps in the ceiling.
you saw it before you could react. a massive chunk of cement was hurtling straight toward you, fast and unstoppable. your legs refused to move. time stalled, every second stretching thin with the awful realisation that this was it. this was how it ended—for no reason, on a thursday, because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
but just before it hit, something yanked you backward, hard.
you cried out as the world blurred around you, a blur of wind and sound and pressure crushing into your chest. you were flying.
your brain screamed that it wasn’t possible, that none of this made sense, but your body was already curled tight against something solid and warm. it took a second to understand that it was a person. no—not just any person.
the red and blue suit. the stupid mask. the goddamn glowing web.
spider-man.
your stomach flipped violently as the city skyline whipped past, your legs dangling uselessly. his arm was locked around your waist, firm and annoyingly confident. a glowing thread of web tech was attached to your wrist, pulsing faintly as it connected you to his suit like a leash. below you, the chaos on the street was a distant noise. above you, the clouds were streaked orange from the setting sun. around you, the wind roared.
and you hated all of it. you had always hated spiderman. he was a self-righteous, cocky, reckless menace. always showing up to destroy half the street in the name of “saving” it. and now here you were, clutched to his chest like some helpless civilian in a comic book.
“put me down!” you screamed over the wind, squirming against his grip. “what the fuck are you doing? put me down, you freak!”
“you’re welcome,” he yelled back, voice muffled through the mask.
“i didn’t ask you to save me!”
“i noticed!” he shot back, and the smirk in his voice made your blood boil.
you struggled the entire way up—clawing at his suit, kicking your legs, swearing every curse you knew under your breath—until finally, he landed with a smooth, practised thud on the rooftop of some high-rise building. your feet hit solid ground again, but your balance didn’t catch up in time. your knees wobbled, and you stumbled forward, dizzy from the whiplash and adrenaline.
“i’m going to throw up,” you groaned, doubling over.
“do it away from the suit, thanks,” he muttered.
but before you could stagger farther, a sharp tug pulled you back—your wrist yanked mid-step until your body collided with his chest again. his arm caught you instinctively, steadying you, but you immediately shoved him away, heart still racing from the fall. that’s when you noticed it.
the thread was still glowing and your wrist was still tethered to it.
“what the hell is this?” you shrieked, holding it up.
the web stretched and shimmered faintly in the light, a sickly silverish glow like it was straight out of some alien movie. it wasn’t even sticky anymore, just fused into your, skin buzzing faintly where it made contact.
“why is this still on me?! get it off!”
“working on it!” he snapped, kneeling to inspect where it fused into his own suit. “it wasn’t supposed to... uh... attach like that.”
“attach like what?” you cried, tugging violently at it. it didn’t budge. “is this a leash? did you just fucking leash me like a dog?”
“you think i wanted this?” he shot up again, exasperated. “i was in the middle of stopping a building from collapsing when you ran into the line of fire!”
“i was just trying to take the subway!”
“and i was trying to stop a criminal from levelling the station! sue me!”
the shouting echoed across the rooftop, both of you standing there like idiots with a literal glowing string binding your bodies together. your breath came out in shaky huffs. your heart was still racing—not just from fear now, but fury, embarrassment, complete disbelief that this was actually happening.
he let out a long sigh, suddenly sheepish. “look... it’s an experimental prototype. a bio-thread. reacts to certain electrical signals. and, apparently, to heartbeats.”
you blinked. “you’re kidding.”
“wish i was.”
your eyes widened as the realisation sank in. “you mean this thing is connected to—”
“your heartbeat, yeah,” he said grimly, arms crossed now.
you stared down at your wrist, horrified. “that’s disgusting.”
“that’s science,” he corrected.
you gave the web another tug, desperate and annoyed. “so how do i get it off?”
he hesitated.
“no,” you said, already dreading it. “no, don’t tell me—”
“we wait,” he muttered. “should dissolve naturally in... seventy-two hours.”
“seventy—?” you choked. “seventy-two HOURS?!”
he raised both hands in defence. “give or take. the tech’s a little moody.”
“you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“i’m really not.”
you groaned so loudly it echoed. then you slumped down onto the edge of the rooftop, cradling your head in your hands, trying not to scream into the skyline.
this couldn’t be real. it was some fever dream. you were probably still on the subway, passed out from exhaustion, hallucinating everything. because there was no way you were actually tethered to the city’s most annoying masked menace for the next three days. you refused to believe it.
but the soft glow from your wrist said otherwise.
“take me home.”
he groaned the second you said it, but you didn’t care. you crossed your arms and tilted your chin up, staring at him stubbornly as the wind from the rooftop whipped around the both of you, the glowing thread still tethering your wrist to his suit like some ridiculous sci-fi leash.
“no way,” he snapped. “i still have to go after that guy. he bombed the train platform—he’s probably already halfway across the city.”
you gaped at him. “are you dumb? you're gonna go fight a criminal—with me attached to you?”
he made a guilty little noise and glanced at the still pulsing thread between you. “...i mean. maybe.”
“maybe?” you hissed. “the police can handle him! you’re not dragging me into some vigilante war zone.”
he hesitated, shoulders slumping, and finally, with a sigh of defeat, muttered, “fine. but where the hell are we gonna live for the next three days?”
you blinked. “we?”
“we,” he said firmly, pointing between the two of you. “we’re literally bonded now. unless you wanna cuddle on a fire escape all weekend, we need somewhere to stay.”
you narrowed your eyes. “there’s no way i’m going wherever you stay. i don’t even know you. you could live in a sewer or like… some creepy underground lair.”
he looked genuinely offended as his mask scrunched up. “i don’t live in a sewer. and it’s not a lair. it’s a… small apartment. cozy, even.”
“yeah, no,” you said flatly. “you’re coming to my place.”
his shoulders sagged even further. “ugh fine. but we’re walking. i’m not swinging again with you screaming in my ear.”
and that’s how you found yourself dragging spider-man—spider-freaking-man—down the street by your wrist like some weird, reluctant pet. you ignored the way people looked. it was late, and luckily, his suit was mostly covered by the hoodie you’d given him. though he kept trying to duck into shadows, mumbling under his breath like a sulking child. the glowing thread shimmered faintly between you, pulling taut every time one of you stepped too far away.
when you finally reached your apartment building, he stared up at it with a kind of wary awe. “damn. you got a high paying job or something?”
you snorted as you opened the door. “i’m a uni student. my parents are just rich.”
he tilted his head at you as you stepped into the elevator. “what uni?”
you told him your school name without much thought, and immediately, his whole body stiffened.
“...wait,” he blurted. “me too.”
you turned to look at him slowly. “what?”
his eyes widened behind the mask. he cursed under his breath and looked away, like he’d just admitted state secrets. “shit. i didn’t mean to say that. ignore that.”
you were about to push him further when the elevator doors opened. just then, your phone buzzed. “takeout’s here.”
he startled like you’d just hit him. “you ordered food?”
“yeah,” you said, tossing your keys onto the counter as you entered the apartment. “i was starving and figured you’d eat too, unless you’re part spider and eat bugs.”
he didn’t dignify that with a response.
you handed him a pair of clean sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt you figured would fit—he disappeared into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later, looking annoyingly good in your clothes. he was tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves pushed up his forearms as he sat across from you at your dining table.
you opened the takeout boxes and passed him one. “pad thai. extra spicy.”
he didn’t move.
“uh, you’re gonna have a hard time eating that with your mask on.”
his arms crossed defensively. “i don’t take off my mask in front of people. especially not people who hate spider-man.”
you scoffed, twirling a noodle around with your chopsticks. “i don’t hate you. i just think you're an annoying menace who causes more problems than he solves.”
“...that’s literally what hating me is,” he muttered.
you rolled your eyes. “look, i don’t care. you saved my life, remember? i won’t tell anyone. just… do it. you won’t survive three whole days eating through the mask.”
he was quiet for a second too long, but then hesitantly spoke up.
“...you won’t tell anyone?”
“swear on my meal,” you said solemnly.
he hesitated one last time, and then with a reluctant sigh, his gloved fingers reached up. you watched as he peeled the mask off in one smooth motion—and everything inside you short-circuited.
because holy. shit.
his face was devastatingly pretty. sharp cheekbones, soft pouty lips, golden skin that caught the light in all the right places. his hair was ruffled and messy, sticking out a little from the mask, and his eyes—big, brown, framed by thick lashes—blinked at you nervously.
“i… did not expect you to be that hot,” you blurted, mouth full of noodles.
he choked on air. “what—”
“no like—i was expecting some weird nerdy guy with maybe a beard.”
he blinked. “wow. thanks.”
you pointed at him with your chopsticks, narrowing your eyes. “wait. i know you.”
he froze at that.
“you’re… that guy from my discrete math lecture. choi yeonjun. you’re always sitting in the front row. you literally answer every question like a damn TA.”
his mouth parted slightly. “you’re the girl who sits in the column next to me. with the giant water bottle and all the highlighters.”
you paused. “...so you’ve noticed me.”
he blinked fast. “uh. yeah. i mean—you stand out. not in a bad way. just—pretty. you’re pretty. not that i notice or anything. well obviously i noticed because i just said it but—”
you snorted. “you’re really awkward without the suit.”
“i’m not—” he groaned, face turning pink. “okay maybe a little. it just gives me a different type of confidence you know?”
you grinned down at your food, heart ticking slightly faster. you didn’t know what was more surreal—sitting across from spider-man, or discovering spider-man was the hot math nerd who sat fifteen feet from you every tuesday and thursday. either way, it was going to be a very long seventy two hours.
you had come to terms with the fact that you were never going to get any real sleep. not when you were forced to lie right at the edge of your own bed, arm dangling pathetically over the side like some kind of human offering.
the glowing web tether was still stuck to your wrist, stretching toward the air mattress yeonjun had flopped onto with a dramatic sigh of exhaustion. you could barely move without yanking his entire body with you, so the only position you could settle in was an awkward sideways curl, with one arm constantly pulled down like gravity itself was trying to remind you of your very stupid, very spider-shaped problem.
you tried to sleep. really. but around three in the morning, right as your eyes were finally starting to blur at the edges, you felt a sudden hard tug on your wrist and then you were falling.
you yelped as your body was jerked right off the mattress, falling with a startled oof directly onto the unsuspecting man on the floor. yeonjun barely even stirred. he let out a sleepy little grunt and instinctively wrapped his stupid, warm, surprisingly toned arms around you like you were some oversized body pillow.
you struggled, wriggling against his grip like a bug under a glass, but it was useless. his arms were locked around your waist, one of his hands now tangled in your shirt, and you could feel the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck.
you hissed his name, trying to peel his fingers off you, but all you got in return was a sleepy pout and a grumbled, “five more minutes.” it would’ve been cute if it wasn’t so infuriating.
and okay, maybe it was a little warm. and his chest was kind of…comfortable. his stupid heartbeat was strong and slow under your ear, and you were so damn tired from the chaotic whirlwind of your spiderweb-tethered day that you just…gave in. your body melted into the warmth of his, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his borrowed hoodie, and for the first time in hours, your eyes slipped shut. surprisingly, it felt safe and grounding. like being held together by something solid in the middle of all the mess.
the next morning though, was...less cute.
“you pulled me off my bed,” you deadpanned as you sat up, pushing off his chest with an elbow. your wrist still glowed faintly, the web tether warm between your skins.
yeonjun blinked up at you, hair sticking in every direction, a blanket half-kicked off the mattress.
“huh?” he said groggily, then sat up fast as memory caught up with him. “wait—shit, did i yank you down?”
you narrowed your eyes. “yes. and then you cuddled me.”
his entire face flushed red. “i did not cuddle you.”
you crossed your arms. “you were purring.”
“that’s slander.” but he looked horrified.
the next twenty four hours were a disaster.
you tripped over the tether so many times that you started to wonder if it had a personal vendetta against your toes. brushing your teeth was like a weirdly synchronised dance of tangled arms and accidental elbow jabs. showering was even worse.
he stood frozen outside the bathroom door, your glowing lifeline stretched taut through the crack, his voice drifting through like a very flustered ghost. “i’m not peeking, okay?!”
“you better not be!” you snapped as you held up a towel like a makeshift curtain while trying to lather shampoo one-handed. “don’t test me, spiderboy, i will kill you.”
“this is humiliating for me too!” he yelled back. “i’m an icon of justice!”
“you’re an icon of annoying!”
you fought like bickering siblings who had never met before yesterday and yet were somehow stuck together for life. every time you tried to do anything, you’d hear him mutter something under his breath like, “why couldn’t i have been bonded to someone normal?” and you’d throw a couch pillow at him.
it was exactly at the point of your worst argument—over whether or not he could eat directly out of the peanut butter jar—that his watch beeped. he glanced down, cursed under his breath, and without any warning, leapt off the couch.
“wait—what the fuck—!” you screamed as your body was yanked clean off the floor.
“shit, sorry!” yeonjun called back mid-air, swinging out the open balcony door like it was a tuesday stroll. “emergency call!”
“emergency call your ass, PUT ME DOWN!”
“can’t! you’re tethered! my bad!”
you flailed helplessly as you were flung through the air, wind screaming in your ears, the skyline of the city blurring past. each time he swung, your body would arc toward him, face practically slamming against his as you bumped into him with every motion. your nose brushed his chin, your cheek scraped his jaw, and one time—one time—your lips accidentally brushed the side of his mask.
you shrieked. “stop swinging like a lunatic and hold me!”
“oh? now you care about being close to me?” he teased, voice gleeful, mask slightly lopsided.
you scowled. “if i throw up, it’s going straight into your face.”
he just laughed, and then like a showoff on steroids he flipped mid-air, feet planting against the side of a glass building, body upside down. the web between you tightened instantly, pulling you forward until your face hovered just inches from his. he didn’t move. neither did you. the air thinned between you, your breath catching as your eyes flicked to his masked face.
your lips were right there.
he grinned.
then dropped you very unceremoniously onto a nearby rooftop with a thud.
“careful, pretty,” he drawled, voice smug. “you almost kissed me.”
you gaped at him. “what the hell?”
“what?” he said innocently, crouching on the edge of the roof like the cockiest bastard alive. “don’t blame me. you’re the one who’s all over me lately.”
“you pulled me into the sky like a rag doll!”
he tilted his head. “and yet, you’re still clinging to me. hmm.”
you chucked a loose brick at him, but he dodged it and just laughed again, sunlight catching his suit as he rose higher on the building’s edge. the way he stood, so confident and self-assured, was almost unrecognisable from the shy, stammering boy who slept in your apartment and accidentally blurted compliments with red cheeks and soft eyes.
because here, like this, in the suit, yeonjun wasn’t flustered. he wasn’t awkward. he was bold and flirtatious and impossible to pin down. and it was beginning to drive you crazy.
“god,” you muttered under your breath, trying to smooth your wind-tangled hair. “your split personality is insane.”
“you like it,” he said with a wink and leapt off the rooftop again, dragging you behind him with a scream echoing into the morning air.
he was heavy in your arms—well, technically you were mostly dragging him, but still, he made a pretty pathetic sight with one arm slung over your shoulder and his mask balled up in your fist.
yeonjun winced with every step as you practically hauled him down the hallway to your bathroom, grumbling under your breath about superhero idiocy and your web-chained fate. his face was pale but smug, which made it hard to feel too bad for him, even with the deep gash on his side bleeding through the slick fabric of his suit.
“could’ve just let me bleed out on the roof,” he joked weakly, slumping down onto the toilet seat. you shot him a look and flicked the bathroom light on.
“how could i? we’re attached to each other because of your stupid web.”
he groaned dramatically as you rifled through the cabinet for your tiny first aid kit. “god, i forget how mean you can get.”
“you’ve known me for two days.”
“and i’ve never known peace since,” he mumbled, hissing when you unzipped the top of his suit. it peeled down like a second skin, sticking slightly to the dried blood at his side, and then it was suddenly just there—his torso, sculpted and gleaming faintly with sweat, all defined lines and soft curves where his skin dipped between muscle. he was flushed down to his chest, breaths short and laboured, and you hated yourself for noticing. your eyes stuttered somewhere between his collarbone and the trail of blood slashed across his ribs. he was stupidly attractive, in that way people weren’t supposed to be when they were bruised and bleeding and shirtless in your bathroom.
you blinked hard to cover it up. “you’re disgusting.”
he grinned. “you’re staring.”
“i’m assessing the wound,” you snapped, even though your voice cracked embarrassingly halfway through.
you knelt beside him, pulling out antiseptic and gauze, trying very hard not to notice the way his thigh brushed your knee. he was warm and so very there, and the web tether between you pulsed quietly, glowing with soft light that gradually brightened as your hands made contact with his skin.
you swore under your breath as the tether suddenly shortened, dragging you even closer until you were practically perched on his leg, trying to clean the gash with shaking fingers.
“stop moving,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.
“you’re literally sitting on me.”
“and you’re literally whining like a baby,” you shot back.
“sorry, i didn’t realise getting stabbed meant i had to also deal with you sitting on me and insulting me,” he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. his voice had dipped lower and softer, with a strange edge of tension beneath the banter, which curled around your lungs and squeezed.
you froze when he tilted his head to look at you, eyes dark and voice barely above a murmur.
“you gonna kiss me or just keep staring?”
you froze at that, heartbeat thudding louder making the web glow brighter. you stared at him, caught between the heat of his skin under your hands and the dare in his voice.
but then your hand shot up and smacked his chest, hard enough to jolt him, and you scrambled off his lap, trying to hide your flaming face behind pure rage.
“get dressed, freak!”
he laughed as you stormed out of the bathroom, muttering something about how you were the weirdest civilian he’d ever met. you didn’t respond with youe usual snarky response as you were too busy pressing your hands to your face and praying the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
later, the both of you ended up back in your bed this time, lying stiffly on either end like two strangers forced to share a lifeboat. the air mattress plan was abandoned mutually, after both of you admitted it had been a disaster the night before. this was... better. except for the thing between you. the glowing thread, taut and warm, stretched like some cursed lifeline from your wrist to his. you turned to your side, glaring at the ceiling.
“this is insane,” you muttered.
“you think?” he sighed. “i was testing a prototype, not... roping myself to a civilian.”
you glanced over at him. his face was turned toward the ceiling too, dark in the low light, jaw sharp and brows furrowed in thought. then he spoke again, voice quiet and strange.
“it’s supposed to sync with biological emotion markers. that’s what the tech does. it connects based on stimulus—heartbeat, adrenaline, whatever.”
he then paused as both of you looked down at the web connecting your wrists. it was glowing again.
brighter.
“is it—” you swallowed, suddenly aware of how fast your heart was beating. “—is it reacting to me… or to you?”
his eyes flicked toward you. something unreadable settled into his expression as he shifted, leaning slightly closer. the tether pulsed, light blooming a little brighter between your wrists. you felt your skin heat where it touched the sheets, the air between your bodies shimmering with something you didn’t want to name.
his hand moved, slow and hesitant, fingers brushing your cheek like he was afraid of scaring you off. it was the first time he touched you that gently. like he wanted to. like this was something he wasn’t allowed to want.
your breath hitched.
but then he blinked, the moment cracking in half as he leaned away quickly and gave a sheepish laugh.
“sorry, i’m being so weird,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “goodnight.”
you stared at him as he rolled to his side, facing away, shoulders tense.
your hand drifted to the tether between you which was glowing faintly now. like it, too, was pretending none of that happened.
the next morning, you woke with a heavy feeling in your chest, the warmth of yeonjun's body pressed against your back where he'd somehow started spooning you during the night.
the cursed bio-web glowed faintly between your wrists, its light weaker now but still stubbornly connecting you to the sleeping superhero whose arm was currently crushing your diaphragm. you tried to shift away, but the movement yanked yeonjun's wrist sharply toward you, jolting him awake with a grunt.
"mmph—w'shappening?" he slurred, blinking sleepily as his free hand came up to rub his eyes. then he froze, suddenly very aware of how his body was molded against yours, his nose buried in your hair.
"oh. uh. morning."
"morning," you muttered, refusing to acknowledge how nice his sleep-rough voice sounded this close to your ear. the web pulsed between you, responding to your elevated heartbeat like the traitor it was.
yeonjun cleared his throat and attempted to roll away, only for the tether to snap taut, dragging you both into an awkward mid-air collision of limbs.
"right. forgot about that," he mumbled, his cheeks pink as he untangled himself. "three days can't end fast enough."
the words shouldn't have stung, but they did.
the day passed in strange pockets of silence and unexpected intimacy. making breakfast was, again a clumsy dance of coordinated movements—you cracking eggs onehanded while he reached across you for the spatula, his chest brushing your back in a way that made the web flare brighter.
by afternoon, you'd developed an unspoken rhythm. studying on the couch meant yeonjun's legs thrown over your lap, his toes occasionally flexing against your thigh. you told him about your classes, the professors you loved and hated, the little things that made you feel like home. he told you about his family, his friends’ relentless teasing, and how sometimes being spider-man meant missing out on the simplest moments. you laughed more than you expected, but the heavy feeling in your heart didn’t go away.
as sunset painted your balcony in gold, you stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the web's glow grow fainter.
"think it'll hurt when it breaks?" you asked, trying to sound casual.
yeonjun flexed his wrist. "dunno. never stuck myself to a pretty girl before."
"shut up," you said without heat, your traitorous pulse making the thread brighten.
right as you said that, without any ceremony it suddenly dissolved. one moment the connection was there, thrumming with energy. the next, there was nothing. your wrist felt strangely light, the skin unmarked as if the tether had never existed. the sudden freedom was more disorienting than the fall from the subway platform three days ago.
yeonjun cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. "so. uh. guess i should..." he gestured vaguely toward the skyline.
"yeah," you agreed too quickly. "crime to fight. people to save. all that."
an awkward beat passed before he suddenly pulled you into a stiff hug, his hands patting your back like he was unsure of what he was doing. "see you in class," he mumbled into your hair before releasing you like you'd burned him.
you nodded, a little breathless. “yeah.”
you watched quietly as he slipped the mask back up, eyes meeting yours one last time before he waved goodbye and launched himself into the air with a graceful swing. the sight left a hollow ache in your chest, the cool evening breeze whispering around you as you leaned on the balcony railing and closed your eyes.
just as you were wondering how the hell you were going to say hi to him on campus, a shadow suddenly blocked the fading sunlight in front of you. you opened your eyes and smiled. there he was—spider-man, hanging upside down right before you. the mask’s white eyes blinked slowly, hesitating.
"miss me?"
you let out a startled yelp which turned into a punch that sent him swinging backward with a laugh.
"you absolute asshole!" you hissed, heart hammering. "what the hell are you—"
"forgot something," he interrupted, catching himself on the railing. his voice was oddly nervous as the white lenses of his mask stared at you. "the web's gone but... my chest still feels kinda tight? like there's still a tether there. that's... not normal, right?"
you blinked. "your... chest?"
"yeah." his gloved hand came up to rub at the black spider emblem. "right here. it's weird. hurts a little. think i need you to check—"
"you're such a terrible liar," you breathed, but your hands were already reaching for his mask. this time, you pulled it all the way off.
yeonjun's face was flushed, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you with an expression so open it made your knees weak. there was no smugness behind it, just nervous hope.
"so?" he whispered. "you gonna check or what?"
your fingers curled around his jaw. "shut up and kiss me, spider-boy."
he didn't need to be told twice.
the first kiss was messy—yeonjun still upside down, your hands fumbling with his hair as he gripped your waist to keep you both from toppling over. your upper lip brushed against his lower one first, that plush swell of his mouth impossibly soft against yours, and then he was kissing you back properly, his lips moving with a desperate hunger that made your head spin. the contrast was intoxicating—the way your upper lip caught slightly on the perfect curve of his lower one before he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that had you clutching at his shoulders for balance. when you bit his lower lip, he actually whimpered, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises.
"fuck," he panted when you broke apart, his pupils blown wide. his lower lip glistened where you'd nipped it, that perfect pout even more swollen now. "was that—are we—"
"if you don't kiss me again in the next three seconds, i'm pushing you off this balcony."
he grinned, wild and bright, before surging forward. this time, he flipped mid-kiss, his body twisting until he was pressing you back against the railing, his thigh slotting between yours. your upper lip caught on his again in that delicious way, the sensitive skin tingling where it dragged against the fuller curve of his lower lip before his tongue swept into your mouth.
the heat of him was everywhere, his hands roaming your back with none of the hesitation he'd had while tethered. when you moaned into his mouth, he swallowed the sound greedily, his lower lip catching on yours as he pulled back just enough to tease before diving in again.
"still think i'm a nuisance?" he murmured against your lips, his teeth scraping your jaw, his lips brushing yours with each word.
"shut up," you gasped, arching into him. your lips dragged against his as you spoke, the fleeting contact making him shudder. "just because i want to make out with you doesn't mean i approve of your reckless vigilantism."
yeonjun laughed, the vibration travelling straight through your chest as he lifted you effortlessly onto the railing. your legs locked around his waist on instinct, his hands gripping your thighs as he kissed you again, deeper this time. his lower lip slotted perfectly between yours, that plush softness yielding to your teeth when you bit down gently, and the groan it tore from him was better than any sound you'd heard in your life.
"good thing i don't need your approval," he teased between kisses, each brush of his lips against yours more deliberate now, his upper lip catching on yours in ways that made your toes curl. "just your mouth. and your hands. and maybe—"
you cut him off with another kiss, your fingers tightening in his hair. the city stretched out below you, endless and bright, but all you could focus on was the way yeonjun shuddered when you tugged him closer, the way his heart pounded against yours —no web needed this time to prove you were connected.
genre: hogwarts au, brother's best friend trope, fluff
synopsis: you tried to ignore how ni-ki made your stomach flip. you really did. all you wanted was a normal term at hogwarts. instead, you’re dealing with a love-potion-struck ni-ki, whose clinginess and love struck antics are giving your poor heart(and patience) a workout. your brother thinks it’s hilarious. you think you might combust. and ni-ki? he just wants to snuggle forever.
warnings: lots of kissing, they makeout, hickeys, skin-ship, cringey nicknames, some angst, clingy! lovestruck!ni-ki
note: for the anon who wanted a ni-ki hogwarts au, so sorry for the delay!!😭 halfway into writing this i realised my nonchalant bro ni-ki would NEVER act like this but proceeded anyway since it's fiction so enjoyy reading!!
word count: 7.7k
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
you told yourself this term would be different.
no more stolen glances across the great hall, no more lingering in the library just to catch a glimpse of his messy hair as he flipped through spellbooks. ni-ki was your brother’s best friend—always had been, always would be. that fact was as unchangeable as the house colours on your robes. and yet, every time he slung an arm around your brother’s shoulders, laughing too loud in that carefree way of his, your pulse betrayed you.
it wasn’t fair.
he was everywhere. lounging in the common room like he owned it, tossing a snitch between his hands while your brother groaned about quidditch drills. leaning over your shoulder in potions, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "you’re adding too much lacewing, y/n." his fingers brushing yours when he passed you a vial, the contact brief but enough to send sparks up your arm. you hated how your body reacted—how your stomach twisted, how your cheeks burned when he smirked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.
you were good at pretending. you had to be. when he flicked your quill during study sessions, you rolled your eyes instead of smiling. when he called your name across the courtyard, you waved half-heartedly instead of sprinting to him. when he winked at you—always winking, always teasing—you looked away before he could see the way your breath hitched.
but then there were the moments you couldn’t control. the way your gaze lingered when he stretched after quidditch practise, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. the way your heart stuttered when he ruffled your hair, his laugh ringing in your ears. the way you memorised the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy.
you were pathetic.
this term, you swore, would be different. you’d focus on your studies, on your friends, on anything but him. you’d stop daydreaming about what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looked at the quidditch pitch—like it was the only thing that mattered. you’d stop wondering if he ever thought about you when you weren’t there.
because ni-ki wasn’t yours. he never would be.
and yet, when he slid into the seat beside you at breakfast, his knee pressing against yours under the table, your resolve crumbled all over again.
damn it.
. . .
you should’ve known better than to think this term would be easy.
the common room was its usual mess of noise and warmth—crackling fire, hushed gossip, the occasional shriek of laughter as someone recounted their latest mishap in potions. you were tucked into your favourite corner of the couch, a well-worn copy of advanced arithmancy open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. your friends were bickering good-naturedly beside you, debating whether transfiguration or charms was the more practical subject, but you weren’t really listening. your mind kept drifting, as it always did, to the one person you were desperately trying not to think about.
then the door burst open.
a group of seventh-years stumbled in, grinning like they’d just pulled off some grand scheme, and dumped a tray of shimmering, unnaturally bright sweets onto the low table in the centre of the room. the candies pulsed faintly, shifting colours like liquid trapped in sugar shells, looking clearly enchantwd. a few curious hands reached out, but the seventh-years just smirked and said, "dare you to try one," before sauntering off, leaving behind a ripple of nervous excitement.
you barely had time to roll your eyes before the common room door swung open again, and there he was.
ni-ki.
your breath caught.
he was still in his quidditch gear, his hair damp and tousled from the showers, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the evening air. your brother trailed behind him, complaining loudly about some foul during practise, but ni-ki wasn’t listening. he was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face alight with that effortless joy that made your chest ache.
then his gaze flicked to the tray of sweets.
"what’s this?" he asked, already reaching for one, his fingers closing around a candy that glowed a dangerous shade of pink.
something in your gut twisted.
"ni-ki, don’t—" you started, scrambling to your feet, but it was too late. he popped it into his mouth without a second thought, chewing once before his entire expression shifted.
his eyes, sharp and playful, always so alive suddenly went soft and unfocused. then they locked onto you, wide and wondering, like he was seeing you for the first time.
"you’re beautiful," he breathed, voice low and awed, as if the words had been pulled out of him against his will.
the common room went quiet. your friends stopped mid-sentence. your brother blinked, confused. and you? you couldn’t move.
ni-ki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in three long strides, and before you could even think to step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole your breath. his cheek pressed against the curve of your neck, his exhale warm against your skin. his hands were tentative at first, fingers brushing your waist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—then, as if something in him snapped, they fisted in the fabric of your sweater, dragging you even closer.
you froze.
his heartbeat thudded against yours, rapid and unsteady. his scent—fresh grass and something faintly sweet, like strawberries—flooded your senses. you could feel every shift of his body, every unsteady breath he took, and it was too much. your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land, but your traitorous heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.
"ni-ki," you managed, voice embarrassingly shaky. "what are you—"
he didn’t let you finish. he just nuzzled closer, his nose brushing your jaw, and murmured, "you smell nice."
your brother choked on his drink. someone giggled. your face burned.
this was bad. this was so bad.
because even as your brain screamed at you to push him away, to laugh it off like it was nothing, your body betrayed you. your fingers curled into his quidditch jersey, clinging just a little too tightly. your breath hitched when his thumb brushed your hip, absentminded but deliberate. a tiny, reckless part inside of you never wanted him to let go.
the candy was obviously cursed. it had to be. there was no other explanation for the way ni-ki was holding you like you were something precious, like he’d been waiting years to do this.
but then his lips brushed your ear, his voice so soft only you could hear it.
"i’ve wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, and your stomach dropped.
because what if it wasn’t just the candy?
what if, underneath the enchantment, some part of him meant it?
your brother’s voice cut through the haze. "alright, what the hell did you give him?"
laughter erupted around you, but you barely heard it. ni-ki’s arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin, and you realised with terrifying clarity—
this was only the beginning.
the next few minutes passed in a blur. your friends were howling with laughter, your brother was torn between amusement and concern, and ni-ki—ni-ki wouldn’t let go. not when you tried to gently pry his fingers from your sweater, not when your brother clapped him on the shoulder and said, "mate, you’ve got to snap out of it." he just held on tighter, his face buried in your hair, murmuring things that made your cheeks burn.
"your hair’s so soft."
"you’re perfect."
"i love the way you laugh."
each word sent a fresh wave of panic through you. because this wasn’t just some silly, fleeting crush anymore. this was ni-ki—your brother’s best friend, the boy you’d spent years pretending not to adore—holding you like you were the only thing that mattered, saying things you’d only ever dreamed of hearing.
and you had no idea what to do.
"we should get him to madam pomfrey," your brother said finally, though he was grinning like this was the best thing he’d seen all year.
ni-ki made a noise of protest, his arms tightening around you. "no," he mumbled against your shoulder. "stay with y/n."
your heart skipped.
your brother sighed. "alright, fine. but you’re coming with me, lover boy."
ni-ki whined—actually whined—but your brother was relentless, peeling him off you with a strength born of years of dealing with his antics. ni-ki’s hands lingered, his fingers brushing yours as he was dragged away, his eyes never leaving your face.
"i’ll find you later," he promised, voice still thick with whatever enchantment had taken hold of him.
your stomach flipped.
as the common room door swung shut behind them, the room erupted into chaos—laughter, theories about what kind of spell had been on those candies, bets on how long it would take for ni-ki to recover. but you just stood there, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you, your heart racing like you’d just run a mile.
when madam pomfrey had examined him the night before, her lips had pursed in that particular way that meant trouble.
"this isn't your standard amortentia variant," she'd muttered, her wand tracing glowing patterns over ni-ki's dazed expression. "it's one of those experimental brews the seventh years keep inventing. it'll have to run its course naturally."
you'd nearly choked when she'd added, "could be a day, could be a week," just as ni-ki blissfully unaware of your internal crisis, chose that moment to nuzzle his face against your hand like an overgrown puppy, his lips brushing your knuckles in a way that sent electric jolts up your arm.
"my moonbeam," he sighed dreamily, completely ignoring madam pomfrey's exasperated eye-roll. "your skin is so soft. are you made of clouds? you must be made of clouds."
your brother, the absolute traitor, was filming the entire thing on his enchanted camera.
but nothing, not even the humiliation of the hospital wing visit could have prepared you for the absolute nightmare that was the next morning.
the morning light filtering through your dormitory curtains was soft and golden, promising a slow, lazy day. you were still half-buried in your blankets, caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, when the first sign of trouble came.
a faint creak of the door. the rustle of fabric. you assumed it was just one of your roommates returning from an early shower, until—
thud.
a muffled "oof" that you'd recognise anywhere.
your eyes flew open just in time to see ni-ki picking himself up from where he'd tripped over someone's abandoned shoes, his hair sticking up in every direction, still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. when he saw you looking, his entire face lit up like you'd cast the sun itself.
"good morning, sunshine!" he chirped, already climbing onto your bed before you could process what was happening.
the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled at the foot of your bed, beaming at you like this was completely normal.
"i waited outside for two hours. did you know the stairs turn into a slide if you're a boy? so rude. i had to bribe a first-year to tell me the password instead."
you sat frozen, your sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. behind you, one of your roommates choked on her toothpaste. another pulled her blanket over her head with a groan.
"ni-ki," you hissed, acutely aware of your messy hair and the fact your pyjama top had slipped slightly off one shoulder, "you can't just—"
"but i missed you," he interrupted, as if this explained everything. his fingers found yours, lacing them together with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. "the second you left last night, my heart started aching. is that normal?"
he brought your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the steady beat beneath his shirt. "it feels normal when it's you."
you were going to find those seventh-years and strangle them with their own shoelaces.
his thumb traced the arch of your eyebrow, then drifted down to the curve of your cheek. you stopped breathing. the early morning light gilded his features in soft gold, catching on the tiny scar above his lip from that quidditch accident last year. you'd never been this close before, close enough to count his faint freckles, to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
before you could react, he was leaning in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple. then another just below your ear. then another along your jawline—each one lingering just a second too long, his breath warm against your skin.
"ni-ki—" you gasped, but he just hummed and continued his lazy path of destruction, his lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear that made your toes curl.
"you're so soft here," he murmured against your skin, his free hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as his mouth continued its devastating exploration. "and here." another kiss, this time to the corner of your jaw. "and here." his lips grazed the pulse point beneath your ear, and you swore your heart stopped.
when you tried to squirm away, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you back against him with embarrassing ease.
"where do you think you're going, snugglebug?" he teased, nuzzling into your neck. "i just got comfortable."
you were going to die. actually die. right here in your pyjamas with ni-ki's stupidly perfect lips tracing nonsense patterns across your skin.
"this isn't—you can't just—" you stammered, but your traitorous body was already melting into his touch, your hands fisting in the sheets to keep from reaching for him.
ni-ki pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something you couldn't name.
"can't just what?" he challenged softly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "can't tell you how pretty you look in the morning? can't kiss every single mole on your face?" to demonstrate, he pressed his lips to the tiny one near your eyebrow. then the one by your nose. "can't adore you the way i've always wanted to?"
your breath caught. that couldn't be—he didn't mean—
before you could overthink it, his mouth found yours in a kiss so sweet it made your chest ache. just a brush of lips, barely there, but it shattered you completely. when he pulled away, his smile was brighter than the sunrise streaming through your windows.
"pancakes?" he asked, as if he hadn't just rewritten your entire universe with one kiss.
you could only nod, dazed.
as ni-ki helped you up (his hands lingering at your waist, his lips stealing one last kiss from your cheek), you caught your dormmates' wide-eyed stares in the mirror. one mouthed "holy shit" while another gave you a thumbs up.
you were so, so screwed.
. . .
breakfast in the great hall was nothing short of a public execution.
the moment you sat down, ni-ki was there, sliding onto the bench so close his thigh pressed flush against yours, his arm immediately curling around your shoulders like a possessive, overly affectionate scarf. when you reached for the pumpkin juice, his hand shot out, intercepting yours with a delighted gasp.
"let me," he insisted, pouring it for you with the kind of exaggerated care usually reserved for handling ancient, fragile artifacts.
he even made sure to wipe the rim of the glass with his napkin before handing it to you, his eyes sparkling. "you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, my precious little pumpkin."
you choked on air.
across the table, your brother was already losing it, his spoon clattering into his porridge as he doubled over with laughter. tears were actually streaming down his face.
"oh, this is too good," he wheezed, slapping the table. "this is the best day of my life."
you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. "stop encouraging him."
"encourage him?" your brother gasped, wiping his eyes. "merlin’s beard, i’m taking notes!" to your absolute horror, he pulled out an actual notebook and scribbled something down. "'my precious little pumpkin'—that’s gold."
ni-ki, blissfully unaware of your suffering, was now meticulously cutting your toast into heart shapes with the precision of a master chef.
"you need proper nutrition," he informed you, deadly serious, as if this were a matter of life and death. "how else will you stay as perfect as you are?"
you buried your face in your hands, willing the ground to swallow you whole.
it only got worse. when you tried to take a bite of your eggs, ni-ki intercepted your fork, holding it up to your lips himself.
"say 'ah,'" he coaxed, grinning when you glared at him. "come on, sweetheart. you’ll waste away if you don’t eat properly."
"i can feed myself," you hissed through gritted teeth.
"but where’s the fun in that?" he pouted, leaning in until his nose brushed your cheek. "let me take care of you. just for today."
you caved, because apparently your willpower had abandoned you the second ni-ki decided to turn your life into a romantic comedy. as you reluctantly took the bite, his entire face lit up like you’d just handed him the moon.
"good?" he asked, thumb brushing the corner of your lip to catch a crumb that wasn’t even there.
you were going to combust.
your brother, the absolute traitor, was now narrating the entire ordeal to jake like it was a quidditch commentary. "and ni-ki goes in for the kill—oh! he’s wiping her mouth! ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history!"
you threw a piece of toast at his head.
ni-ki, meanwhile, had moved on to rearranging the fruit on your plate into what appeared to be a smiley face. "you didn’t eat enough blueberries yesterday," he informed you, as if he’d been keeping track. "they’re good for your brain. and your eyes. and—"
"my soul?" you deadpanned.
"exactly," he said, completely serious, popping one into your mouth before you could protest.
by the time breakfast was over, half the great hall was watching your personal nightmare unfold with varying degrees of amusement and envy. ni-ki, still glued to your side, was now insisting on carrying your bag for you, despite your protests.
"you’re ridiculous," you muttered as he slung it over his shoulder, his free hand immediately finding yours again.
"ridiculous for you," he corrected, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
your brother fake-gagged behind you.
you were going to murder them both.
classes were somehow worse. in charms, ni-ki kept whispering ridiculous compliments every time the professor turned his back.
"your eyelashes are like tiny works of art," he sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. "do they sparkle in the sunlight or is that just magic?"
when you shushed him, he pouted so dramatically that even the professor noticed. "mr. nishimura, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"just that y/n is the most brilliant witch in hogwarts," ni-ki announced proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal answer. "and possibly the universe."
the class erupted into giggles. your face burned so hot you were surprised your hair didn't catch fire.
by lunchtime, you'd developed a new survival strategy: complete and utter surrender. when ni-ki insisted on carrying all your books (stacked precariously in his arms because he refused to use a charm that might "strain their delicate pages"), you stopped protesting. when he fed you bites of his treacle tart ("you need the sugar, my little sugarplum"), you accepted it with minimal grumbling. when he held your hand everywhere you went, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin, you stopped trying to pull away.
it was easier this way.
(and if part of you secretly thrilled at the warmth of his hand in yours, well, no one needed to know that.)
the common room was warm, the warmth making your eyelids heavy and your thoughts slow. the fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the scattered books and half-finished homework. you were trying to focus on your essay, really trying, but it was hard when ni-ki kept shifting beside you, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair.
every time you moved, his hand would tighten just a little, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. when you reached for your pen, he intercepted your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a quiet hum.
"your hands are cold," he murmured, bringing them to his lips to blow warm air across your skin. the gesture was so tender it made your chest ache.
across the room, your brother and his friends were playing some loud card game, but you could feel their eyes darting over to you every few seconds, their grins barely hidden. you shot them a glare, but it only made them laugh harder.
"are you comfortable?" ni-ki asked suddenly, his free hand brushing a stray hair behind your ear. his touch lingered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he was memorising it. "you seem tense."
you swallowed. "i’m fine."
he frowned, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he studied your face. then, without warning, he pulled you sideways until your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away.
"better?" his breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and sleepy.
"ni-ki—"
"shh," he interrupted, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder and neck. "just relax. i’ve got you."
one hand traced slow circles on your stomach, the other playing with your hair, his fingers moving in a rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.
it was too much. the warmth of him, the way he smelled like fresh laundry and something sweet, the steady beat of his heart against your back—it was all so dangerously comforting. against your better judgement, you felt yourself sinking into him, the tension leaving your shoulders one breath at a time.
until he spoke again.
"you smell amazing," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "like vanilla and... something else. just you."
his arms tightened slightly. "i could stay like this forever."
a choked noise escaped your throat. the entire common room seemed to be watching now, their conversations forgotten in favour of your humiliation. even the portraits on the walls were leaning in, their painted eyes wide with amusement.
"ni-ki, people are staring," you hissed, trying to squirm away.
he made a soft, wounded sound, his grip tightening. "let them stare," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. then, quieter, just for you: "you’re perfect. why wouldn’t they want to look at you?"
your face burned. "that’s not—"
"i mean it," he continued, undeterred. his chin rested on your shoulder, his voice dreamy.
"the way your eyes get all squinty when you’re trying not to laugh. how you bite your lip when you’re thinking." his fingers found yours again, lifting them to press a kiss to each knuckle. "the little noises you make when—"
"okay!" you lurched forward, nearly falling off the couch in your haste to escape. "i think i left my—my astronomy book in the library!"
ni-ki’s face fell. "i’ll come with—"
"no!" you stood too fast, your vision swimming. "i mean—you should stay. here. with my brother." you shot your brother a desperate look, but the traitor just grinned and raised his drink in salute.
for a long moment, ni-ki just stared at you, his eyes suspiciously shiny. then his lower lip actually trembled.
"you don’t want me to come," he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question.
the entire room went silent. even the fire seemed to pause.
you opened your mouth. closed it. the words "it’s not that" died on your tongue when his expression crumpled, like you’d just kicked a puppy.
your brother sighed dramatically. "just take him with you," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "before he starts crying and ruins my winning streak."
ni-ki’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. he was on his feet in an instant, gathering your books and pens with single-minded determination.
"i’ll carry your stuff," he announced, already stacking your papers neatly. "and your sweater. and that water bottle you forgot yesterday. and—"
you buried your face in your hands as the room erupted into laughter. somewhere to your left, someone whispered, "ten bucks says he proposes by friday."
as ni-ki proudly handed you your neatly stacked belongings, beaming like he’d just won the lottery, you came to a terrible realisation:
you were so, so screwed.
the afternoon sun was warm on your skin as you sat on the weathered wooden bench near the greenhouses, your textbook propped open in your lap for the quiz you had in next period—or at least, it had been, before ni-ki decided your lap made for a much better seat. the spell still hadn’t worn off.
once again he was all up in your personal space, sprawled across you now, his long limbs tangled with yours, his arms curled tightly around your waist like he was afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly. his head was nestled against your shoulder, his soft hair brushing your jaw, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against your collarbone, warm and familiar.
his fingers traced absent, lazy circles on your arm, his touch feather-light but enough to send tiny sparks skittering across your skin. you tried to focus on the page in front of you, really tried, but it was impossible when ni-ki kept nuzzling closer every time you shifted, his lips brushing the curve of your neck in a way that made your pulse stutter. it was ridiculous. embarrassing, even. and yet—despite yourself—you felt your body softening into his, your free hand coming up to card through his hair almost without thinking.
just then, the crunch of footsteps on gravel made you glance up. your brother stood a few feet away, eyebrows nearly in his hairline, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“wow,” he said, crossing his arms, “you two might as well get a room already.”
ni-ki lifted his head just enough to flash him a cheeky smile, his arms tightening around you. “we tried,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence, “but she said she had class.”
your brother barked out a laugh so loud it startled a nearby group of first-years, who scurried away like frightened mice. you, on the other hand, felt your entire face ignite.
“ni-ki,” you hissed, smacking his shoulder, “stop being a weirdo.”
but he only chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. before you could scold him further, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just a second too long. “you’re too warm to resist,” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.
you wanted to protest. wanted to shove him off and tell him to quit messing around, to stop saying things that made your heart do stupid, traitorous flips in your chest. but the words died in your throat when he tilted his head up to look at you, his dark eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, his smile so fond it made your ribs ache.
your brother whistled. “yep, i’m definitely telling mom about this.”
“don’t you dare,” you snapped, but your voice lacked any real heat—especially when ni-ki shifted in your lap, his nose brushing yours, his fingers threading through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“let him,” ni-ki said, grinning. “i’ve got nothing to hide.”
you groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. this was a disaster. you were a disaster. and yet—when ni-ki’s laughter rumbled against you, when his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that stupidly gentle way of his—you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
that same evening you decided to sneak off to the library to finally get some studying done, but ni-ki had caught you in two minutes with a pouty look on his face. so, here you were now—at the library which had always been your sanctuary, a quiet place where you could escape everything—until now. the flickering candlelight made the words in your potions textbook blur together, but you hadn't registered anything in front of you in at least fifteen minutes. not with ni-ki pressed against your back like a second shadow, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he lazily flipped through your notes with one hand while the other traced mindless patterns on your thigh.
"you're skipping the good parts," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, his breath warm against your neck. his finger landed on a passage about amortentia variants. "this is where it gets interesting."
you swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. "we're supposed to be researching counters, not reading about how love potions work."
ni-ki hummed, nuzzling closer until his lips brushed the sensitive spot behind your ear. "maybe i like knowing how it works," he whispered. "maybe i want to understand why i can't stop thinking about you."
the book nearly slipped from your hands. "that's—that's just the potion talking."
"is it?" he shifted suddenly, turning you to face him with surprising gentleness. the candlelight caught in his dark eyes, making them glow. "then why did i watch you all last term? why did i always find excuses to sit by you in the great hall? why—"
"shh!" you glanced frantically at the librarian, who was glaring from her desk. "you're going to get us kicked out."
ni-ki only grinned, unrepentant, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "worth it," he breathed. his fingers tangled with yours, squeezing gently. "you're so pretty when you're flustered."
"you're impossible," you muttered, but the protest was weak—especially when he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with exaggerated care.
"only for you." his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "your heart's going crazy. is that the potion too?"
you couldn't answer. not when he was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing that mattered. not when his free hand came up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering at your jawline.
the moment stretched, fragile and breathless, until ni-ki suddenly yawned, the spell breaking as he slumped against you with a quiet groan.
"m'sleepy," he mumbled, his words slurring as he nuzzled into your neck. "your hoodie smells nice. like... like vanilla and that lavender soap you use."
you stiffened. "how do you know what soap i use?"
he didn’t answer, already half-asleep against you, his arms slipping around your waist like living seatbelts. you tried to return to your research, really tried, but how could you focus when every other page was punctuated by ni-ki's soft murmurs of "love you" and "so warm" against your skin? when his fingers would tighten unconsciously whenever you shifted, as if afraid you'd disappear?
frustrated, you turned another page with more force than necessary, your eyes scanning for anything about countering experimental love potions. that's when you saw it—a faded footnote nearly obscured by water damage:
"when the subject already harbours affection for the potion's target, the effects intensify tenfold, blurring the lines between enchantment and genuine feeling. in such cases, the potion acts not as creator, but as catalyst—removing inhibitions and amplifying existing emotions that the brewer may have otherwise concealed."
the words hit you like a bludger to the chest. your hands trembled as memories surfaced—ni-ki always volunteering to be your partner in potions, his laughter a little too bright when you brushed against him. the way he'd show up in the library "by coincidence" whenever you studied alone. how his teasing had always carried an edge of something warmer, something deeper you'd been too afraid to name.
"y/n?" ni-ki's voice was thick with sleep, but his gaze was startlingly clear as he lifted his head. "you okay? your heart's going crazy again."
"i found something," you whispered.
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours as he peered at the book. too close. always too close. you could count his eyelashes from here, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"huh," he said after a moment, surprisingly lucid. "so you're telling me i didn't stand a chance?"
"what?"
ni-ki smiled, slow and devastating. "even without the potion," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, "i was already gone for you. this just... made it harder to hide."
his thumb brushed your lower lip, feather-light. "do you hate that?"
you couldn't breathe. couldn't think. the library, the book, the world outside this moment—none of it mattered. not when ni-ki was looking at you like you were his entire universe. not when his confession hung between you, raw and terrifying and beautiful.
the librarian's sharp cough shattered the moment. "if you two can't keep quiet," she snapped, "i'll have to ask you to leave."
ni-ki didn't even glance her way. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his fingers still tracing nonsense patterns on your wrist. "well?" he whispered, so quiet only you could hear. "do you want me to stop?"
that was the problem. you didn't. not really. not when every touch set your skin on fire, not when his sleepy "i love you"s had started to sound like home.
your silence was answer enough. ni-ki's grin could have powered the castle lamps as he tucked you back against his side, pressing one last kiss to your temple before nuzzling into your hair. "knew it," he murmured triumphantly.
and as you sat there, surrounded by dusty books and the steady rhythm of ni-ki's breathing, you realised with terrifying clarity that you had no idea how you would deal with this once he gets back to his normal self.
because somewhere between his whispered confessions and the way his hands always found yours, your heart had stopped questioning whether his feelings were real—and started wondering when yours had become so painfully obvious.
the next morning, you stirred awake to the unfamiliar weight of someone pressed flush against your back, their arms locked securely around your waist like living chains. for one disoriented second, your sleep-fogged brain couldn't process why your bed felt smaller, warmer—until ni-ki nuzzled into the nape of your neck with a sleepy sigh, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent immediate sparks down your spine.
you stiffened, memories flooding back - last night's study session in the library that had stretched too late, your reluctant agreement to let him walk you to your dorm, and then...oh. then his pleading eyes in the dim torchlight, his fingers playing with yours as he'd whispered, "just five minutes? i'll be good." and like the weak-willed fool you were, you'd caved, cracking the door just enough for him to slip in before anyone noticed.
except apparently "five minutes" had turned into him sneaking under your covers when you'd fallen asleep, his body curled around yours like a second shadow. even now, his knee was wedged between yours, his chest rising and falling against your back in a steady rhythm that suggested he'd been awake for a while, just...holding you.
"morning," ni-ki murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you shivered, feeling his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.
you tried to turn, to protest this ridiculousness, but his arms only tightened, pulling you back flush against him with surprising strength.
"don't move," he whined, his breath hot against your neck as he scattered kisses along your shoulder.
his hand slid up from your waist to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. "so perfect."
"ni-ki," you started, but the protest died in your throat when his teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. he soothed the sting with his tongue, then did it again slightly lower, his free hand slipping under your sleep shirt to splay across your stomach possessively.
"mine," he murmured against your skin between kisses that were quickly turning into something more.
his lips travelled up the column of your throat, sucking deliberately until you knew without looking he was leaving marks—dark, unmistakable hickeys that would be impossible to hide later. when you squirmed, he pinned you gently but firmly, his thigh sliding more firmly between yours as he continued his devastating path along your collarbone.
"ni-ki, stop—" you gasped, but it came out breathless, unconvincing even to your own ears.
he lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something that made your stomach flip. "make me," he challenged, voice low and rough. when you didn't respond, too busy trying to remember how to breathe, he grinned that stupid, heart-stopping grin before ducking back down to worry another bruise into your skin, this time high enough that no collar would hide it.
"you're terrible," you managed, but your hands had somehow found their way into his hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands as his mouth worked magic on your throat.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration against your skin making you shiver.
"your terrible," he corrected, punctuating each word with a kiss. he shifted suddenly, rolling you onto your back so he could loom over you, his hands framing your face as he took in the damage—the blooming purple marks scattered across your neck, the flush creeping down your chest.
his expression turned unbearably smug, "pretty."
before you could respond, he was kissing you properly, slow and deep and devastating, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head just how he wanted it. when he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh.
"how are you even real," he murmured, the ridiculous nickname paired with the way his thumb traced your swollen lips making your stomach swoop. "my perfect, perfect y/n."
you should've pushed him away. should've reminded him this wasn't real, that it was just the potion. but as the morning light painted gold across his features, as his hands moved over you with a reverence that stole your breath, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
. . .
you didn’t hear it from ni-ki.
it was your brother who told you, somewhere between transfiguration and charms, like it was nothing. like it didn’t matter. he was shoving books into his bag, not even looking at you when he said it.
“potion wore off last night,” he muttered, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
your hands froze around the strap of your bag.
“ni-ki didn’t say anything?” you asked, your voice too light, too careful. your heart was suddenly pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
your brother just shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “he seemed kind of… weird about it.”
and that was it. no grand moment, no dramatic shift. no lingering looks or whispered explanations. just—over. like none of it had ever happened. like you hadn’t spent a week tangled up in him, learning the shape of his laughter against your skin, the way his hands always found yours like they belonged there. like he hadn’t looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
so you did the only thing you could. you pretended.
the next two days you acted like nothing had changed. like you hadn’t once been his entire world. when you passed him in the corridor, you nodded politely, your face carefully blank. when he held the door open for you, you gave him a stiff smile and nothing more. in charms class, you sat two desks away, your eyes fixed stubbornly on your parchment, even when you felt his gaze lingering on the side of your face. and when his shoulder brushed yours by accident in the crowded hallway, you barely let yourself flinch, barely let yourself remember how those same hands had traced every inch of you like you were something precious.
it was fine. it had to be fine. this was just how things were supposed to be—back to normal, back to before. it was safer this way. less humiliating.
(because what if he remembered everything? what if he remembered the way you’d melted into his touch, what if he knew—)
you swallowed the thought down like acid.
it was just the potion, after all.
except—
except sometimes, when you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch him staring. his expression unreadable, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. and once, just once, when you turned a corner too quickly and nearly collided with him, his hands came up instinctively to steady you—just for a second—before he remembered himself and let go like you’d burned him.
you told yourself you imagined the way his breath hitched.
you told yourself a lot of things.
but then the same evening after class you were heading towards the common room, nearly at the fat lady's portrait when you felt it—the familiar prickle at the back of your neck that always meant ni-ki was nearby. you quickened your pace instinctively, but before you could turn the corner, arms wrapped around you from behind in a hold so warm and familiar it made your breath stutter. his chest pressed flush against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily against your neck.
"why have you been ignoring me?"
his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, barely above a whisper, but it resonated through you like thunder. your hands hovered uncertainly over his arms where they were locked around your waist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
"i haven't," you lied, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration travelling through your back and settling somewhere deep in your chest.
"you have," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear in a way that made your knees weak. "you stopped talking to me. stopped looking at me like..." his voice cracked slightly, "like i matter to you."
you swallowed hard, staring resolutely at the wall ahead. "i just figured... things went back to normal. this is how we were before."
his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you. "i thought you were embarrassed," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your neck.
"when the potion wore off, i didn’t know how to face you. i thought—i thought you hated how i acted. how clingy i was. how much i—" he cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "but then you started avoiding me, and i couldn’t just sit there and do nothing."
your heart pounded so violently you were certain he could feel it. "ni-ki..."
"you do know that i like you, right?" his voice dropped lower, more vulnerable than you'd ever heard it.
"you know how love potions work. when someone's already..." he hesitated, his grip on you shifting slightly, "when someone's already in love, it makes everything stronger. more intense. everything i did, everything i said to you—i meant all of it."
slowly, so slowly, you turned in his arms. he let you, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you as you faced him properly for the first time in days. his eyes were darker than you remembered, full of something raw and open that made your breath catch.
"so you actually liked me before the potion?" you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet hallway.
ni-ki sighed, one hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.
"i've liked you since third year when you hexed that sunghoon kid for stepping on my broom," he admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "i just... never thought you'd look at me that way."
your hands found purchase in the front of his robes, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. "so all that time... the cuddling, the stupid nicknames, the way you'd kiss my forehead when you thought i was asleep—"
"things i've wanted to do for years," he interrupted softly, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. his touch was feather-light, reverent, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he pressed too hard. "the potion just... gave me the courage to actually do them."
you could feel his pulse racing where his wrist brushed against your neck, could see the nervous hope shining in his eyes despite the confident set of his jaw. it was this—this vulnerability from someone usually so self-assured—that finally broke you.
ni-ki's breath hitched when you leaned into his touch, his eyes darting between yours.
"can i kiss you now?" he asked, his voice rough with barely restrained want. "properly? without any potions or excuses?"
your answer was to rise up on your toes and close the distance between you.
his lips were softer than you imagined, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. one of his hands slid into your hair while the other pulled you flush against him, eliminating what little space remained between you. you could feel the way his breath stuttered when your fingers tangled in his hair, could taste the quiet sigh he let out when you kissed him back with equal fervour.
it was slow and sweet and so devastatingly perfect that you forgot to breathe. ni-ki kissed you like he was memorising you, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment and wanted to savour every second. when you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were kiss-swollen and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.
"no more pretending?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
ni-ki grinned, bright and unrestrained, before capturing your lips again in a kiss that left no room for doubt. "never again," he murmured against your mouth, his arms tightening around you.
synopsis: you’re just trying to survive your 9-to-5 without spontaneously combusting, but your painfully attractive boss seems to think you’re flirting. every awkward smile, accidental wink, and misfired message only makes it worse. now he’s looking at you like you’ve got some secret agenda. the truth? you just short-circuit around hot people. it’s not seduction—it’s social malfunction.
genre: workplace romance, crack, accidental flirting(?), some suggestive content
warnings: making out, some touching, jealous!jake, swearing, the writer has slapped all the office lingo known to her
note: sorry for the late post!! this is the last installment for the 2k event yayy! i feel like the ending is kinda rushed, i rewrote the last half so many times i kinda hate this. also i realised this is lowkey similar to the tutor!jungwon fic after writing haha. anyway i hope you enjoy reading!
word count: 4.4k
if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
2k event | previous
three days. that’s all it had been.
three days of nervously memorising names, of smiling too wide at people whose roles you hadn’t quite figured out yet, of laughing a little too loudly at jokes you only half understood. but you were getting there. you’d even found a few coworkers who didn’t seem to mind your presence—who invited you to lunch, who nodded at you in the hallway like you belonged. it was progress.
and then today happened.
you’d walked into the office that morning feeling oddly optimistic. the sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the coffee in your hand was still warm, and you’d actually managed to pick an outfit that didn’t make you look like you’d dressed in the dark. for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter.
that should’ve been your first warning.
your hr manager, ms. cho, had intercepted you before you could even reach your desk. “good, you’re here early,” she’d said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “let’s go introduce you to your boss now—he’s been out of town, but he’s back today, and he wants to meet you.”
your stomach had twisted. you’d known, logically, that you’d have to meet him eventually. but you’d hoped for at least another week to settle in, to maybe practise not sounding like a complete disaster in front of someone whose opinion could dictate your future here.
ms. cho led you down a hallway that felt too long, your heels clicking against the polished floors in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. the air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive cologne, the kind that lingered in elevators long after the person wearing it had stepped out. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blazer, your mouth dry as you mentally rehearsed your greeting. nice to meet you, sir. looking forward to working with you, sir. please don’t think i’m incompetent, sir.
then the door opened, and all those carefully prepared words dissolved into static.
because jake sim was—
well.
he wasn’t just your boss. he was a vision.
he stood near the window, the morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile, one hand tucked casually into his pocket like he’d been waiting for you without a single ounce of impatience. his suit was immaculate, the fabric draping over his shoulders in a way that made it clear it cost more than your rent. his hair was styled just so, not a strand out of place, and when he turned to look at you, his lips curled into a charming smile that showcased his quiet confidence.
your felt like you had been submerged into thick viscous honey, your brain too muddled to function.
“ah,” he said in an unfairly smooth and deep voice. “you must be the new hire.”
your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
this wasn’t happening. you were a professional. you’d practised this. you’d literally rehearsed in the mirror last night.
so why were your palms sweating? why was your pulse hammering in your throat like you’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs?
“nice to—nice, sir. i mean. meet. you.”
the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to claw them back. your voice had pitched up, cracking like you were fifteen and going through puberty all over again. your face burned, your ears hot with humiliation, and in a desperate attempt to play it off, you let out a laugh—or at least, the mangled, high pitched attempt at one.
it echoed in the silence.
ms. cho coughed politely. jake’s eyebrow lifted, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening like he’d just discovered something fascinating.
you were going to die.
in your panic, you took a step back—only for your heel to catch on the edge of a decorative potted plant. your arms pinwheeled, your balance teetering dangerously, and for one horrifying second, you were certain you were about to crash directly into the very expensive looking side table beside you.
somehow, you didn’t. but the damage was done.
jake’s gaze flickered from your flailing limbs back to your face, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to amusement. like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
oh god.
you wanted to vanish. you wanted to teleport directly into the nearest trash chute. you wanted to go back in time and never apply for this job.
you see, you had a problem.
a big, humiliating, soul crushing problem that no amount of deep breathing or positive affirmations could fix. it wasn't that you were incompetent—far from it. you'd graduated top of your class, aced every interview, and somehow landed this prestigious position through sheer skill and determination as your first job. no, your problem was far more specific, far more devastating in its simplicity:
you malfunctioned around attractive people.
and not just the casual, oh-they're-nice-looking kind of attractive. no, you short circuited around the kind of devastatingly gorgeous humans who moved through the world like they'd never once doubted their place in it. the kind who could reduce you to a stuttering, blushing mess with nothing more than a glance.
and jake sim?
jake sim was the human embodiment of your downfall.
when hr informed you that you'd been reassigned as his junior assistant, your first reaction had been to laugh—a high, slightly hysterical sound that made the hr manager eye you with concern.
"this is a great opportunity for you to learn," she'd said, her tone suggesting she didn't understand why you looked like you were about to pass out.
you'd nodded mechanically, your mind already racing through every possible disaster scenario. daily interactions. emails that required actual coherence. eye contact.
how were you supposed to maintain eye contact when looking at him for too long made your palms sweat and your thoughts scatter like startled birds?
the first week was a special kind of torture.
you arrived early every morning, rehearsing conversations in your head like an actor preparing for a role. you studied his schedule like it was a sacred text, memorising every meeting, every deadline, every detail that might give you even the slightest edge in appearing competent. you told yourself you could do this. you were a professional. you'd worked too hard to let something as trivial as a pretty face unravel you.
but then he'd walk into the room, all sharp suits and effortless confidence, and your carefully constructed composure would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.
like today.
you'd been reviewing project updates at your desk, your notes meticulously organised, your thoughts clear and focused. you were prepared. you were ready. and then—
"did you get those figures from marketing?"
his voice, smooth and deep, came from directly behind you, closer than you'd expected. you could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly spicy that made your stomach do a slow, treacherous flip. your fingers froze over the keyboard.
you'd meant to say, "i'll get you those files right away." but what came out was:
"i'll get you anything."
the second the words left your mouth, time seemed to slow. your brain, in its panic, replayed the sentence on a loop, each repetition more horrifying than the last. your pulse pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat of oh god oh god oh god.
you tried to laugh it off, but the sound that escaped was less a laugh and more a strangled wheeze, the kind of noise that made people edge away slowly. the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
jake didn't move. when you finally dared to glance up, his expression was unreadable—just the slight tilt of his head, the faintest arch of one eyebrow. then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"that's a dangerous thing to offer," he said, his voice low and far too amused.
before you could even attempt to salvage the wreckage of your dignity, he was walking away, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.
you wanted to disappear. you wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and try again. you wanted to march into hr and demand a transfer to a department where you'd never have to speak to another human being again—preferably one located in a remote, soundproof bunker.
but instead, you took a shaky breath, straightened your shoulders, and opened the marketing files with exaggerated focus. you could do this. you would do this.
even if it killed you.
the office whispers started innocently enough. a stifled chuckle when you dropped your pen for the third time during the monday meeting. knowing glances exchanged over cubicle walls when you developed a sudden, intense interest in your shoes every time jake entered a room. at first you thought nothing of it—until you overheard lisa from accounting whisper "someone's got a crush" loud enough for half the floor to hear.
today had been particularly catastrophic.
early in the morning, jake had leaned over your desk to point out a formula error, his crisp white sleeve brushing against your forearm.
"the pivot table in this spreadsheet needs adjusting," he'd said, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone that did something inexplicable to your breathing patterns.
and then—god help you—you'd giggled. not a polite professional chuckle, but a high- pitched, borderline hysterical sound that seemed to startle both of you. jake had frozen mid sentence, his pen hovering over the document like he wasn't sure whether to correct the numbers or call hr.
"i—sorry, sorry," you'd stammered, your face burning as you desperately tried to salvage the moment, "it's just—pivot tables are so—they're just really—"
you'd waved your hands vaguely, as if this explained anything. jake had simply blinked, slow and deliberate like a cat observing particularly baffling prey, before continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. which was somehow worse.
later, you'd been printing reports when jake appeared beside you—silently, like some sort of corporate vampire—reaching across you to grab a stack of documents. his forearm brushed against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of his dress shirt, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. your breath hitched audibly, your fingers spasmed on the copier lid, and for one dizzying moment you were certain you were going to either pass out or vomit directly onto the machine's control panel.
from the way your coworkers suddenly found reasons to walk past the copier area, you weren't as subtle as you'd hoped.
"you know," maria from marketing had said later in the break room, stirring her coffee with exaggerated casualness, "if you wanted his attention, you're doing great." the grin she shot you was equal parts amused and merciless.
"that's not—i'm not—" you'd sputtered, your coffee cup trembling in your hands. "i have this thing where i just—when people are really—i mean my brain just—" your words dissolved into incoherence, which only made her smirk widen.
the worst, most embarrassing thing was the email disaster which happened at 3:17 pm on tuesday. you remembered the exact time because you'd stared at the timestamp in mute horror for a full minute after hitting send.
you'd meant to type "i need you to look at it" regarding the quarterly report draft. what you'd actually sent to jake's inbox read: "i need you to look at me."
your blood turned to ice. for thirty full seconds, you simply sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard like you could somehow un-send the message through sheer force of will. your first instinct was to feign a sudden illness and flee the country. your second was to claim you'd been hacked.
in the end, you'd settled for sending a follow-up email with the subject line "CORRECTION" in all caps and the body simply reading "THE REPORT. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE REPORT." you didn't explain further. you couldn't.
the afternoon meeting was where everything came to a head. you'd been doing remarkably well—keeping your gaze firmly on your notes, responding in complete sentences, even managing to contribute to the discussion without sounding like you'd suffered a recent head injury. then, as you reached for your water glass, your traitorous hand trembled just enough to send the glass tipping. water cascaded across the conference table in a shimmering wave, soaking documents, laptops, and—most horrifyingly—the front of jake's perfectly tailored trousers.
the room fell silent. your pulse roared in your ears. the water droplet sliding slowly down jake's thigh was the most obscene thing you'd ever witnessed.
"i—oh god—i'm so—" you shot to your feet, knocking your chair over in your haste. napkins appeared as if by magic from various coworkers, though none of them made a move to help, this was clearly too entertaining to interrupt.
"i'll just—bathroom and paper towels—" you managed to choke out before fleeing the scene, your heels clicking a frantic staccato against the polished floors.
as you rounded the corner, you could have sworn you heard jake murmur something under his breath. later, you'd learn from multiple "helpful" coworkers that what he'd actually said was "she's something else," in a tone that could have been exasperated or amused or—most terrifyingly—intrigued.
the office gossip mill had already spun this into at least three different romantic subplots by the time you returned with a wad of paper towels and the shattered remains of your dignity.
the worst part was that this was only tuesday. you had three more days of this to survive. as you sat at your desk later, staring blankly at your computer screen, you made a mental note to research whether it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment—specifically, embarrassment generated by your own inability to function like a normal human being around your unfairly attractive boss.
things escalated in the worst possible way when jake started hovering more.
it began subtly—a coffee cup appearing on your desk when you hadn’t asked for one, the rich, bitter scent wafting up as you stared at it like it might be a trap. you’d glanced around, searching for the culprit, only to find jake already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just disrupted your entire morning with an act of kindness you weren’t equipped to handle.
then came the project updates. suddenly, he was asking for your input on things that weren’t even under your purview, leaning against the edge of your desk while you fumbled through explanations, your throat dry under the weight of his attention.
and then things somehow got worse when he started leaning down towards you. not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint, expensive cedar of his cologne, enough that his voice dropped into a low, private timbre that sent your pulse skittering. it felt deliberate. it felt like a test you were failing spectacularly.
like today.
you’d been caught staring. again.
this time during a department meeting, your gaze drifting helplessly toward where jake sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled under his chin, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the too-bright conference room lights. you hadn’t meant to look. or maybe you had. maybe you were a glutton for punishment, for the way your stomach swooped when his eyes flicked up and caught you, his eyebrow lifting just slightly.
"you good?" his voice was quiet, just for you, the words curling around you like smoke.
your brain short circuited. you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your fingers tightening around your pen like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. play it cool, you begged yourself. just say something normal.
"low blood sugar," you mumbled, the lie tumbling out before you could stop it. you weren’t even sure what that meant in this context—were you implying you were dizzy? hungry? medically compromised?—but jake didn’t call you on it. he just smirked, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you.
you should’ve known then that you’d made a mistake.
because after that, snacks from him started appearing. protein bars tucked into your desk drawer. a banana left beside your keyboard with no explanation. once, horrifyingly, a lollipop—bright red and obscenely shiny—placed directly on top of your morning report. you’d stared at it for a full minute, your face burning, before stuffing it into your bag like contraband.
you swore he watched you eat them. not obviously, not in a way you could call him out on, but in those fleeting moments when you glanced up from unwrapping a granola bar to find his gaze already on you, dark and unreadable.
it all came to a head when you thought he was out of the office.
you’d been ranting to yuna in the break room, your voice a hushed, frantic whisper as you paced in front of the microwave.
"he keeps looking at me like i’m trying to seduce him," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i’m not. i just—i don’t know how to behave around him, it’s like i’m socially defective."
yuna had opened her mouth to respond—probably to laugh at you, the traitor—when a cough cut through the room.
your blood turned to ice.
jake stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression perfectly neutral. how long had he been there? how much had he heard? your stomach dropped straight through the floor as your brain replayed your own words in brutal, high definition clarity. socially defective. oh god.
for one endless second, no one moved. then jake tilted his head—just slightly, like he was considering something—and walked away without a word.
you died a thousand deaths in that moment.
you expected things to be awkward after that. unbearable, even. but the next day, jake was... different. he smiled more—slow, deliberate smiles that made your palms sweat. he stared longer, his gaze lingering even when you ducked your head, even when you pretended not to notice. and then, over lunch—a lunch he had invited you to, a lunch you’d agreed to out of some masochistic impulse.
he leaned back in his chair and asked, casual as anything, "what kind of guy do you like?"
you choked on your drink.
your mind raced through a dozen possible responses—professional, respectful, not my boss—before settling on the dumbest possible answer. "alive," you croaked.
jake snorted, his lips quirking in a way that made your chest ache. "good start," he said, and something in his voice that sounded warm and interested, sent your heart into freefall.
the office that night was too quiet, the silence pressing on your ears and making them ring.
you'd stayed late to finish some work, the blue light of your computer screen the only thing cutting through the dark. outside, the city hummed—car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from people who still had lives at this hour. your coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you kept sipping it anyway, the bitter taste matching your mood.
when the door creaked open, you didn't even look up. probably just the cleaning crew. but then you caught that scent—something expensive and faintly spicy, cutting through the stale office air. your fingers froze over the keyboard.
"still here?"
jake's voice was rougher than usual, tired around the edges. when you finally turned, he was leaning against your desk, two fresh coffees in hand. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those stupidly perfect forearms. his tie hung loose around his neck like he'd been yanking at it all day. he looked rumpled in a way that made your stomach do something complicated.
"uh. yeah." you swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat was. "report."
he set one of the coffees down in front of you. the good stuff, from that place around the corner that charged way too much. "drink that before you pass out."
you wanted to say something clever. instead, your fingers fumbled with the lid, the plastic making an embarrassingly loud crack in the quiet office.
jake didn't leave. just sank into the chair across from you with a quiet groan, stretching his long legs out until his shoe bumped yours. you jerked back like you'd been shocked.
for a while, the only sounds were your typing and the occasional sip of coffee. except you couldn't focus, not with him sitting there watching you. your fingers kept slipping, typing "jaje" instead of "jake" before you could stop yourself. you deleted it so fast your mouse clicked echoed.
"you're staring," he said suddenly.
you choked on your coffee. "i wasn't—"
"you were." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "at my mouth, specifically."
your face burned. you had been. just for a second. because his lips were chapped from the cold outside, and he kept worrying at the bottom one with his teeth, and—
"am i distracting you?" his voice dropped, taking on that low, teasing quality that made your pulse jump.
"no," you lied, your voice cracking.
a beat passed and then a tiny, pathetic noise escaped you—something between a whimper and a hiccup. you wanted to die(again).
jake's eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. he leaned in closer, close enough that you could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the desk and stayed there.
"if i didn't know better," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "i'd say you like me, sweetheart."
your brain paused all activities and all you could manage was a strangled "jake—" that sounded more like a plea than a protest.
he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges. "i'm kidding."
but the way his fingers brushed yours as he took your empty coffee cup said he absolutely wasn't.
over the past few days, something subtle had shifted between you and jake without either of you acknowledging it. the nervous stuttering that used to plague your conversations had faded into something smoother, something more natural.
the late night coffee incident had been weeks ago, but its ghost lingered in every interaction since. you'd noticed the shift—how your pulse no longer raced quite so violently when jake entered a room, how your hands remained steady when passing him files. you still noticed the way his dress shirts stretched across his shoulders when he reached for files, still caught yourself staring at his hands when he typed, but the panic those observations used to trigger had mellowed into a warm flutter low in your stomach. you could even hold his gaze for entire sentences now without feeling like your skin might catch fire. progress, you'd thought. until today.
the copy machine hummed its familiar tune as you leaned against it, listening to the new marketing associate—ethan? evan?—recount his disastrous first client meeting.
his animated storytelling had you laughing, the sound louder than intended in the quiet office. when his hand brushed your arm in emphasis, you didn't stiffen like you would have weeks ago. which made jake's sudden appearance and grip on your elbow all the more startling.
"conference room. now." his voice carried that particular edge you'd come to recognise—the one that brooked no argument.
you barely had time to mutter an apology to not-ethan before jake was steering you down the hall, his fingers burning through your blazer sleeve. the break room door clicked shut behind you with finality.
jake paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair until it stood in disarray.
"you and the new guy looked awfully friendly." the words came out clipped, his back turned as he pretended sudden fascination with the microwave's keypad.
you blinked. "we were just talking."
"talking." he scoffed, finally turning. the fluorescent lights caught the tension in his jaw. "is that what they're calling it now?"
the realisation dawned slowly, then all at once—the way jake's coffee deliveries always seemed to coincide with your conversations with others, how he'd suddenly taken interest in your lunch plans, the barely concealed irritation whenever someone lingered too long at your desk. your stomach swooped.
"wait." you stepped closer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "are you... jealous?"
jake's laugh was humourless. "don't flatter yourself."
but his eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed him. you saw it then: the insecurity beneath the polished exterior, the fear that your newfound ease around him wasn't comfort earned through shared late nights and inside jokes, but because your attention had wandered.
the elevator ride down that evening was thick with tension. jake stood unnaturally still, his reflection in the metal doors betraying clenched fists and a ticking jaw. you watched the floor numbers descend, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.
"you think i'm playing some game," you said quietly, not quite a question.
jake's reflection met yours. "aren't you?"
the doors opened on the empty lobby. neither of you moved.
"all those blushes and stammers," he continued, voice rough. "the way you'd trip over yourself whenever i got too close. and now?" his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. "nothing. like i've become... ordinary."
the raw vulnerability in his words stole your breath. you turned, really looking at him—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his tie hung slightly crooked. the man beneath the polished veneer.
"jake," you breathed, stepping closer. "you could never be ordinary."
something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "prove it."
the first kiss was all collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing. you gasped as jake backed you into the wall, his hands finding your hips with a possessiveness that set your nerves alight.
"fuck," he growled against your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair. "you have no idea how long i've—"
you cut him off with another kiss, revelling in the way his body shuddered against yours. his palms slid under your blouse, calloused fingers mapping your skin like he was committing you to memory.
"still think i was seducing you?" you managed between kisses, arching into his touch.
jake nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a whimper you'd deny later. "sweetheart," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "you've been wrecking me since day one."
some distant part of your brain registered the security cameras, the professionalism you were shattering, the inevitable hr disaster. it was drowned out by the way jake's hands trembled as they traced your ribs, by the broken sound he made when you scraped your nails down his back.
when you finally broke apart—lips swollen, breathing ragged—jake rested his forehead against yours. his thumb traced your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.
"we're going to get fired," you whispered, even as your fingers toyed with his belt loop.
jake's grin was all sinful promise as he stole one more kiss. "best damn termination notice i'll ever receive." (don't do this guys)
Thank you queen, i was all gaggling and screaming and I BURNED HOT SOMETIMES and Jake is SO a "sweatheart" type of guy and I'm always so happy to see a new notification from you 😭❤️❤️❤️
synopsis: beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, clingy, and always in your space—flopping on your bed, stealing your snacks, and treating your personal bubble like it owes him rent. the worst part? he’s recently gotten hot. like, dangerously hot. and lately, messing with him has become your new favorite hobby, especially when a little harmless teasing leaves him red-faced and malfunctioning.
you were just having fun testing his limits. until you accidentally pushed too far… and he pushed back.
genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, comedy, suggestive content
warnings: heavy making out, suggestive content(no full smut), partial undressing, swearing, whiny!beomgyu, reader being a menace
note: first installment of my 2k celebration yayy! also this is based off beomgyu's part in "brain empty, just you". enjoyy!
word count: 4.6k
the absolute worst part about having a crush on choi beomgyu is that he makes it impossible to not have a crush on him. which is ridiculous, because he’s also the most annoying person you’ve ever met. loud, clingy, and constantly in your space like a human shaped parasite. he flops onto your bed like he owns it, steals your snacks without remorse, and treats your personal bubble like it’s public property. and yet—here you are, stuck pining after your best friend like some tragic rom-com side character.
it’s a perfectly normal weekend afternoon, the kind meant for lazy reading or mindlessly scrolling through your phone, when your bedroom door flies open with a dramatic bang. you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.
"i’m dying," beomgyu announces, like he’s delivering breaking news, before collapsing face first onto your bed. the mattress dips under his weight, and you barely manage to save your phone from being crushed under his flailing limbs.
"you’re heavy," you grumble, shoving at his shoulder.
he doesn’t budge. instead, he rolls onto his back, arms spread wide like a starfish, stealing even more of your space. his hair is still damp from a shower, tousled and slightly messy, and—god, why does he have to smell so good? it’s unfair. like, illegally unfair. fresh soap and something faintly citrusy, mixed with that stupid cologne he swears isn’t for anyone’s benefit but his own. you hate that you notice. you especially hate that it makes your stomach do a stupid little flip.
"how’d you even get in here?" you mutter, trying to sound annoyed instead of painfully aware of how close he is.
"your mom let me in, duh," he says, grinning up at you like he’s won something. "she loves me."
"she has terrible taste," you shoot back, but there’s no real bite to it. beomgyu knows it, too, because his grin only widens.
without asking, he snatches your phone right out of your hands, thumb already swiping through your notifications like he has every right to. "who’s texting you?" he asks, squinting at the screen. "is this junho? since when do you talk to junho?"
you lunge for the phone, but he holds it just out of reach, laughing when you half-climb over him in your attempt to grab it. "give it back, you nosy loser—"
"make me," he taunts, wiggling the phone above his head.
you huff, resorting to digging your fingers into his side, right where you know he’s ticklish. beomgyu yelps, jerking away, but in the chaos, your fingers brush against the bare strip of skin where his shirt has ridden up.
the second you make contact, his whole body tenses like he’s been electrocuted. his breath hitches, just barely, and his cheeks go pink. not just a little flushed—full on, unmistakably red.
you freeze.
beomgyu, who’s always the one invading your space, who slings an arm over your shoulders without thinking, who leans into every casual touch like it’s nothing, just short-circuited because you touched him.
and oh.
oh, this is interesting.
a slow, dangerous grin spreads across your face. beomgyu’s eyes widen like he already knows what’s coming. "what?" he asks, voice slightly higher than usual. "why are you looking at me like that?"
"like what?" you ask innocently, letting your fingers trail lightly over his waist again, just to see what happens.
he jolts, nearly falling off the bed. "hey!"
you can’t help it. you laugh, delighted by this newfound power. "what’s wrong, gyu? you’re always all over me. can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?"
"shut up," he mumbles, but he’s not meeting your eyes anymore, his ears still burning.
and just like that, a game is born.
because if there’s one thing you love more than anything, it’s messing with choi beomgyu. and if there’s one thing he apparently can’t handle?
it’s you.
it starts as a game—just harmless teasing, really. you don’t even mean for it to become a thing. but the way beomgyu reacts every single time your fingers accidentally brush his skin, or when you lean just a little too close under the pretence of looking at his phone screen—it’s addictive. like poking a sleeping bear and watching it startle awake, all clumsy limbs and flustered noises.
at first, you tell yourself you’re just doing it to annoy him. payback for all the times he’s invaded your space without permission, flopped onto your bed like he owns it, stolen bites of your food with that infuriating smirk. but then you notice the way his breath hitches when your knee bumps his under the table. the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach back whenever you "fix" his collar, your touch lingering a second too long. the way his voice goes just a little higher when you whisper something close to his ear, like you’re sharing a secret.
it’s fascinating.
beomgyu, who’s always been the clingy one, the one who drapes himself over you without a second thought, suddenly can’t handle it when you initiate contact. and the more you test it, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not just flustered. he’s affected.
so you escalate.
you start "accidentally" letting your hand rest on his thigh when you’re sitting side by side, pretending not to notice the way his entire body goes rigid. you lean against him more than necessary when you’re tired, tucking your face into the crook of his neck just to feel the way his pulse jumps under your lips. you play with his hair while he’s trying to focus on something, twirling the soft strands between your fingers until he groans and swats at your hand, his cheeks pink.
and the best part? he never stops you.
he complains, sure. he whines and calls you annoying and shoves at your shoulders halfheartedly. but he never actually pulls away. if anything he leans into it, like he’s trying to prove he can take it, like he’s determined not to let you win.
which is how you end up here: beomgyu sprawled across your lap like an overgrown cat, his head heavy on your thighs as he scrolls through his phone. you’re both supposed to be studying, but neither of you has opened a textbook in at least an hour. instead, you’re absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt.
he’s trying so hard to act unaffected. but you can see the way his fingers have slowed on his screen, the way his breathing has evened out like he’s fighting not to sigh.
"you’re like a dog," you murmur, grinning when he cracks one eye open to glare at you.
"shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.
you hum, dragging your nails gently down the back of his neck, and there—the full body shiver he tries (and fails) to suppress. you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "you good?"
"you’re the worst," he mutters, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t even try.
you’re about to tease him more, maybe poke his side, just to see him squirm, when suddenly, his hand shoots up and catches your wrust. your breath stutters.
beomgyu’s grip isn’t tight. it’s not rough or demanding. but the way his fingers circle your wrist, warm and firm, sends a jolt down your spine. your pulse jumps under his thumb.
for a second, neither of you moves.
then beomgyu tilts his head back to look at you, and—
oh.
his eyes are dark. not playful, not exasperated. just intense, in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"you’ve been messing with me all week," he says, voice low.
your throat feels dry. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."
he raises an eyebrow. "really."
"really," you say, but it comes out breathier than you mean it to.
beomgyu holds your gaze for a long, long second. then, slowly, he tugs your hand down—not away, but closer, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, under your fingers.
"then keep going," he challenges, voice barely above a whisper. "since it’s nothing."
your brain short circuits.
because this—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. he’s supposed to blush and sputter and shove you away like always. not dare you. not look at you like that.
your fingers twitch against his shirt.
beomgyu’s lips curl into a smirk. "what’s wrong?" he taunts, echoing your words from earlier. "can’t handle it when i push back?"
oh, it’s on.
you lean down before you can second guess yourself, your nose brushing his as you stop just short of his lips. his breath catches. "who said i was stopping?" you whisper.
beomgyu’s grip on your wrist tightens.
and then—
your mom calls your name from downstairs, and the moment shatters.
beomgyu jerks back like he’s been burned, nearly rolling off the bed in his haste. you yelp, grabbing his arm to steady him, but he’s already scrambling upright, running a hand through his hair like he can’t believe what almost happened.
"i—" he starts, then stops, his ears burning red. "we should—your mom’s calling."
you stare at him. he stares back.
then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.
beomgyu groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "don’t."
"don’t what?" you ask, all innocence.
"you’re insufferable," he mutters, but he’s peeking at you through his fingers, and his lips are twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
you kick his shin lightly. "you love it."
he doesn’t deny it.
the thing about beomgyu is that he's always been tactile—always reaching for you, always in your space, always treating your personal boundaries like mild suggestions rather than actual rules. lately it’s gotten worse, with every touch feeling like something more. like there's electricity humming just beneath his skin, sparking where your fingers brush against him. and you can't stop poking at it, can't stop testing the limits of this new, fragile thing between you.
it's been days since the almost-moment on your bed, days of careful avoidance and pointed teasing and lingering touches that neither of you acknowledge. and now here you are, curled up in your room watching some b-list horror movie because beomgyu had whined until you gave in, his eyes doing that stupid, pleading thing you've never been able to say no to.
"this is so dumb," you mutter as the protagonist on screen wanders into yet another obviously haunted room. "why would anyone—"
"shhh," beomgyu interrupts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you're ruining the atmosphere."
"the atmosphere of what? bad cgi and worse acting?"
he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've wounded him. "you take that back. this is cinematic gold."
you roll your eyes but don't protest further, settling back against your pillows. beomgyu shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours, warm and solid. you try to focus on the movie, you really do, but it's hard when he's right there, smelling like laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive cologne he pretends he doesn't carefully pick out. when he's close enough that you can see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dim light of your laptop screen.
then—
a sudden, earsplitting shriek comes from the movie, a grotesque face filling the frame, and you're lurching sideways before you can think, fingers digging into beomgyu's arm as you let out a startled yelp.
and beomgyu—
beomgyu squeaks.
it's high pitched and undignified and absolutely ridiculous coming from someone who spends half his time trying to act cool, and for a second, you're too stunned to even process it. then the sound registers, and you're turning to stare at him, mouth already opening to tease—
but the words die in your throat.
because beomgyu is frozen, his breath caught, his eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. your fingers are still wrapped around his arm, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your touch. the air between you is thick, heavy, the silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.
your own breath stutters.
beomgyu's gaze drops to your mouth, just for a second, so quick you might have imagined it—but you didn't. you know you didn't, because your heart is suddenly pounding loud enough that you're sure he can hear it, your skin buzzing where you're touching him.
then—
the moment shatters.
beomgyu clears his throat, jerking his arm away like he's been burned, his cheeks flushing pink. "you—you scared me," he mutters, avoiding your eyes.
you blink. then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face. "i scared you?" you echo, leaning closer. "beomgyu. you squeaked."
"i did not—"
"you did," you crow, poking his side. "like a—like a mouse or something—"
beomgyu groans, covering his face with his hands. "oh my god, shut up—"
"a tiny, terrified little mouse—"
"i will end you," he threatens, but there's no real heat behind it, not when he's peeking at you through his fingers, his lips twitching like he's fighting a smile.
you laugh, bright and loud, and something in beomgyu's expression softens, his shoulders relaxing as he drops his hands. "you're the worst," he grumbles, but he's leaning into you again, his arm pressing against yours.
"you love me," you sing-song, nudging him with your knee.
beomgyu doesn't answer. just rolls his eyes and turns back to the movie, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex against his thigh, the way his breath hitches when you shift closer.
the movie plays on, the tension between you easing back into something familiar, something comfortable. but beneath it all, beneath the teasing and the bickering and the easy touches, there's something new. something fragile and unspoken and achingly sweet.
and you can't wait to poke at it some more.
the moment your selfie goes up, you know it's trouble. not because there's anything particularly scandalous about it—just you in your favourite going-out top, hair styled a little more carefully than usual, lips shiny with that gloss beomgyu always says smells like candy. but something about the angle, the way the light catches your collarbones, the hint of a smirk playing at your mouth—it feels dangerous. like you're dangling bait in front of a very specific, very excitable predator.
your phone vibrates in your hand before you can even set it down.
beomgyu: ????
beomgyu: where are you going looking like that
the message burns through you like a live wire. you can practically hear his voice—that particular tone he gets when he's trying (and failing) to sound casual, the way his pitch jumps just slightly when he's flustered. your fingers fly across the screen before you can think better of it.
you: why? you wanna come with?
beomgyu: thats not—
beomgyu: i was just asking bro
you bite your lip to keep from grinning. the three dots appear and disappear three times before you finally get:
beomgyu: ...are you meeting someone?
there it is. that tiny crack in his usual bravado. you're about to respond with something suitably teasing when your doorbell rings, an insistent, impatient buzz that could only belong to one person.
when you swing the door open, beomgyu is standing there looking unfairly good for someone who supposedly rushed over on a whim. his hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he just showered, and he's wearing that stupid tank top that shows off his arms, the one that makes your mouth go dry. in his outstretched hand dangles your charger—the one you're 90% sure you didn't leave at his place.
"you forgot this," he announces, pushing past you into your apartment and into your bedroom, like he owns it. the scent of his cologne, something warm and expensive that clings to all your hoodies after he wears them, fills the space between you.
you raise an eyebrow as you shut the door. "did i?"
"yes," he says, too quickly, already making himself at home on your bed. "you're so forgetful. it's a miracle you function without me."
you don't call him out on the obvious lie. instead, you lean against the doorframe and watch as he tries (and fails) to look casual, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. the neckline of his tank top slips slightly with every movement, revealing more of his collarbones than strictly necessary.
"so," he says, eyes scanning your outfit with poorly concealed interest, "where are you going?"
"nowhere special," you say, moving to sit beside him. the bed dips under your weight, forcing his knee to bump against yours.
"then why do you look like that?"
"like what?" you lean in closer, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches.
beomgyu's throat works as he swallows. "like... like you're trying too hard."
you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "rude. maybe i just wanted to look nice."
"for who?"
the question comes out sharper than he intended, his fingers twitching against the pillows scattered on your bed. something warm and pleased curls in your stomach at the possessive edge in his voice.
before you can answer, beomgyu suddenly flexes his arms, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of his sleeves. "you see this?" he says, grinning that stupid, cocky grin that makes you want to kiss it off his face. "this is what peak performance looks like."
you roll your eyes. "please. i could bench press you."
his eyes light up with that competitive gleam you know all too well. "oh, you wish."
"prove it."
the challenge hangs in the air for all of two seconds before beomgyu grabs the nearest pillow and smacks you square in the face with it. you shriek, more out of surprise than actual pain, and immediately retaliate by grabbing another pillow and swinging with all your might.
beomgyu blocks it effortlessly, laughing as you growl in frustration. "weak," he taunts, dodging your next swing. "come on, is that all you've got?"
in a flash of inspiration, you toss the pillow aside and lunge at him instead. beomgyu's eyes widen comically as you collide with him, sending you both tumbling across the mattress in a tangle of limbs. you end up straddling his hips, immediately going for his most vulnerable spots; his sides, just above his hips, where you know he's ticklish.
beomgyu shrieks, actually shrieks, his whole body jerking beneath you as he dissolves into breathless laughter. "s-stop—fuck—" he gasps, trying in vain to squirm away, but you've got him pinned, your fingers dancing mercilessly along his ribs.
"give up," you demand, grinning down at him.
"never," he chokes out between laughs, his face flushed pink, his hair a wild mess against your cushions.
you're both laughing so hard it hurts, the sound filling your apartment, and for a moment everything feels perfect. light. easy. like this is exactly where you're both meant to be.
then you realise.
your hands are splayed across his stomach, his abs flexing beneath your touch with every ragged breath he takes. his own hands have somehow found their way to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. the warmth of him seeps into you, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and suddenly you're hyper aware of every point of contact between you.
because—
oh.
oh no.
beomgyu is hot. like, stupidly, unfairly hot. the kind of hot that makes your mouth go dry and your thoughts scatter. his lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes dark and fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the muscles in his arms are taut where they bracket your thighs, and suddenly all you can think about is how badly you want him to choke you.
before you can finish the thought, beomgyu moves.
in one smooth motion, he flips you over, reversing your positions with embarrassing ease. your back hits the plush mattress of your bed, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your pulse skyrocket. then his arm slides around your neck in a playful, but surprisingly firm chokehold, his biceps flexing against your throat.
your mind whites out.
your mouth, unfortunately, does not.
"god, that feels so good," you moan, the words slipping out unbidden, your voice embarrassingly breathy.
beomgyu freezes.
you freeze.
beomgyu stumbles back like you’ve just set him on fire, his entire face burning so red it’s a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously combusted. his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, his hands flapping uselessly at his sides as he chokes on air. you’ve never seen him like this—beomgyu, who’s always so loud, so obnoxiously confident, reduced to a stammering, malfunctioning mess because of you.
your own heart is hammering so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t burst out of your chest yet, but the longer he stands there looking like his brain has short-circuited, the more the initial panic starts to melt into something dangerously close to amusement. because god, he’s such a loser. your loser. and before you can chicken out, before you can backtrack and play it off like a joke, the words are tumbling out of your mouth—
“i think i like you.”
beomgyu’s jaw drops. like, actually drops. his eyes go comically wide, his entire body freezing like you’ve just hit him with a stun gun. for a second, you’re terrified you’ve broken him completely, that he’s going to turn around and bolt out the door and never speak to you again. but then—
“what?” he chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.
you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed. “you heard me.”
“i—no, say it again.”
“no.”
“please.”
“beomgyu—”
he makes a noise that’s half-groan, half-whine, dragging his hands down his face before pacing across your room like a caged animal. his fingers keep tugging at his hair, his breathing uneven as he mutters to himself, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, smoke nearly coming out of his ears from how hard he’s thinking.
you should probably be more nervous, but mostly you’re just endeared. and a little annoyed.
“you’re freaking out,” you point out, trying to sound casual even though your palms are sweating.
“yeah, no shit,” he snaps, spinning to face you with wild eyes. “you can’t just—you can’t just say that and expect me to be normal about it!”
“i didn’t expect anything! i was just—”
“just what? just casually dropping the bomb that you like me after moaning when i choked you—”
“oh my god, shut up—”
“no, because what the fuck—”
you groan, flopping back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. this is a disaster. a nightmare. you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, should’ve played it off like a joke, should’ve—
“i like you too, idiot.”
your hands drop.
beomgyu is standing at the foot of your bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks still flushed but his gaze steady now. your breath catches.
“...what?”
he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “i like you. like, like like you. have for—fuck, i don’t even know how long.” his voice drops, softer now. “i just didn’t know how to deal with it. thought you didn’t see me that way.”
you sit up slowly, your pulse roaring in your ears. “...are you serious?”
“yes, i’m serious,” he mutters, looking away. “you think i’d be this much of a mess if i wasn’t?”
you stare at him. he stares back. the silence stretches between you, thick and charged, until—
you burst out laughing.
beomgyu’s face does something complicated, caught between offence and confusion. “why are you laughing?”
“because you’re such a disaster,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes. “all this time, and you were just—god, you’re pathetic.”
“excuse me—”
“you heard me.”
he growls, actually growls, before closing the distance between you in two long strides. his hands cup your face, rough but gentle, and then his lips are on yours—hot, insistent, perfect.
you melt into it immediately, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with all the pent up frustration of months of pining. beomgyu makes a noise low in his throat, something between a whimper and a groan, his grip tightening as he nips at your bottom lip. you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.
his hands roam your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are warm, calloused from playing guitar, and the way they dig into your hips sends shivers down your spine. you arch into him, pressing closer, and he lets out this noise—this pathetic, whiny little sound that goes straight to your core.
you freeze for half a second. “bro, you good?” you whisper, half teasing, half wrecked yourself.
beomgyu groans, hiding his face in your neck. “do i look good?”
“fuck,” you breathe against his lips.
beomgyu pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and shiny. “you—you’re killing me,” he whines, his voice wrecked already.
you grin, dragging him back down. “good.”
he kisses you again, messier this time, his hands sliding up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. he’s terrible at it, his fingers clumsy, and he groans in frustration when he can’t get it undone.
“help me,” he mumbles against your mouth, his cheeks burning.
you laugh, reaching behind you to undo it for him, and the way his eyes darken when he realises what you’ve done is priceless. his hands slide up your bare back, his touch hesitant at first, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.
“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice shaky as his fingers trace the curve of your spine. “fuck, you have no idea—”
you cut him off with another kiss, rolling so you’re straddling his hips. his hands immediately fly to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you grind down experimentally, and the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers dig into your skin—god, you could get addicted to this.
“please,” he whimpers, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “please, i—fuck, i can’t—”
you lean down to nip at his earlobe, grinning when he shudders. “can’t what?” you whisper.
“you know what,” he groans, his hands sliding up your thighs. “you’re evil.”
you laugh, kissing him again, slower this time, savouring the way he melts under you. when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged.
“fuck, fuck—” he’s babbling now, his usual eloquence completely gone as he kisses down your neck, your collarbones, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “you’re—shit, you’re so pretty, i can’t—fuck—”
you tug at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him properly, swallowing his desperate noises. his hands are shaking where they grip your thighs, his breath coming in ragged pants against your lips.
“beomgyu,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “you’re such a mess.”
he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “you did this,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin. “you turned me into this.”
you hum, running your fingers through his hair. “and you love it.”
he lifts his head just enough to glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it—just fond exasperation and so much want it makes your chest ache. “yeah,” he admits, his voice rough. “i really fucking do.”
Having a pet could lead to interesting conversations.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : I wanted to try tiny text for yall for a long time, and I finally found a good app to do so ! Here we are for the first text. Lemme know if you liked it !
Also do not hesitate to suggest prompts of texts in my Inbox.
ALSO : For those who are waiting for OTEOL Part 2, it's coming soon I promise ! It's quite long to write, but it's coming ! ✿
✦ Fandom : Tomorrow x Together
✦ Personnages : Soobin et Yeonjun
✦ Genres : Romance, slice of life, fluff, comfort
✦ Nombre de mots : 1,8k
✦ TW : /
✦ Résumé : Yeonjun a toujours aimé les chiens. Soobin le sait, il l’a vu dans ses gestes, dans ses silences rêveurs entre deux confidences. Alors, un jour, il décide de lui offrir bien plus qu’un simple cadeau : une petite chienne crème, timide et tremblante, trouvée dans un refuge.
✦ Note de l'autrice : Cette scène toute douce m’est venue après avoir regardé l’épisode 149 de TO DO (oui, celui rempli de mignonneries). J'ai eu envie d’imaginer un moment tendre et doux entre Soobin et Yeonjun.
S’il y a bien une chose que Soobin a pu constater au fil des années, c’est que Yeonjun adore les chiens. Pas juste un amour passager, pas un simple “ils sont mignons” balancé entre deux cafés. Non, c’est une affection profonde, presque enfantine et dans sa sincérité la plus pure. C’est dans les petits gestes que Soobin l’a remarqué; ce sourire automatique, un peu trop grand, chaque fois qu’un chiot passe près d’eux en promenade, ce réflexe de s’accroupir pour tendre la main, même quand l’animal est déjà loin ou encore ces vidéos de chiens enregistrées dans ses favoris, au milieu de playlists absurdes ou de chorégraphies oubliées. Et puis, il y a les mots. Les “j’aimerais tellement en avoir un” lâchés avec une légèreté apparente, mais toujours suivis d’un petit silence, comme s’il osait à peine y croire. Les “un jour peut-être” soufflés contre l’oreiller, tard dans la nuit, quand leurs jambes sont emmêlées et que le monde est trop calme pour mentir. Soobin les a tous retenus. Il a observé, il a attendu. Pas parce qu’il doutait, juste parce qu’il voulait que ce soit parfait, que ce ne soit pas une idée folle sur un coup de tête, mais une vraie décision. Un vrai cadeau.
Alors il a regardé les annonces, visité deux refuges, le visage caché sous une casquette et un masque, de peur d’être reconnu. Il a hésité entre un chiot aux oreilles tombantes et une boule de poils plus turbulente, jusqu’à ce qu’il tombe sur elle — une petite chienne crème, minuscule, tremblante dans un coin du box, avec des yeux comme des gouttes de thé noir. Pas la plus vive, pas la plus jolie selon certains critères, mais elle l’a regardé droit dans l’âme. Il a su, à ce moment-là, que c’était elle.
Maintenant, il est là, devant leur porte, le cœur battant à tout rompre, la caisse contre son torse. Dedans, la chienne dort à moitié, roulée sur elle-même, une couverture douce sous ses pattes. Elle a gémi un peu en voiture, puis s’est calmée quand Soobin lui a chantonné quelque chose sans vraiment y faire gaffe. Il n’a pas prévenu Yeonjun. Il voulait que ce soit une vraie surprise, une explosion de joie, peut-être un peu de larmes — il ne serait pas contre, pour être honnête. Mais maintenant que le moment est là, un doute ridicule s’immisce dans son esprit et ses doigts tremblent légèrement quand il attrape la poignée de la porte. Et si Yeonjun ne l’aimait pas ? Et si c’était trop ? Et si c’était lui, Soobin, qui avait mal compris tous ces signaux ?
Il ferme les yeux un instant. Inspire. Expire. Il sait que Yeonjun est dans le salon, il l’a entendu rire tout à l’heure au téléphone. Un de ces rires qui plie un peu l’univers autour de lui, parce qu’il est impossible à ignorer. Soobin l’imagine, jambes croisées sur le canapé, un plaid sur les genoux, la tête penchée, concentré sur un drama ou une vidéo de chiens mignons sur son téléphone. Non, il ne se trompe pas. Il sait que ce qu’il s’apprête à faire va compter. Il n’a pas souvent l’occasion de surprendre Yeonjun — vraiment surprendre. Il est plutôt du genre à lui laisser des petits post-its pour lui déclarer tout son amour, à lui faire le café le matin ou à le masser tendrement après une dure journée d'entraînements. Discret, attentif. Mais là, c’est différent. C’est grand, c’est eux.
Soobin baisse les yeux vers la caisse la petite boule crème s’est redressée. Deux yeux ronds le fixent, comme si elle savait exactement ce qui se jouait. Il lui adresse un sourire rassurant et glisse un doigt entre les barreaux. Elle le lèche une fois, rapide, curieuse et il prend ce geste pour un signal. Il pousse doucement la porte, celle-ci se refermant doucement derrière lui, dans un clac discret. Pas un bruit dans l’entrée, juste l’écho sourd de ses propres pas sur le parquet. La caisse pèse un peu dans ses bras, pas par le poids — elle ne pèse rien, cette petite chose, mais par tout ce qu’elle représente. Il inspire, bloque presque sa respiration. Et avance.
Depuis le salon, la voix de Yeonjun s’élève, claire, un peu chantante. Il parle à quelqu’un — sûrement l’un des membres, en vocal. Soobin n’entend que des murmures incompréhensibles, suivi d’un éclat de rire, puis d’un silence. Il traverse le couloir, ses doigts se refermant un peu plus autour de la caisse, puis arrive dans le salon. Yeonjun est là, exactement comme il l’avait imaginé — jambes repliées sur le canapé, sweat trop large, cheveux un peu en bataille. Il tourne la tête, distrait d’abord, puis ses yeux se figent. Yeonjun se lève lentement, son regard passant de Soobin à la caisse, puis de la caisse à Soobin, sans comprendre tout à fait. Il s’approche finalement, les sourcils froncés, pas certain de saisir ce qui est en train de se jouer dans la pièce.
— Qu’est-ce que…
Soobin s’accroupit doucement, pose la caisse au sol et ouvre le loquet sans prononcer le moindre mot. Quelques secondes s’écoulent avant que la petite chienne ne sorte. D’abord, une truffe hésitante, puis deux pattes, puis son corps tout entier, délicat, un peu maladroit sur le tapis. Elle secoue légèrement la tête, relève les yeux… et fixe Yeonjun.
Le silence qui suit est presque sacré.
Yeonjun reste figé, bouche entrouverte, comme si son cerveau essayait de remettre les pièces ensemble. Puis un bruit s’échappe de sa gorge, un tout petit “oh” et il s’écroule à genoux. La chienne s’avance, hésitante, puis pousse son museau contre sa main. Il ne bouge pas, de peur de l’effrayer, mais elle se frotte déjà doucement contre ses doigts. Il n’en faut pas plus à Yeonjun pour fondre. Pas de larmes bruyantes, pas de cris. Juste ce tremblement léger dans ses épaules, cette respiration coupée, ce regard qu’il lève vers Soobin, les yeux brillants, comme s’il n’arrivait pas à croire que c’est réel.
— ‘Bin… Elle est…
Sa voix est à peine plus audible qu’un souffle.
Soobin sourit, doucement, son cœur tambourinant dans sa poitrine.
— À toi. À nous, si tu veux, mais surtout à toi.
Yeonjun secoue la tête, incrédule. Il regarde le chiot, qui a déjà posé ses pattes sur ses genoux, puis Soobin encore, comme s’il avait besoin d’une confirmation physique. Ce dernier s’approche, s’agenouille à côté de lui et pose une main sur sa cuisse, légère.
— Je me suis dit que… que ça faisait longtemps que tu en rêvais. Et quand je l’ai rencontrée, elle m’a regardé comme si elle savait déjà que tu l’attendais.
Yeonjun ne dit rien, il renifle un peu, caresse le museau du chiot qui commence déjà à lui lécher les doigts. Son rire est tremblant, presque étranglé.
— Tu vas me faire pleurer, idiot…
Soobin fronce les sourcils, amusé.
— Tu pleures déjà.
Yeonjun rit à travers ses larmes. Il passe alors un bras autour des épaules de Soobin pour l’attirer contre lui. La chienne se glisse entre eux, joyeusement perdue dans cette étreinte désordonnée.
— Je t’aime, souffle Yeonjun, son front contre la tempe de Soobin.
Soobin, quant à lui, ferme les yeux un instant, conscient qu’il n’a pas besoin de plus pour sentir son cœur virevolter de joie.
Le soleil décline lentement à travers les vitres du salon, dessinant des lueurs dorées sur le sol. Yeonjun est toujours par terre, en tailleur, et le chiot — leur chiot, tourne en rond autour de lui, reniflant tout, chaque recoin, chaque bout de tapis comme si le monde entier venait de naître autour de lui. Soobin est allé chercher une gamelle d’eau, un vieux plaid plié en deux et une peluche qu’il avait prise au hasard en animalerie, en espérant que ça fasse l’affaire. Il revient dans le salon, les bras chargés, et Yeonjun le regarde avec un sourire immense, les joues encore un peu humides.
— Tu avais vraiment tout préparé.
— Tu me connais, répond-t-il, un peu embarrassé. Je voulais que tout soit parfait.
Il pose les affaires au sol, tend la peluche à Yeonjun, qui l’agite doucement sous le nez du chiot. Celui-ci l’attrape aussitôt entre ses dents minuscules et court maladroitement dans un coin du tapis, l’air fière comme un général en conquête. Ils la regardent tous les deux sans rien dire pendant un moment avant que Soobin ne finisse par briser le silence.
— Tu lui as déjà trouvé un nom ?
Yeonjun tourne la tête vers lui, une main sur sa joue, pensif.
— Hm… Pas encore. Elle me fait penser à…
Il s’interrompt, regarde le chiot courir après sa propre queue, avant de tomber maladroitement dessus dans un couinement.
— … à un beignet.
Soobin éclate de rire.
— Un beignet ?
— Elle est toute ronde, toute douce… Regarde-la !
Soobin observe et il doit bien reconnaître que le surnom n’est pas si farfelu que ça.
— Tu veux qu’on l’appelle Donut ?
Yeonjun grimace.
— Trop évident. Je veux quelque chose de plus original…
Il fronce le nez, puis claque des doigts.
— Hoppang !
Soobin arque un sourcil.
Le chiot relève la tête à ce moment précis, la langue pendante et les oreilles toutes droites, comme si elle avait compris. Soobin se fige une seconde, puis éclate à nouveau de rire.
— Je crois qu’elle valide.
Il se penche pour lui gratouiller le ventre.
— T’entends ça ? Tu t’appelles Hoppang, maintenant.
Yeonjun les rejoint, le sourire doux, les yeux brillants.
— Bienvenue à la maison, Hoppang. T’as intérêt à bien t’entendre avec appa Soobin, ok ?
Soobin le regarde, bouche entrouverte.
— Attends… appa Soobin ?
Yeonjun se redresse, les mains sur les hanches.
— On l’élève ensemble, non ?
Il lui lance un clin d’œil taquin avant de poursuivre
— Et tu fais une figure paternelle plutôt crédible.
Soobin secoue la tête, ses joues se teintant de rouge.
Hoppang pousse un petit jappement, puis grimpe maladroitement sur le plaid avant de se rouler en boule et de fermer les yeux. Et d’un coup, tout redevient calme.
Yeonjun baisse la voix, presque instinctivement.
— Merci.
Soobin le regarde, silencieux. Il pourrait répondre “de rien”, ou plaisanter, mais il voit la sincérité dans les yeux de son compagnon, ce genre de reconnaissance silencieuse qui ne demande pas de retour alors il hoche doucement la tête. Yeonjun passe un bras autour de lui et s’appuie contre son épaule.
— Tu penses qu’elle va dormir avec nous ce soir ?
— Elle ne va pas nous laisser le choix, murmure Soobin, en regardant la petite chose déjà profondément endormie sur leur plaid.
Puis il imagine déjà la suite : les réveils nocturnes, les accidents, les jouets mâchouillés, les promenades à l’aube et tout ce qu’élever cette petite créature allait signifier. Malgré tout, il ne voudrait changer ce futur pour rien au monde.
Yeonjun soupire doucement contre lui, le faisant sortir de ses pensées.
— C’est le plus beau cadeau que j’ai jamais eu.
Soobin sourit.
— Et te voir aussi heureux est le mien.
Entre eux, il y avait maintenant un petit battement de vie supplémentaire, un souffle de joie qui rendait l’avenir un peu plus doux.
tw - magic,supernatural powers, demons, slightly suggestive (if you squint)
✧ inspired by the concept pictures for Railway (oopsie)
@muneeba-satti you asked, i executed, i hope you'll like it <3
A lightning bolt split the sky just as I turned the page of the thick grimoire resting on my lap, making me jump.
My body tensed up in the armchair, my fingers pressing against the ancient paper. Slightly crinkled by the passage of time and the handling of its former owners, it gave off a peculiar scent. A fragrance of apples and ash that tightened my throat for no apparent reason. As if this scent had settled on its surface and seeped in, leaving its mark forever in the fibers.
The leather cover looked like it had been through a lot, but the deep violet amethyst set into its center gave me the impression it was glowing in the heart of the shadows.
I watched it for a few seconds, captivated by the reflections I saw within, like wisps of smoke frozen forever in the translucent stone. A shiver ran up my spine and I lifted my head, glancing out the window.
The sky was pitch black, like a bottomless chasm ready to swallow everything, and the rain was lashing furiously against the glass. Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, traveling hundreds of meters before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, followed a few moments later by a menacing rumble. Squinting, I could make out the trees outside bending under the force of the wind, battered by the fury of the elements.
I had always liked storms and they had never particularly frightened me. On the contrary, I even found a certain fascination in them. There was something awe-inspiring in the way nature could turn brutal and dark, reminding us poor mortals that she remained the undisputed mistress. Everything she gave, she could take back in the blink of an eye.
But there was something different in the air tonight.
Something I couldn’t quite put into words, a sensation lingering at my fingertips, on the tip of my tongue.
Still, I returned to my reading, finding the line where I had left off and following the handwritten words, my eyes brushing over the delicately calligraphed curves. The book had caught my attention on a display, and I hadn’t been able to resist the pull I felt toward it, barely noticing that I had stepped closer to examine it more closely.
Use with extreme caution.
Those words, spoken by the old man who had sold it to me, still echoed in the back of my mind, and I bit my lower lip.
Yet it wasn’t as if I planned to do anything with the texts written inside the grimoire, which mostly consisted of old herbal remedies and rituals meant to cure everyday ailments.
However, notes in Latin had begun to appear after a few pages, scattered here and there in the margins of certain chapters, and I’d grown increasingly intrigued by their meaning.
The comments seemed to have been written in haste, as if the person hadn’t had much time to jot them down, and the ink had slightly faded over the years, making them difficult to read.
My brows furrowed as I turned the next page, my lips pressing together at its strange appearance. Phrases had been scrawled in tiny, spidery handwriting next to a botanical sketch of a belladonna plant, known for its dark properties. They had been circled multiple times—so roughly that the nib had nearly pierced the page.
Dark stains dotted the paper, like random splashes of ink, and I ran my fingers along the back of my neck to chase away the odd sensation that had settled there.
I cleared my throat, casting a glance around the room. The moon was throwing shadows across the living room, playing with the outlines of the furniture, and it was all too easy to let one’s imagination wander in front of such a grim tableau.
Still, my only companions were the night and the storm crashing violently outside my house—my cat had retreated beneath my bed upstairs.
Then, I began to decipher the handwritten lines aloud, my brow furrowed.
Princeps Nigrum, tibi gratissimum adventum in domum meam exopto. Accipe vocationem meam et veni ad me.
Black Prince, I welcome you into my home. Accept my call and come to me.
Everything went dark the moment I finished reading the lines aloud. The lamp on the side table flicked off without warning.
At the same instant, the window burst open, slamming violently against the wall and tearing a gasp from my throat.
The pouring rain rushed into the living room, driven by the wind, and I snapped the grimoire shut in one sharp motion, clutching it tightly against my chest.
Then I stood, cautiously making my way to the window to slide the latch back into place, hoping to prevent it from flying open again with the next gust of wind.
My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, and the sound of the storm seemed muffled by the words that kept spinning endlessly in my mind.
Black Prince, I welcome you into my home.
There was something deeply unsettling about the prayer written inside the grimoire, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was referring to. There weren’t many entities described that way—but just saying the words aloud made my head spin.
I didn’t particularly believe in spirits or magic as a spiritual practice, but my grandmother had always warned me never to underestimate the power of words.
And the crawling sensation on my bare arms wasn’t helping me rationalize anything.
I shivered at the feel of water under my bare feet, quickly stepping back toward the wall to switch the light on. I wasn’t superstitious, but it wouldn’t hurt to grab some rosemary to burn in the living room and clear away the memory of the last few minutes.
My interest in magic lay in the properties of plants for the body and mind, and in the power of stones—hence my initial curiosity about the manuscript.
I hadn’t expected it to contain anything capable of summoning a demon, and I was just being cautious, trying to purify the space.
I turned toward the kitchen—only to let out a sharp, piercing scream.
A figure was sitting in my armchair, one leg casually draped over the armrest.
My body froze, and my fingers clenched around the grimoire’s leather cover, still pressed tightly against my chest. My heart was hammering so violently I felt like it might burst out at any second. And all words died in my throat when the man lifted his head, one icy eye meeting mine through the shifting shadows that surrounded him.
My body was paralyzed, and I felt a wave ripple from the top of my head to my heels, snaking down my spine, brushing over my shoulders, then sliding down the other side.
As if cold fingers had wrapped themselves around my ankles, pinning me to the floor.
I knew—even before I tried—that I wouldn’t be able to take a single step back.
I could feel it.
Something was holding me in place, locking me inside my own body. And the panic was growing, faster and faster, sending blood pulsing in my temples like a drumbeat.
I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to flee, doomed to endure the inevitable impact.
Except the crash never came, and the seconds stretched on—endless.
“Come closer,” he breathed, his voice authoritative.
Clear, as pure as spring water—yet wrapped in the same darkness that coiled around him like a living thing.
Goosebumps rose on my arms and I fought against the invisible force holding me in place, panic rising at the thought of getting any nearer to him.
My gaze hadn’t left his. Those eyes… their dissonance was disturbing. One iris black as the sky above us, the other so pale it was almost indistinguishable from the white of his eye.
Both stared at me relentlessly, like twin bottomless wells I could fall into without a sound.
His brow furrowed slightly, then a smirk curled his full lips.
“Come. Closer.”
My body moved. As if detached from my mind, I took a step forward.
Then another.
His voice had echoed inside my skull like a deep, commanding vibration—one that simply could not be disobeyed.
A summons that demanded an answer.
And I felt the pull—undeniable—as if a rope had been tied around my waist, leading straight to the hand he’d rested casually on his knee, tapping rhythmically.
No.
My inner scream burst forth, and I struggled within the depths of my own consciousness, desperate to sever the link that bound us, to resist the command etched into my bones.
The distance between us was shrinking rapidly, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my heart lodged in my throat.
None of this made any sense.
For a brief, flickering moment, I found myself hoping it was all a dream—that this was nothing more than a vivid projection of my imagination.
Because it couldn’t be real.
There couldn’t be a demon in my house.
They only existed in folklore, in religious texts—creations of human imagination to give form to our greatest fears.
My mind rejected the reality in front of me, and I blinked hard, trying to dispel the illusion.
But he was still there.
Majestic, cloaked in shadow.
As I drew closer, I could make out the contours of his face, the dark strands of hair that framed it, falling gracefully across his temples.
The way the leather of his black jacket clung to his broad shoulders, in stark contrast to the pearly white of the shirt beneath.
The unnerving contrast of his eyes, like two opposing forces coexisting in a single body, locked in eternal conflict.
And the curve of his mouth, stretched into an expression of pure, unfiltered satisfaction.
My eyes followed the movement of his tongue as it swept across his lips to moisten them, and I felt my stomach tighten.
He was terrifyingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that left a disturbing impression because it inspired both fear and fervent admiration.
As if someone had reversed the negative of a photograph and revealed something more captivating than the original image.
A chiaroscuro painting, crafted from shadow and touched by flickers of light.
But they often said demons were once angels, and it had never felt more true than in that moment.
His power tugged at me for the final few steps, and I stopped just in front of him, my throat tight, breath shallow.
Then I froze, struck by a scent that reached me—surprisingly familiar.
A blend of apple and ash.
I swallowed hard, my legs shaky beneath me.
He uncrossed his legs and extended a hand, palm facing up.
My arms loosened around the grimoire, which dropped heavily at my feet, and I gasped, air seeming to abandon my lungs.
His fingers brushed the delicate skin of my wrist before curling around it, pulling me forward.
I toppled onto him with a startled yelp, half-collapsed across his thighs, hands pressed against the cold leather of his jacket to steady myself.
My breath hitched in that instant, and time seemed suspended—crystallized in the confined space of my living room.
“You’ve got a lot of conviction for someone who didn’t even know what she was reciting out loud.”
A warm breath ghosted across my face, and I realized I had closed my eyes.
My cheeks were burning, and the knot in my throat swelled with every second, cutting off the flow of air.
I pushed against him with both hands, trying to escape his grip, but his hands slid slyly to my hips, holding me firmly against him—and the depth of my helplessness made my head spin.
I was completely at his mercy.
“Open your eyes, little bird.”
I pressed my lips tightly together, my fingers clenching into the velvety fabric of his jacket, and I felt humiliation blaze across my skin like wildfire.
But I didn’t want to surrender.
I wouldn’t let him think he had the upper hand.
He was in my house.
He was here because I had invited him—even if it hadn’t been intentional.
And I refused to be the one to bow to his rules, no matter how disturbingly he awakened something in my senses.
“Who are you?” I whispered as I opened my eyes again.
He leaned in closer, closing the already negligible distance between us.
His lips hovered near my cheek, and his fingers felt like they were setting my skin ablaze through the fabric of my sweater.
“You summon me, and yet you don’t even know who I am? How careless.”
His voice was measured, smooth as honey—yet fractured beneath the surface.
But his nonchalance grated on me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my composure.
“Well, I didn’t need your name to make you show up,” I finally shot back with a scornful look.
He burst out laughing, his chest shaking under my hands before settling again.
A smirk curled his lips, and his fingers resumed their slow, steady rhythm—this time against my hip.
“You’re surprising.”
“Glad someone here’s having fun,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
One of his hands slipped from my waist and rose to cup my chin between his thumb and index finger, freezing me in place.
His grip was firm—I knew he could shatter my jaw in a second if he wanted to.
But it remained surprisingly gentle, as if he were holding something precious in the palm of his hand.
He tilted my face from side to side, examining it from every angle, his lips pursed in vague appreciation.
As if the tension in his touch was just something I’d imagined.
His mismatched eyes bore into me, scanning every corner of my face, and I felt my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
“Are you afraid?” he asked at last, his voice barely more than a breath.
I took a moment to think about my answer—and it surprised even me.
“No.”
I couldn’t describe what I felt toward him as fear.
Maybe I’d been afraid when I first found him in my living room—when he wasn’t supposed to be there—and felt him take control of my body, pulling me toward him.
But now, in this moment, everything was a blur.
Every internal alarm screamed at me to run, to put as much distance as possible between us, because he was pure danger—because he could tear me apart with a flick of his fingers.
And yet, he hadn’t.
“You should be.”
My eyes traced the contours of his face—from the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead to the sensual curve of his mouth—and not an ounce of fear stirred in me.
Even the way he held me against him was surprisingly courteous, considering the position we were in.
If I’d felt uneasy at first, that feeling was long gone.
And I couldn’t quite tell if it was because of the way he acted with me—or the warmth spreading across my skin with every brush of his fingers.
“What do you want?” I murmured, smoothing the lapel of his leather jacket nervously, just to keep my hands busy.
He raised a brow, letting go of my face and resting one arm lazily on the armrest of the chair.
“What I want?”
His fingers pressed ever so slightly against my hip. So faintly that, for a second, I thought I imagined it.
Yet the gesture sent a shiver crawling up my spine.
“Many things,” he continued, his voice grave, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But that’s not what matters. I’m here because you desire.”
His voice echoed through the room—deep, resonant—and I could feel it crawling up my bare arms, trying to slip beneath my skin.
“I don’t know,” I admitted after a pause.
“I don’t believe you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly.
“You humans—you all have something you ache for in the dark.
Something you keep hidden, right here.”
His index finger hovered just over my shirt, right above my heart—and for a second, my breath caught.
“Wealth. Power. Love. Death. Or the absence of it.
There’s always a secret slumbering underneath, fed year after year by frustration and longing—whatever form it takes.**”
His lips curled into a mocking smile as he spoke.
“Some don’t even hesitate. It’s funny how quickly the proudest among you fall to their knees to claim it,” he said, tapping his chin absently with a fingertip.
“So I’ll ask you again, Stay. What is it you want most in this world?”
My stomach tightened at the sound of my nickname.
“I don’t know.”
“Liar,” he whispered, that maddening smirk still etched on his face.
“I don’t know!” I cried, brows furrowed.
“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to summon a demon in my living room!”
I pushed him with both hands, and this time, he let me.
He simply watched me as I rose shakily to my feet.
“And yet you did. I’m here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward himself.
“And I’m still waiting for an answer.”
I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my hip, as though they’d left a burning imprint on my skin.
But I could breathe more easily now that I had stepped away from him—away from his intoxicating scent.
Still, now that I stood before him, I felt cramped inside my own body.
“I don’t have one to give you. How many times do I have to say it? Can’t you go haunt someone else?” I asked, pacing back and forth across the rug.
“Do I look like someone who enjoys wasting his time?”
I stopped abruptly, my head snapping in his direction—and that’s when I understood his persistence.
“You can’t leave.”
“Bingo,” he muttered bitterly, snapping his fingers.
My throat tightened, and I curled my fingers into my palms.
He was stuck here.
And if I understood correctly, the only way to send him back… was to make a wish.
But none of the things he’d listed earlier interested me.
All I wanted was to be free.
That was the reason I’d chosen to exile myself to this remote place—somewhere no one could reach me.
And making a deal with a demon was signing a contract in blood.
Everyone knew they always demanded something in return—and they never forgot to collect.
I was dealing with a being whose power far surpassed mine, and I needed to be cautious.
And yet… temptation hovered in the corner of my mind like a shadow I couldn’t ignore.
I could ask for almost anything.
The mere fact that I had that kind of power at my fingertips made my head spin.
It was hard to suppress the almost primal greed I felt at the thought of demanding something—anything—and receiving it without lifting a finger.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I knew that.
And that knowledge alone kept me from blurting out the first thing that came to mind just to make him disappear.
So I would take the time I needed.
Time to find an answer worthy of the “gift” I had been given.
And maybe… just maybe, it would allow me to satisfy the growing curiosity I felt toward him.
I had no experience whatsoever when it came to demons—he was the first I’d ever encountered—but he didn’t match the portrait usually painted of his kind.
Or maybe I was just being naïve, and he was manipulating me so subtly that I couldn’t even tell.
It was hard to explain, because none of it made sense—he just felt… too human for a demon.
His behavior didn’t align with what I had expected from such a creature—almost as if I were doing him a favor by responding to his request.
He had simply spoken to me politely, waited without showing any real impatience, and even though he had used magic to compel me earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to resent him for it.
He was… surprisingly agreeable.
If that was even the right word.
He remained entirely courteous, and the unease I had felt at the start had dissolved far more quickly than I’d like to admit.
And I never thought I’d say something like that about a demon.
But I could feel a kind of weariness radiating from him.
As if he’d been doing this for so long, it no longer brought him any satisfaction.
As if he had seen the full extent of human desires—and they no longer held any real interest for him.
He hadn’t tried to coax me, not even for a second.
He hadn’t promised me riches or miracles to lure me into a choice.
He just waited—legs once again crossed, quietly studying me, as he had been doing since the moment he appeared in my living room.
And truthfully… I had the feeling I was just as much a subject of curiosity to him as he was to me.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, shrugging my shoulders.
He straightened up in the chair, uncrossed his legs, and stood.
He wasn’t especially tall, yet the shadows wrapped around him made him seem much more imposing beneath his long leather coat.
He towered over me by a good ten centimeters, and I felt my throat tighten without knowing why.
Maybe my body could sense the danger, recognize the threat standing only steps away.
He sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair, pushing it back. Then tilted his head to study me again.
“You’ve really decided not to make this easy for me, haven’t you?” he asked, the corner of his lips curled into a resigned smirk.
“I’m just being cautious,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest.
He took a step forward, shrinking the distance between us, and I instinctively backed away.
But he kept coming, calm and silent, until I was stopped short by a piece of furniture at my back.
He leaned in, and my breath hitched in my throat as I felt his across my neck.
"Consider yourself lucky, little bird. I’ll give you until the end of the week to make your choice," he whispers against my ear. "However, it’s wise of you to remember who I am and, most importantly, what I am capable of. Because you won’t be able to escape me forever."
I shiver, both from his proximity and the weight of his words. Yet, the smile that curls on his full lips seemed out of place compared to the crushing weight of his words. As if he were offering me a brief respite, but in doing so, he was gaining some advantage as well. Despite everything, he remained a being of darkness, whose moods could shift in an instant. If indeed they still possessed such things.
"You can’t leave until I give my answer anyway," I respond, even though the uncertainty in my voice contrasts with the boldness of my words.
He lets out a low laugh, which undulates across my skin like the caress of a velvet glove. His fingers hover near my face without touching it, tracing the line of my jaw. Yet, I feel their warmth as if they’ve actually made contact.
"There’s one thing you haven’t understood yet, Stay : I’m doing you a favor by letting you decide for yourself. If you haven’t found what you want by the end of these few days, I’ll go find the answer myself."
I freeze, raising my eyes to him.
"What ?"
" Tick tock. Tick tock, little bird. "
He steps back, and it’s my turn to advance, my brows furrowing.
"What does that mean ?" I ask, my throat tightening with sudden concern.
But he’s already starting to disappear, as though swallowed by the shadows surrounding him. The lower part of his body is nothing but darkness, but his eyes glow with a wild gleam, resembling the satisfaction of a predator when he knows he’s caught his prey.
However, where I should have felt fear, there’s only a deep unease that has nothing to do with dread.
"Chan."
His voice resonates with surprising softness, and my lips part in surprise. One blink later, he has vanished from the living room. And I might have thought it was a dream if not for the dark tendrils still creeping across the floor before they dissipate as well.
"Chan ?" I murmur into the emptiness, my fingers clenched around the hem of my sweater.
My heart is still pounding in my chest, and my fingers are trembling slightly, my feet cold, contrasting with the searing heat that still lingers on my cheeks.
"Might as well get to know each other if we’re going to spend some days together, little bird."
His presence suddenly echoes all around me in the room, disembodied, and a shiver runs down my spine at the silky tone.
synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been tangled in hogwarts' most explosive rivalry since fifth year—all duels in corridors and sabotaged potions and lingering stares across the great hall. now in your last year, you're forced to share prefect duties, and between his infuriating teasing and surprisingly caring moments, you can't decide if you want to hex him or kiss him. but when old wounds resurface and the line between rivalry and something else blurs, you'll have to confront why his attention still makes your pulse race—and whether some bridges are better left burned.
genre: hogwarts au, ex friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity
warnings: highly suggestive content!!, a steamy pool scene, sunghoon gets called an exhibtionist as a joke, mentions of blood status, jealousy, swearing, lots of hogwarts lore references, angst
note: lowkey got inspired to write this after reading deadly education but ended up making it spicy lol. also i haven't specifically mentioned which hogwarts houses the reader and hoon are in since you guys must be different houses so yeah. enjoyyy
word count: 8.1k
If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist
the parchment trembled slightly in your grip, the edges crinkling under your fingertips as you stared at the freshly inked letters spelling out your name beside the words girl prefect. your breath caught—just for a second—before a giddy warmth spread through your chest. you could’ve sworn your feet barely grazed the stone floor as you made your way to the front of the classroom.
this was it.
all those late nights hunched over textbooks in the library until your eyes burned. every extra credit assignment you’d taken on, every house point you’d fought for. the way you’d practiced spells until your wrists ached, all for this moment—the recognition you’d craved, the proof that your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.
then the head of house cleared their throat.
“—and your fellow prefect will be park sunghoon.”
the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale.
your head whipped toward him instinctively, muscle memory from years of tracking his movements, and just like always—just like always—he was already looking at you. his lips twitched, not quite a smirk but something dangerously close, his dark eyes alight with amusement.
of course.
of course it had to be him. the universe had a cruel sense of humor.
the head of house folded their hands atop the desk, surveying the two of you with the weary patience of someone who had long since grown tired of your antics. “i trust,” they said slowly, “that this appointment will encourage you both to set aside your… differences and act with the decorum expected of prefects.” their gaze flicked between you, pointed. “no duels in the corridors. no jinxes in the common room. and for merlin’s sake, no more sabotaging each other’s potions.”
sunghoon’s expression was the picture of innocence. “i would never.”
you barely suppressed a scoff. liar.
the moment you were dismissed, you spun on your heel, determined to escape before he could so much as open his mouth. but sunghoon, with his long legs caught up and fell into step beside you with infuriating ease, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to make you stiffen.
“looks like we’re stuck with each other, sweetheart,” he mused, voice dripping with false sweetness.
you clenched your jaw. “don’t call me that.”
“what, would you prefer partner?” he grinned when you shot him a glare, the torchlight catching the sharp curve of his cheekbones.
“oh, come on. admit it—you’re thrilled. all those patrols together, just you and me.” he leaned in just slightly, and you hated the way your pulse jumped. “bet you’ve been dreaming about it.”
“dreaming of hexing you into next week, maybe.”
he laughed, low and taunting, and you hated the way it sent a prickle down your spine—the way it still did, even after all this time. “you’d miss me too much.”
“in your dreams, park.”
“already there.” he winked.
you stopped short, turning to face him fully. the corridor was empty save for the two of you, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his sharp features that made him look almost otherworldly.
“listen,” you hissed, “just because we’re prefects now doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten what you did last term. or the term before that. or—”
“you’re really holding onto that?” he tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his side—like he was stopping himself from reaching for something.
“i’d say it’s flattering, but it’s starting to sound like an obsession.”
your fingers twitched toward your wand. “i swear, if you don’t—”
“ah-ah.” he tutted, nodding pointedly to the enchanted portraits lining the walls—several of whom had paused their conversations to watch the spectacle. “decorum, remember?” his voice dropped, just for you. “wouldn’t want to disappoint the head of house on our first day.”
you forced your hand to relax, but the fire in your chest refused to die. this wasn’t just about rivalry. this was about the way he’d looked right through you fifth year, like you were nothing. like you’d never been anything.
“this isn’t over,” you muttered.
sunghoon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “oh, i’m counting on it.”
and with that, he strolled past you, robes swishing behind him like a victory banner. you stared after him, torn between the urge to scream and the sinking realisation that this year was going to be very long.
but if he thought for one second you’d let him win?
he had another thing coming.
you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
the moment you stepped into the prefects’ wing, the air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against your skin like a warning. this part of the common room was unnervingly quiet—separated from the usual chaos by an ornate archway woven with enchanted ivy that shivered as you passed. two doors faced each other in the dim torchlight, close enough that you could’ve stretched out your arms and touched both at once.
yours. and—
“no.”
sunghoon’s voice curled around you from behind, rich with amusement. “yes.”
you didn’t need to turn to see his expression—you knew it by heart. that lazy, lopsided grin, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners just before he delivered some infuriating remark. your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you clenched them into fists instead, nails biting crescents into your palms.
the door in front of you seemed to taunt you with its very existence.
“this is a joke,” you muttered.
“a hilarious one,” he agreed, brushing past so close his sleeve whispered against yours. he leaned against his doorframe with practiced ease, the flickering torchlight carving shadows under his cheekbones, gilding the curve of his smirk.
“aw, don’t look so heartbroken, princess. could’ve been worse,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “you could’ve been stuck next to someone boring.”
you shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “right. because you’re a delight.”
he pressed a hand to his chest—the same way he used to when you’d accuse him of cheating at exploding snap—and the familiarity of the gesture lodged like a splinter in your throat. “i’m wounded. after all these years, you still don’t appreciate my charm?”
“your charm,” you spat, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered, “is what got us here in the first place.”
the silence that followed was deafening.
for one fractured second, his mask slipped—just enough for you to catch the flicker in his eyes, the barely-there tightening of his jaw. but it was gone before you could name it, smoothed over with a careless shrug that didn’t match the sudden tension in his shoulders.
you remembered when those shoulders had carried your unconscious first-year self to the hospital wing after your disastrous attempt at flying. remembered how they'd shaken with silent laughter during history of magic when you'd charmed his quill to draw rude pictures on his parchment. remembered most painfully how they'd turned away from you in fifth year, when he'd started sitting with them—the polished, pureblooded group who whispered about blood status in the corridors.
it had started small. skipped study sessions. forgotten inside jokes. then one day you'd walked into the great hall to find your usual seat by the window—your seat, the one he'd saved for you every morning since first year—occupied by some simpering girl from his new circle.
when you'd cornered him after potions, demanding to know what his problem was, he'd just shrugged. "people change." like it was that simple. like four years of friendship meant nothing.
so you'd made sure he remembered.
if he wanted to pretend you didn't exist, you'd force him to notice you. you charmed his robes neon pink during presentations. swapped his pumpkin juice with vinegar. turned all his quills into snakes during arithmancy. each prank was a scream into the void: look at me, see me, remember what you threw away.
now, standing in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of those memories pressed between you like a third presence. sunghoon recovered faster than you did, his smirk sliding back into place with practiced ease.
"still holding onto ancient history, i see," he mused, pushing off the doorframe to take a step closer. the movement brought him into your space, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cedar and ink that still haunted your dreams. "what's next? you gonna charm my shoes to stick to the floor like third year? or—"
"that was you," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. the accusation hung between you, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. you did this first. you started this war.
his eyebrow quirked. "and you turned all my quills into snakes during arithmancy."
"after you vanished my potions textbook the week before NEWTs!"
"allegedly."
"you left my handwriting on a fake love note to flitwick in the margins!"
he grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it was so familiar that your chest ached. "allegedly."
you turned back to your door before he could see how his smile still affected you, how your traitorous heart still stuttered at the sight. but sunghoon, ever relentless, wasn't finished.
"you know," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate—the tone he used to reserve for midnight confessions and hidden corners, "if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just asked."
your hand froze on the doorknob.
for one suspended heartbeat, the air between you crackled with the ghost of what you'd once been—two halves of a reckless, unbreakable whole. you could almost feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours in the library, the way he'd whisper jokes into your ear until you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
then reality came crashing back.
"keep dreaming, park," you scoffed, shoving the door open with more force than necessary.
his laughter followed you inside, warm and melodic and wrong—because it wasn't yours to keep anymore. "already do," he called after you.
you slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if it could shield you from the way your pulse raced, from the way your eyes burned with something dangerously close to tears. outside, you heard his footsteps pause, followed by the sound of his door gently slamming shut
your chest ached.
this year was going to be hell.
it becomes a thing after that.
you start bumping into sunghoon at the worst possible times—as if the universe has decided your suffering is its favourite spectator sport. like when you drag yourself into the hallway at 2 am, bleary-eyed and half-dead from studying, your vision swimming from hours of staring at ancient runes, only to collide with something warm and solid.
"oof—"
the scent hits you first—cedar and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candies he always used to sneak during classes. your sleep-addled brain recognizes it before your eyes do, and your stomach does a traitorous little flip.
sunghoon steadies you with hands on your shoulders, his own hair sticking up in three different directions, dark strands falling into his eyes. he's wearing what might be the most ridiculous sleepwear you've ever seen—flannel pants with little animated broomsticks that actually move, hanging low on his hips, and a threadbare quidditch jersey that's definitely two sizes too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a sliver of collarbone.
you blink.
he blinks back.
for one horrifying second, you're both frozen there in the dim torchlight, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of your oversized hoodie (the one with the cartoon snitch that says "catch me if you can"—a gift from your friend jungwon that you'd never admit to owning).
then his gaze drops to your feet.
and he snorts.
"please tell me those were a gift," he says, pointing at your slippers—fluffy monstrosities shaped like kneazles, complete with little ears that flop when you shift your weight. one ear has started to curl inward from wear. "tell me you didn't willingly purchase those."
you flip him off, shuffling past with as much dignity as you can muster when your slippers make a soft mrrp noise against the stone floor.
"they're warm," you mutter.
"they're embarrassing."
"says the guy wearing pyjamas with his dancing broomsticks on them."
you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning. you can hear it in his voice. "you noticed? i'm flattered."
your cheeks burn. damn him.
he starts stealing your favourite study spot, too.
the one by the window in the common room—the table with the perfect view of the lake, where the afternoon light turns the water to liquid gold and the old oak table bears the carved initials you'd put there fourth year (SH + Y/N, hidden under the edge where only you'd know to look). you've claimed it for years, and everyone knows it.
which is exactly why sunghoon's sitting there when you walk in one evening, already sprawled across the bench like he owns it, twirling his wand between his fingers with lazy precision. the dying sunlight catches on the silver rings he always wears, making them gleam.
you stop dead.
"wow," you deadpan. "you work fast."
he doesn't even glance up from his parchment, but you see the way his lips quirk. "what can i say? early bird gets the view." he finally looks up, and the smirk he gives you is all sharp edges and challenge. "maybe you should try being less predictable."
you consider setting his notes on fire.
instead, you take the table next to his—the wobbly one that always tilts your inkwell—and pointedly ignore the way his knee brushes yours under the table when he stretches.
(he definitely does it on purpose.)
(you definitely don't think about how his legs have gotten longer since fifth year.)
but the worst is the patrols.
being forced to walk the castle's quiet, echoing corridors together—where every footstep sounds too loud, every breath feels too close.
tonight, he's holding his wand aloft like some kind of dramatic victorian ghost hunter, the lumos glow casting long shadows across his sharp cheekbones, catching on the silver hoop in his left ear.
you roll your eyes. "bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"sorry for not having bat vision like you."
"maybe if you didn't spend all your time preening in mirrors—"
you don't even see the uneven step.
one second, you're scoffing at him—the next, your foot catches on a raised stone, and you're lurching forward with a startled gasp, your wand flying from your grip.
but before you can faceplant into the cold stone floor, his hand shoots out, gripping your elbow and yanking you back upright with surprising gentleness. your chest collides with his, and for one terrifying, electric second, you're right there—close enough to see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to feel his breath hitch against your lips.
neither of you moves.
his fingers are still wrapped around your arm, warm and firm, and you hate how familiar it feels. how right. how easy it would be to lean in, to—
then he clears his throat and lets go like you've burned him, taking a deliberate step back.
"watch your step," he mutters, already turning away to gather your scattered notes.
you don't miss the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tremble just slightly as he hands your wand back.
the rest of the patrol is silent, but everything left unsaid makes the air between you suffocating.
you pushed open the heavy oak door to the prefects’ bathroom, steam curling around your ankles as you stepped inside. the massive sunken tub glimmered under floating enchanted candles, their reflections dancing across the marble walls. and it seems that no other prefect from the other houses were here.
perfect—just what you needed after a gruelling day of school.
then you heard the water splash.
sunghoon stood waist-deep in the pool, his back to you as he peeled off his soaked white t-shirt. water sluiced down the defined muscles of his shoulders, tracing the elegant dip of his spine before disappearing beneath the waterline. the dim candlelight gilded every curve of his toned arms as he tossed the shirt aside with a wet smack against the tiles.
your brain short-circuited.
he turned at the sound of your choked gasp, water dripping from his dark hair. for one horrifying second, his eyes locked onto yours—wide, startled—before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.
"enjoying the view, sweetheart?"
you whirled around so fast you nearly tripped over your own robes. "this is a shared space, you—you exhibitionist!"
his laugh echoed off the marble. "shared, yes. which means knocking is customary." you could hear the grin in his voice. "unless you were hoping to catch me like this?"
"i'd rather catch dragon pox!" you fumbled for the door handle, cheeks burning.
"liar," he called after you. the splash of water told you he'd leaned back, completely at ease. "you stared for a solid five seconds."
you slammed the door hard enough to rattle the torches in their sconces.
…
"five seconds?" sunoo nearly spat out his pumpkin juice, eyes sparkling with mischief. across the table, jungwon choked on a laugh, thumping his chest.
you stabbed your fork into a roasted potato with unnecessary force. "i did not stare."
"sure," jungwon drawled, stealing a roll from your plate. "and i'm the minister of magic."
sunoo leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "you two need to either fuck or duel already. the sexual tension is giving me hives."
"sunoo!" you kicked him under the table, but your traitorous gaze flickered across the hall before you could stop it.
sunghoon sat with his usual group, idly stirring his soup. as if sensing your stare, he glanced up—and winked. the bastard had the audacity to mouth "five seconds" before his friends noticed and started elbowing him.
you dropped your forehead onto the table with a groan.
you should’ve known the universe had it out for you.
the thought pounded in time with your footsteps as you stomped toward the forbidden forest, the cold night air biting at your exposed skin.
of course this would happen on the one night you actually planned to sleep before dawn.
of course it was a group of reckless first-years from your house who decided to wander off here.
and of course—because fate had never once been kind to you—sunghoon was the one marching beside you, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps like some cruel reminder of how things used to be.
"this is your fault," you muttered, more out of habit than anything else.
his sigh was barely audible over the crunch of leaves underfoot. "how, exactly?"
"you gave them detention for the dungbomb incident. this is clearly revenge."
"ah yes, because children are famously logical creatures who plan elaborate revenge schemes." his voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was no real heat behind it. just exhaustion. it threw you off—this version of sunghoon who didn't rise to your bait like he used to.
you risked a glance at his profile in the moonlight. the sharp line of his jaw was tense, his brows drawn together in that way they always got when he was thinking too hard. you hated that you still noticed these things. hated that after all this time, you could still read him like a book you'd memorised but pretended not to care about.
the forest loomed ahead, darker than the sky around it. a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"we'll split up," you said abruptly. "cover more ground."
"no." the word came out sharp, surprising you both. he cleared his throat. "it's... not safe. we stick together."
there was something in his voice you couldn't place—something that made your chest ache in a way you refused to examine. so you just nodded, stepping into the treeline beside him, close enough that your sleeves brushed. neither of you moved away.
the forest was wrong tonight.
usually alive with rustling leaves and distant animal calls, now it was eerily silent, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears, your heartbeat pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"this is stupid," you muttered, just to break the silence. "what kind of idiots think wandering into the murder forest at midnight is a good idea?"
next to you, sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh. "the same kind that think turning their rival's hair pink right before a quidditch match is a solid life choice."
the unexpected callback to simpler times caught you off guard. warmth bloomed in your chest before you could stop it, quickly smothered by years of built-up resentment.
"that was one time—"
"and the time you swapped my pumpkin juice with vinegar—"
"you deserved that—"
"and the time you definitely stared at me in the prefect's bathroom for five full seconds—"
something inside you snapped.
"oh my god, are you serious right now?" you whirled on him so fast he actually took a step back. your wandlight threw wild shadows across his face, illuminating the startled widening of his eyes. "you're really gonna act like i started all this? like you weren't the one who—"
your voice cracked traitorously. you hated it. hated the way his expression shifted from amused to concerned in an instant. hated how your eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears.
sunghoon went completely still. "who what?" he asked quietly.
the words tore out of you like a dam breaking:
"who ditched me the second you found a shinier group of friends!"
the silence that followed was deafening.
sunghoon looked like you'd struck him. his mouth opened, closed. for the first time since you'd known him, park sunghoon seemed at a complete loss for words.
you didn't wait for him to find them. turning on your heel, you stormed deeper into the forest, your pulse roaring in your ears. you made it three steps before you heard him move behind you—quick, urgent footsteps—and then his hand was wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.
"wait—"
a shrill voice cut through the trees before he could continue.
"oh thank merlin!"
the first-years.
sunghoon's grip loosened immediately, but his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before falling away. the ghost of his touch burned long after he'd turned toward the sound.
the walk back was torture.
the kids shuffled ahead of you, sniffling and covered in mud and leaves, while you and sunghoon trailed behind in suffocating silence. your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over—the look on his face when you said those words, the way his hand felt around your wrist.
at one point, he moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "we should—" he started, voice low.
you sped up, pretending to adjust the scarf of a trembling first-year. you didn’t wand to do this now.
by the time you reached the common room, your jaw ached from clenching it. you handed out detentions on autopilot ("no, you cannot serve it together, yes, you're lucky we're not telling the head of house"), your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.
the second the kids scurried off, you bolted for your room, desperate for space to breathe, to think—
—only for a hand to catch the door before you could slam it shut.
suddenly, you were being yanked into his room.
"what the hell—"
"i didn't ditch you."
his voice was rough, raw in a way you'd never heard before. his grip on your wrist was tight enough that you could feel his pulse racing against your skin—or maybe that was yours. you were too overwhelmed to tell.
you glared up at him, chest heaving. "oh, really? because i remember you ghosting me for months—"
"my parents made me."
the words burst out of him like he'd been holding them in for years. he released your wrist to rake a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between his bed and the door like a caged animal.
"they—merlin, they lost it when they found out i was friends with a muggle-born," he continued, voice cracking on the last word. "threatened to pull me out of hogwarts. i had to—" he stopped, swallowed hard. "i had to pretend. until i could figure something out."
the confession hit you like a bludger to the chest. all the air left your lungs at once.
memories flooded back—sunghoon's sudden distance fifth year, the way he'd flinch whenever his new friends made comments about blood status, the times you'd caught him looking at you across the great hall with an expression you couldn't decipher.
"you could've told me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
he shook his head, eyes shining in the dim light. "I couldn't. you would've tried to fix it. you would've—" his voice broke. "you would've gotten yourself hurt."
the raw honesty in his words stole your breath. for years, you'd assumed the worst; that he'd outgrown you, that you weren't enough. but this... this was something else entirely.
the air between you was heavy with everything unsaid. you could see the exact moment he realised how close you were standing, because his breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"...i'm sorry," he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it.
the words settled over you like a warm cloak. not perfect. not a complete fix. but a start.
"me too," you whispered back.
when you slipped out of his room and back into yours, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.
neither of you slept that night. you lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every look. wondering if this changed everything—or nothing at all.
you woke with a start, your cheek pressed against a half-open textbook. sunlight streamed through the common room windows—you’d fallen asleep at your usual table with the view ofthe lake, the one sunghoon had stolen so often. your neck ached, and there was drool on your parchment.
a shadow fell across your notes.
"rough night?"
sunghoon stood over you, holding two steaming mugs. he looked unfairly put-together for someone who’d also presumably gotten no sleep—his hair slightly damp from a shower, his prefect badge already pinned neatly to his robes.
you sat up too fast, your elbow knocking into an inkwell. "what are you—"
"coffee." he set one mug down in front of you, black with three sugars, just how you liked it. "figured you’d need it."
you stared at the mug like it might transform into a dungbomb. this was new. this was terrifying.
across the room, a group of fourth-years whispered behind their hands.
sunghoon cleared his throat. "patrols tonight. meet at eight?"
"yeah," you managed. "eight."
he nodded, already turning away—then paused. "oh, and y/n?"
"what?"
"you’ve got…" he gestured to his own cheek, mirroring where your face had been smushed against your notes. "ink."
you swiped at your face furiously as he walked off, but not before catching the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
the whispers started the moment you walked in together to the dining hall.
it wasn’t intentional—you’d just happened to leave the common room at the same time, and sunghoon had held the door open for you like some kind of gentleman, and now the your entire table was gaping.
"what the hell happened last night?" sunoo demanded as you slid onto the bench. next to him, jungwon’s eyebrows were in his hairline.
"nothing," you muttered, reaching for the toast.
"nothing?" jungwon leaned in. "he’s been staring at you since you sat down."
your head snapped up. sure enough, sunghoon was watching you from across the hall, chin propped on his hand. when he caught your eye, he smirked and took an exaggerated sip from his mug—the same one he’d brought you earlier.
you kicked sunoo under the table when he opened his mouth. "don’t."
meanwhile, at the slytherin table, sunghoon’s so-called friends weren’t even pretending not to stare. one of them—a tall guy with a permanent sneer—said something under his breath. sunghoon’s response was too quiet to hear, but the way his friend’s face paled was very satisfying.
you found out what he’d said to them later, when you passed them in the corridor.
"—thought you were done with that," sneer-boy was hissing, just around the corner from where you’d frozen mid-step.
"changed my mind," sunghoon’s voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "got a problem with it?"
"she’s a muggle-born—"
"finish that sentence," sunghoon said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "and i’ll hex you into next week."
silence.
you ducked into an alcove before they could see you, your heart pounding. when sunghoon walked past minutes later, alone, he paused—like he could sense you there.
"you can come out now," he called, amused. "unless you’re planning to ambush me again. which, fair."
you stepped out, cheeks burning. "i wasn’t eavesdropping—"
"liar." he fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. "but since you heard all that…" he bumped your shoulder with his. "you’re welcome."
you bumped him back, harder. "idiot."
he grinned.
things changed after that.
sunghoon stopped stealing your study spot—instead, he’d join you there, sprawling across the bench like he owned it. you stopped hexing his belongings—mostly. (some traditions had to stay alive.)
his old friends glowered at you in the halls. yours teased you mercilessly.
and when you had patrols together, the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore—just quiet, comfortable.
(though he did still tease you about the bathroom incident. some things would never change.)
the moment the first raindrop hit your nose, you knew this trip was doomed.
you'd been assigned to chaperone a group of first-years on their first hogsmeade visit, with sunghoon as your unfortunate co-supervisor—because apparently the universe still hadn't finished laughing at you. the kids had dragged you from honeydukes to zonko's, their excitement barely contained as they pressed against every shop window.
sunghoon lingered at the back of the group, hands in his pockets, occasionally shooting you glances you couldn't quite decipher.
then the sky opened up without warning. one second you were counting heads near the post office, the next icy rain was pelting down in sheets, sending students scattering in every direction.
"in here!" sunghoon's voice cut through the chaos as his fingers closed around your wrist. you didn't process where he was pulling you until the bell above the door tinkled and the overwhelming scent of floral perfume hit you.
madam puddifoot's. the most notoriously romantic tea shop in the village, all lace doilies and floating cherubs and couples canoodling in heart-shaped booths.
"we are not—" you began, already backpedalling, but it was too late. the first-years had already stampeded inside, their squeals of delight echoing off the pink walls.
sunghoon stepped in behind you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he shook rainwater from his hair. "well. this is cozy."
you shot him a glare that could melt steel.
"i'd rather swim back to the castle."
the elderly witch behind the counter beamed at your bedraggled group. "young love! how precious!"
"we're not—"
"just chaperones," sunghoon finished smoothly, though the smirk playing at his lips ruined any attempt at innocence.
the next twenty minutes passed in a haze of humiliation. the first-years were seated at a large table near the back, leaving you and sunghoon wedged into a tiny booth for two—one adorned with actual cupid statues that periodically blew glitter into the air. your face burned as a cherub floated by dumping rose petals on unsuspecting patrons.
across from you, sunghoon looked unbearably amused, stirring his tea with infuriating calm.
"you're enjoying this," you accused, watching as he added a third sugar cube to his cup.
he raised an eyebrow. "the tea's decent."
"i meant the utter humiliation of this situation."
the corner of his mouth twitched. "that too."
a sudden commotion at the first-years' table saved you from responding. one of the girls was pointing between you two with alarming enthusiasm. "are you going to kiss?"
your teacup clattered against its saucer. sunghoon choked on his sip.
"we are not—"
"not in front of you lot," sunghoon interrupted solemnly, sending the table into giggles.
you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him wince. "you're dead to me."
the rain showed no signs of letting up, trapping you in this pastel nightmare. as minutes ticked by, you became increasingly aware of every accidental brush of sunghoon's knee against yours, every time his fingers grazed yours reaching for the sugar bowl. the shop's enchanted ceiling—currently mimicking a sunset—cast warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face in a way that made your chest feel oddly tight.
at one point, you caught him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite place—something between amusement and that same unreadable look he'd worn in the forest after your argument.
"what?" you muttered, self-consciously wiping at your face.
he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. "just wondering how long it'll take you to admit this isn't so bad."
before you could retort, a chorus of "ooooooh!" erupted from the first-years' table. you looked down to realise sunghoon's hand was still covering yours on the tabletop—when had that happened?
you jerked back as if burned, sending a saucer clattering to the floor. the resulting cheers from the children made you want to disappear into the upholstery.
by the time the rain eased, your dignity was beyond salvage. the walk back to hogwarts was a parade of giggles and not-so-subtle whispers from your charges. sunghoon walked beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps like he couldn't quite help himself.
"you realise we're never living this down," you groaned as the castle gates came into view.
he grinned, that infuriating, lopsided grin that used to make your stomach flip in fourth year and—annoyingly—still did now.
"where's your sense of adventure?"
"back in that tea shop, buried under approximately two hundred rose petals."
his laughter followed you all the way up the path, warm and familiar, and despite yourself, you found your steps falling into sync with his. (and if you didn't protest when one of the first-years snapped another photo of you two walking shoulder-to-shoulder—well. some things were better left unexamined.)
things between you and sunghoon had become dangerously comfortable. what started as reluctant co-prefect duties had slowly melted into late-night study sessions where your head would end up on his shoulder, patrols where his fingers lingered a second too long when helping you up, and inside jokes whispered too close to each other’s ears in the great hall.
it wasn’t a relationship, not really—just stolen moments and unspoken tension that made your stomach flip whenever he smirked at you across a crowded room.
that’s why it stung so much when you walked into the library and saw him laughing with eunji, a bright-eyed ravenclaw a year younger than you both who had newly joined. logically, you knew there was nothing romantic about it—he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as she enthusiastically explained some arithmancy concept, his expression more amused than affectionate. but the way his eyes crinkled at her enthusiasm, the easy way he nodded along—it reminded you too much of how he used to look at you before everything got complicated.
"y/n!" sunghoon called when he spotted you hovering by the shelves, waving you over with that same warm smile that always made your pulse skip. "come join us. eunji’s explaining this ridiculous theory about using arithmancy to predict quidditch outcomes."
you forced your feet to move, your grip tightening on your book bag. eunji greeted you with a cheerful wave, her braids swinging. "sunghoon said you’re brilliant at charms! maybe you can help me understand this part about wand movement harmonics?"
the next hour passed in a blur of half-hearted contributions from you and increasingly animated discussion between the two of them. every time you tried to interject, the conversation would circle back to some inside joke or advanced magical theory that left you feeling like an outsider in your own friendship. when eunji reached over to adjust sunghoon’s grip on her notes, demonstrating some wand technique, you suddenly couldn’t breathe properly.
"i should go," you muttered, gathering your things before either could protest. "forgot i promised to meet sunoo for... something."
sunghoon’s brow furrowed as you stood. "you okay?"
"fine." you forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "just tired."
the walk back to your dorm felt infinitely longer than usual, each step weighed down by memories of fifth year—of sunghoon slowly slipping away from you, of empty promises to study together, of eventually finding him surrounded by new friends who looked at you like you didn’t belong.
hogsmeade weekend only made it worse. you’d been hoping to bump into sunghoon accidentally-on-purpose near honeydukes, maybe share a chocolate frog like old times. instead, you found him outside the three broomsticks deep in conversation with eunji again, their heads bent together over some parchment. when he laughed at something she said, that familiar loud, unguarded laugh that used to be yours, something sharp twisted in your chest.
you turned on your heel so fast you nearly collided with a group of third-years.
"there you are!" sunoo’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts as he and jungwon appeared beside you, their arms laden with zonko’s purchases. "we’ve been looking everywhere—oh."
sunoo followed your gaze to where sunghoon was now helping eunji adjust her scarf. "that again?"
you let them steer you into the three broomsticks, where jungwon immediately ordered three butterbeers.
"you’re being ridiculous," sunoo said bluntly as you slumped into a chair. "he looks at you like you invented sunlight. that’s just some kid he’s tutoring."
"but what if—"
"what if nothing," jungwon interrupted, pushing a frothy mug toward you. "remember when you turned his hair pink before the gryffindor match last year? he still smiles when someone mentions that."
the memory should have comforted you. instead, it just made you think of how easily things could change—how sunghoon had drifted away once before, how his parents’ disapproval still hung over whatever this was between you.
by monday, you’d started taking deliberate detours to avoid him. patrols were reassigned, library visits carefully timed, and when you couldn’t avoid crossing paths, you kept conversations painfully polite. sunghoon’s confused frowns and hesitant "hey, wait—"s as you hurried away only made your chest ache more.
"are you trying to break his heart or yours?" sunoo demanded one evening after you ducked into an empty classroom to avoid sunghoon in the corridor.
you pressed your back against the cold stone wall. "it’s not like that. i just... need space."
"from him? or from whatever’s happening between you two?"
you didn’t have an answer.
the tension came to a head in charms class. with flitwick delayed by some mishap in the staff room, the classroom had dissolved into chaos.
you’d gotten pulled into helping jay, a handsome gryffindor, untangle some particularly stubborn enchanted yarn. his dramatic retelling of his disastrous attempt to knit a scarf for his gran had you laughing so hard your sides hurt.
then you felt it—that unmistakable prickle of being watched.
sunghoon sat three rows back, his usually expressive face unreadable as he stared at you. his quill had stopped moving entirely, fingers clenched so tightly around it you could see the whites of his knuckles from across the room. when jay leaned in to whisper another joke, sunghoon’s jaw tightened visibly, his dark eyes flashing with something that sent heat crawling up your neck.
you forced yourself to look away, suddenly fascinated by the grain of your desk. but like a compass needle finding north, your gaze kept drifting back. minutes passed, and he was still watching you with that same intensity, as if trying to communicate something words couldn’t capture.
when flitwick finally arrived and class ended, you were out of your seat before the dismissal fully left his mouth. you didn’t look back, even when you heard sunghoon call your name in the corridor. your heart pounded as you took the stairs two at a time, your mind racing with questions you weren’t ready to face.
why did his attention still affect you like this? why did part of you still want to turn around and walk straight into that stormy gaze?
and most terrifying of all—what if you’d been wrong about everything?
the uncertainty settled heavy in your chest as you disappeared around the corner, leaving sunghoon and all your unanswered questions behind.
you should've known better than to think you'd have the prefect's bathroom to yourself. the universe had a cruel sense of humour when it came to you and sunghoon.
the massive, pool-like tub was empty when you arrived, steam curling off the water's surface in lazy tendrils. you'd changed into your bathing suit—a modest but pretty thing—before stepping in, sighing as the warm water lapped at your skin.
the golden taps lining the walls gleamed, each set with a different jewel that dispensed everything from rose-scented bubbles to vanilla-infused oils. you'd chosen a mix of both, the sweet floral scent wrapping around you as you leaned back, eyes closed, finally relaxing for the first time in days.
then the door slammed open.
your eyes flew open just in time to see sunghoon stride in, already shirtless, a towel slung low over his hips. your breath caught. he looked unfairly good, water droplets clinging to his skin from the humid air, his dark hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.
his gaze locked onto yours immediately.
"you," he said, voice rough, "have been avoiding me."
you swallowed, sinking a little deeper into the water. "i wasn't-"
"don't lie." he dropped the towel (thank merlin, he was wearing swim trunks) and stepped into the pool, not breaking eye contact for a second. the water rippled around him as he moved closer, and you instinctively backed toward the far edge, your pulse thundering in your ears.
he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. "where are you going?"
"the-the soap." you gestured weakly to the rose-and-vanilla tap across the pool. "i wanted to.."
sunghoon's grip tightened just slightly. "then go."
you didn't move. neither did he.
the silence stretched, thick with tension, until he finally let out a frustrated breath and tugged you closer. "you're really going to pretend nothing's wrong?"
you bit your lip, glancing away. "i don't know what you're talking about."
"bullshit." his thumb brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been dodging me for days. skipping patrols. running away every time i get near you." his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "was it because of him?"
you blinked. "who?"
"that gryffindor. the one you were laughing with in class." his jaw clenched. "are you into him? is that why—"
"what? no!" you gaped at him. "i was just helping him with—"
"then why?" sunghoon's fingers slid up your arm, his touch burning even through the water. "why avoid me?"
you hesitated, then muttered, "you were the one always with that ravenclaw girl."
sunghoon stilled. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. "eunji?"
you scowled. "don't act like you don't know who i'm talking about."
he laughed, low and amused, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "she's my friend's little sister, and, for the record, very much into girls."
your cheeks burned as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "were you jealous?"
"no!"
"liar." his nose brushed along your neck, and you shivered.
"you've been driving me crazy, you know that? watching you laugh with someone else, then running every time i tried to talk to you—" his hands slid down to your waist, gripping tight. "i couldn't take it"
your breath hitched. "sunghoon—"
"let me help you with that soap," he murmured, already reaching for the bottle floating nearby.
you didn't protest as he poured a generous amount into his palms, his hands smoothing over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch deliberate and slow. when he reached your back, you tensed, but his fingers were careful, kneading the tension from your muscles as he worked the lather into your skin.
"you're so fucking pretty," he muttered, his lips brushing your shoulder. "it's unfair."
you leaned into him without thinking, your head tipping back against his chest. his hands stilled, then slid around to your front, tracing the dip of your collarbones, the curve of your waist. you could feel his heartbeat against your back, rapid and unsteady.
"sunghoon," you whispered, "your parents wouldn't approve of this. of us."
he stilled, then huffed a laugh. "who cares what they think?"
"they pulled you out of my life once already—"
"and i regret letting that happen every day." his thumb brushed your wrist. "they'll give in once they meet you."
your breath hitched. "you're going to make me meet them?"
"yeah," he said simply, pulling you flush against him. "you're gonna be my girlfriend after all."
the word sent heat rushing to your cheeks. "i never agreed to that."
sunghoon's hands slid to your waist. "then say no." when you didn't, his smirk returned. "that's what i thought."
he turned you to face him, his eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. "tell me you feel it too."
you didn't have to ask what he meant. "i do."
his breath left him in a rush, and then his mouth was on yours, hot and desperate.
the kiss stole the air from your lungs, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and aching want. his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid you might slip away, fingertips digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. you whimpered against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a low, broken sound that sent a fresh bolt of heat straight to you.
"fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice hoarse, "i missed you. you have no idea—"
he cut himself off by kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak. you barely realised you were moving until your back hit the slick marble edge of the pool, trapping you between the cool stone and the hard, burning press of sunghoon’s body.
he kissed like he was trying to memorise you—long, unhurried drags of his mouth against yours, punctuated by little nips to your bottom lip that had you gasping. one of his hands slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip beneath your ribs, until his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast, featherlight.
you broke the kiss with a gasp, your head falling back against the marble. "sunghoon—"
"tell me to stop," he said, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. his hand stayed where it was, trembling slightly.
you opened your mouth—but no protest came out. instead, your hands slid down his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, the slick heat of his skin, until you were clutching at him helplessly.
"that's what i thought," he breathed, almost a laugh, before his mouth found your throat.
you choked on a moan as he kissed down the column of your neck, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the sting. his hands, bolder now, roamed freely over your body, mapping every inch like it was his right. the thin straps of your bathing suit slipped down your shoulders under his touch, and you shivered, equal parts from the chill of the air and the heat building inside you.
"someone could walk in," you gasped, barely coherent as his teeth grazed your pulse point.
he cursed under his breath, dragging himself back enough to look at you. his eyes were black with heat, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
"then come to my room," he said roughly, his voice pure sin. "please."
you hesitated—but then he kissed you again, slow this time, coaxing, like a promise of everything he wasn’t saying out loud. his thumb rubbed slow circles into your hip, grounding you.
"unless," he said against your mouth, smirking wickedly, "you'd rather stay here and risk getting caught."
you swatted his chest, but the fight had long since gone out of you. your body was already leaning into his, your mouth chasing his kiss. "fine," you whispered. "but only because—"
he didn't let you finish, with a grin, he lifted you out of the water in one smooth motion, making you squeal as he carried you toward the door, his lips finding yours again before you could protest.
“your room is right next door after all, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else.”
loser!txt's reaction to you getting them flustered
genre: fluff, humour
warnings: suggestive content!, making out, kissing, choking(the good kind heh), whiny!txt, stuttering, down bad!txt
note: finally writing for txt after like 2 years. i did a similar one for enha so naturally i had to do it for txt because they're soo silly. i also had to finish writing this after looking at beomgyu's very motivating recent buff pics omg. enjoy reading!
word count: 3.8k
if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
YEONJUN
yeonjun tries so hard to play it cool as your boyfriend—all confidence and swagger—but the moment you so much as hold his hand for too long, he’s hiding his face in your shoulder, whining about how "you're trying to kill me!" he’s the type to shamelessly beg for your attention one second, then get insanely flustered when you actually give it to him. he’ll send you selfies captioned "thinking about you, babe ;)" and then shrivel up and die if you call him cute.
and now, as he sits beside you on his couch, watching some random movie, he’s completely oblivious to the way you’ve been staring at him for the past ten minutes. he’s scrolling on his phone, glasses slipping down his nose, occasionally mumbling a reaction to whatever’s on screen. his bare face looks so pretty in the dim glow of the television, lips slightly parted, his brows furrowing every now and then.
he looks kissable.
"why are you looking at me like that?"
you blink, snapped out of your trance. yeonjun turns to you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"like what?" you ask, tilting your head.
"like you're about to bully me."
you let out a soft hum. "i was just thinking."
he snorts. "that’s never good."
you ignore him. "you’re not a very good kisser.".
his entire body goes stiff, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. his phone slips from his grip, bouncing onto his lap, and he blinks at you in pure devastation.
"huh?" he finally croaks out, voice cracking horribly.
you shrug. "i mean, you're just kinda… meh. nothing special."
yeonjun’s jaw drops. he presses a dramatic hand to his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. "EXCUSE ME?!"
you barely hold in your laugh at his utterly betrayed expression. "i dunno, babe. you just kinda suck."
"I SUCK?! i—when? why didn’t you say anything before" he whines, eyes wide with disbelief.
you hum, inspecting your nails. "I was being nice."
yeonjun gasps, clutching his chest like a 19th-century widow. his ears are red. "YOU WERE BEING NICE?! BABY, MY EGO—HELLO?!"
before he can spiral into a full-blown meltdown, you reach up, gently plucking his glasses off his face.
his words die in his throat.
"which is why you need more practice," you murmur.
his breath hitches.
then, before he can so much as process what’s happening, your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him in as your lips crash against his.
yeonjun whimpers.
he goes boneless instantly, melting into you like putty. his plush lips part against yours, kissing you back so desperately, so messily, it’s obvious he’s completely lost in it. your fingers tangle deeper into his hair, tugging lightly, and the sound he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a whine—sends heat rushing through you.
it’s a mess. his lips move against yours with a feverish hunger, hands gripping your waist as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. he’s so eager, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes you shiver.
when you finally pull away, only because you need air, yeonjun chases your lips with a needy whine, trying to pull you back in.
but then, against your lips, he mumbles in the saddest, most pathetic voice:
"do you really think I’m a bad kisser?"
you lose it.
a laugh bubbles out of you, and you cup his face, pressing a soft peck to his nose. his cheeks are burning, his brows furrowed in genuine distress.
"i was just messing with you, baby," you giggle, pecking his lips again. "i just needed an excuse to kiss you. I literally can’t get enough of you."
yeonjun blinks. once. twice.
then he groans, dramatically collapsing onto your shoulder, wrapping himself around you like a clingy koala. "you’re SO mean."
you laugh, rubbing his back. "you love me."
"unfortunately," he grumbles, muffled against your neck.
you smirk. "and you’re a great kisser, by the way."
he peeks up at you, still red-faced, before stealing another quick kiss—like he needs to make up for lost time. and despite his flustered state, you know he’s already planning ways to get back at you… if he ever stops blushing long enough to think straight.
SOOBIN
for someone so tall and broad, soobin is an absolute baby when it comes to you. the man stutters every time you compliment him, avoids eye contact when you so much as hold his hand, and malfunctions if you get even a little bit flirty. he physically cannot handle any form of teasing—his ears turn red, his hands get clammy, and he lets out those pathetic little whimpers whenever you catch him off guard.
right now, though, soobin is doing so well pretending to be normal.
you two are in his kitchen, baking together, and he’s very focused on whisking the brownie batter. his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted, his strong arms flexing with every precise movement. the sight of his broad shoulders tapering into his slim waist is so unfair. the way his biceps subtly shift under his oversized t-shirt?—it’s all so unfairly attractive. he’s doing absolutely nothing and yet, somehow, he’s driving you insane.
you step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and burying your face into his back. soobin stiffens. like, completely freezes. you swear you can hear his heart pounding from this position.
then—
"b-babe?" he croaks out, voice cracking violently.
you giggle, tightening your hold around him. "mhm?"
"w-what are you—" he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when you press a soft kiss against his nape. his breath shudders. you grin against his skin, pressing another kiss, then another, trailing them slowly up to his jaw. you can feel his entire body trembling beneath your touch, his grip on the whisk turning bone-white.
"b-baby, i—"
you don’t let him finish. instead, you suck gently on the soft skin just beneath his ear.
soobin lets out a broken whimper. his whole body shudders, and you swear he whines when you lick over the spot before sucking again, harder this time. his free hand grips the counter for dear life as if that’ll stop his knees from giving out.
"s-stop," he begs, voice so weak, so pathetic.
you don’t stop. you drag your lips across his skin, finding a new spot to bite down on, leaving another mark, and—
"OH SHIT!"
you pull back, startled, just in time to see soobin staring in absolute horror at the bowl in front of him. he’s gripping a salt container. and he just dumped a quarter of it into the brownie batter.
there’s a moment of dead silence.
then—
"YOU DISTRACTED ME!" soobin wails, turning to face you with the saddest pout you’ve ever seen.
you burst out laughing.
"soobin!" you gasp, holding your stomach. "oh my god, you—oh my god—!"
"this is NOT funny!" he cries, stomping his foot like an actual child. "those were gonna be SO GOOD!"
"they still can be!" you tease, wiping a tear from your eye. "just... y'know, if you wanna die of sodium overdose."
soobin groans, covering his face in shame. "i hate you."
you smirk, stepping closer. "no, you don’t."
"I DO."
"no, you don't."
"i dooooo—"
he cuts himself off mid-whine. because suddenly, he’s hit with an idea.
a horrible idea.
and you see it in his eyes before it even happens.
in the blink of an eye, soobin spins around, trapping you against the counter. his arms cage you in, his broad frame looming over you, and he leans in all slow and deliberate, trying to act like he knows what he’s doing.
"now look what you’ve done, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave.
oh.
oh, he thinks he’s being hot.
the problem is—he looks more adorable than hot, because his ears are bright red, his eyes keep darting to your lips like he doesn’t know where else to look, and the way he’s breathing just the tiniest bit too fast gives away how insanely nervous he is.
then he licks his lips.
(or at least, he tries to.)
because the second his tongue peeks out, he accidentally bites it instead, letting out a pathetic little "ow."
you stare at him.
soobin freezes.
the tension shatters.
then you die laughing, "you—YOU TRIED TO BE SMOOTH AND THEN—!"
"NOOOO, WAIT—!"
but you’re already giggling uncontrollably, fully doubling over against his chest.
soobin groans, hiding his face in his hands. "ugh this is so embarrassing!"
you lift your head, still laughing, pressing a kiss to his flaming cheek. "you’re so cute, baby."
"don’t say that!" he whines, flailing his arms.
but you just smirk. "what? i thought you wanted to be all smooth and confident?"
soobin collapses onto the counter, burying his head in his arms. "i am NEVER doing that again."
you giggle, patting his head. "i dunno, baby. i think it was kinda hot."
soobin lifts his head slightly, peeking at you with hopeful eyes. "really?"
you grin. "no."
he lets out the loudest groan ever.
BEOMGYU
beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, annoying, and somehow always finds new ways to make you suffer. he’s clingy in the worst way—stealing your snacks, flopping onto you like a deadweight whenever he’s tired, and absolutely refusing to let you do anything in peace. he always has to be touching you—whether it’s throwing his leg over yours, wrapping his arms around you like a koala, or straight-up lying on top of you like you’re a personal mattress.
but the moment you touch him first? malfunction.
the second you get even a little flirty? shutdown.
and lately, you’ve been having way too much fun testing that theory.
because beomgyu’s been working out.
like, seriously working out.
and god, is it showing.
he’s huge now—his shoulders broader, his arms thicker, his waist still slim but now complemented with solid muscle. you don’t know when exactly he started hitting the gym like his life depended on it, but you do know it’s made play-fighting with him so much harder.
like right now, for example.
you’re on your bed, engaged in an intense pillow fight, but it’s not even fair anymore. beomgyu used to suck at this—he used to wheeze and flail and scream whenever you got the upper hand. but now? now he’s too strong. every time you swing at him, he effortlessly blocks it, laughing at your pathetic attempts to win.
"aw, what’s wrong?" he teases, easily dodging your next swing. "is someone losing?"
you scowl. "shut up."
"no, seriously," he grins, mocking you. "this is sad. like, you’re not even putting up a fight. are you even trying?"
oh, fuck him.
you drop the pillow, launching yourself at him instead.
beomgyu yelps as you tackle him down, using your weight to pin him beneath you. before he can react, you go for the kill—your fingers digging into his sides, tickling him ruthlessly.
"no no WAIT—"
his laughter explodes from his chest, high-pitched and desperate. he squirms, his muscles tensing under you as he tries to fight back, but you’re relentless, giggling as he gasps for air.
but then, just as your giggles subside, you become painfully aware of two things:
beomgyu looks hot.
you want him to choke you.
the realization hits you like a truck. because holy shit—he’s under you, panting, his face flushed, his arms bulging as they grip your waist, his lips parted just slightly, his brown eyes dark and half-lidded as he catches his breath.
oh.
oh, no.
you freeze, eyes locked on his.
beomgyu, of course, being the oblivious loser he is, just blinks at you, completely unaware of the thoughts flooding your brain.
and then he flips you over.
in one quick motion, Beomgyu has you pinned instead, his thick arm curling around your neck in a chokehold.
your brain short-circuits.
because—
this is exactly what you wanted.
and Beomgyu, still oblivious, leans down, his breath hot against your ear.
"what now, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone. "you thought you could win? look at you now."
oh, fuck.
your entire body shudders. this is too much. his scent, his weight, the way his arm presses against your throat just right—
"god, this feels so good."
the words slip out before you can stop them.
beomgyu freezes.
and then—
"…huh?"
his grip loosens instantly, and he stumbles back like he’s been electrocuted. his face is burning red, eyes wide in pure, unfiltered panic.
"w-what do you mean—" he gulps. "w-what do you—w-what—h-huh—?"
you blink up at him, suddenly just as flustered.
"uhm—"
"n-no wait—like—" beomgyu waves his arms, looking so painfully distressed. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT FELT GOOD—?"
you gulp, forcing yourself to meet his panicked gaze.
and then, because you literally have no other choice, you blurt out, "i think i like you."
beomgyu stares.
he stares.
and then he glitches, mouth opening and closing, hands twitching by his sides, brain fully crashing. his eyes dart everywhere except at you, his entire face a shade of red so intense you’re afraid he might actually pass out.
"you-you like me? like—LIKE ME like me?"
you bite your lip, nodding shyly. "yeah."
his breath catches and he immediately looks away, running a shaky hand through his hair, looking like he’s about to combust.
"h-holy shit—" he mutters under his breath. "oh my god oh my god—"
then—
"WAIT—SO YOU—SO YOU LIKED THE CHOKEHOLD?"
you groan, covering your face. "BEOMGYU—"
he wheezes, hands on his knees. "OH MY GOD—"
you swear he giggles. like, actually giggles.
then he stops and his entire body shudders.
and he whispers, "holy shit, that was kinda hot."
you choke.
"BEOMGYU!"
"you’re a freak," he teases, grinning. "wanting me to choke you and shit—"
"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!"
but when he pulls you into a hug, still laughing, still red-faced and awkward and loser-ish in the best way, you can’t help but smile.
TAEHYUN
taehyun is a very serious tutor. he has strict rules—no distractions, no unnecessary conversations, and definitely no messing around. this is a learning environment, not a hangout session.
he prides himself on his focus, his ability to remain calm under any circumstance. he’s the type of guy who color-codes his notes, has a rigid study schedule, and unironically enjoys doing practice questions for fun. he does not—under any circumstances—get flustered over dumb things like romantic tension.
at least, that’s what he used to believe.
then you happened, and suddenly, his ability to not be a complete loser around you has disappeared entirely.
from the moment he agreed to tutor you in math, things have been an absolute disaster. you’re so unfair. you bat your eyelashes, you ask him to repeat things you already understand just to hear his voice, and worst of all, you stare at him. like he’s some kind of fascinating subject to study instead of the guy desperately trying to keep his composure while explaining differential equations.
he thought it would be fine—after all, he’s taehyun, and taehyun doesn’t get distracted. but within one week, he realized he was in deep, deep trouble.
because you mess with him. constantly.
like today.
you're both seated at a table in the library, supposed to be going over trigonometric identities. taehyun has the patience of a saint (or so he tells himself), but after fifteen minutes of you not even pretending to be paying attention, he's starting to lose it.
because you're staring at him shamelessly, chin propped up on your palm, eyes locked onto him with a lazy smile playing on your lips.
he tries to ignore it. he really does. his eyes flick to the textbook, his pen tapping against the table in a controlled rhythm. but it’s like your gaze is physically burning into him, and the more he tries to focus, the harder it gets.
finally, he snaps.
"what?" he blurts, gripping his pen so tightly it might explode.
you blink, all innocent. "what do you mean?"
"you're staring at me."
"oh." your lips curl into a slow smirk. "i was just thinking."
taehyun immediately doesn’t like the sound of that.
"thinking about what?" he asks, voice strained.
"how pretty you are."
his pen drops to the table with a clatter.
"i—" he chokes on air, already feeling heat crawl up his neck. he forces himself to focus, grabbing his pen with a death grip like it’s some kind of life support. "th-that’s irrelevant. get back to the problem."
but you? oh, you're evil.
you lean in closer, resting your chin on your hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. "i mean it," you hum. "you’re so cute, taehyun. it’s distracting."
distracting?
oh, the irony.
because you’re calling him distracting while he’s actively trying not to combust on the spot.
"s-stop," he stammers, adjusting his glasses even though they don’t need adjusting. "i—i don’t see how this is relevant to trigonometry—"
"it’s not," you shrug. "but I think you should know how much I like looking at you."
his breathing stops.
and then, as if you haven’t already destroyed him enough, you reach forward and fiddle with the hem of his sleeve, fingers brushing against his wrist like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
taehyun physically malfunctions.
tis ears are burning, his pulse is racing, and for the first time in his entire life, he has no idea what to do.
and so? he chooses violence.
without a word, taehyun slams his textbook shut, grabs his bag, and bolts out of the library so fast that he nearly trips over his own feet.
"we’re done!" he yells over his shoulder, voice cracking. "see you next week!"
you lose it, dissolving into laughter as you watch him practically sprint out of the building, ears glowing red.
and somewhere, down the hallway, taehyun is muttering under his breath about how this is why he should’ve never agreed to tutor you.
oh, he is never living this down.
HUENINGKAI
hueningkai has been a mess around you for as long as you can remember.
it’s kind of ridiculous, really. despite being handsome and built like a human teddy bear, he has zero game. like, none at all. he stutters when talking to pretty people (you), trips over his own feet at least twice a day, and would definitely combust if you so much as complimented him unexpectedly.
and the fact that he’s your best friend bahiyyih’s older brother just makes it all the more entertaining. every time you so much as acknowledge his existence, bahiyyih rolls her eyes like she’s watching a romcom in real-time.
it’s adorable, really.
which is why, when he hesitantly approaches you after lecture one day, eyes darting everywhere but at your face, you already know whatever he’s about to say is going to be good.
"c-can you help me shop for hiyyih’s birthday?" he stammers, gripping the straps of his backpack like his life depends on it. "i—i don’t really know what to get her, and you're, um, good at this stuff…"
you smile, amused. "of course, kai. let’s go."
fast forward an hour later, and you find yourself in a cosmetics store, browsing through endless rows of lip glosses.
you hold up two tubes, lips pursed in thought. "i can't decide between these two," you mumble, glancing at kai, who has been hovering behind you like a nervous puppy the entire time.
his eyes flicker to the glosses, then to you, then away, like he’s afraid of looking at you too long.
"uh, i mean—" he stammers, rubbing his neck. "they both look nice?"
you narrow your eyes. useless.
"i need an actual opinion," you huff before popping the cap off one of them. you apply a coat to your lips, then turn to him with a tilt of your head. "how does this one look?"
hueningkai’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
iI—it’s pretty," he says finally, voice cracking on the last syllable.
you suppress a giggle, then glance at the other gloss. "okay, but I need to compare. I can’t put this one on my lips because I already have the first shade on."
he blinks, confused. "oh. uh, so—"
"so I should put it on yours," you finish simply.
his face goes from pink to red in record time. his eyes are huge, lips parting slightly like he just had a stroke.
"w-wait—on me?!"
you arch a brow, feigning innocence. "yeah? so I can see the difference properly. otherwise, we’ll never know which one’s better."
his throat bobs. his fingers tighten around the straps of his shopping bag. "i—uh—"
he looks like he’s two seconds away from self-destructing, but then he nods—barely and stiffly presses his lips together.
you bite back a grin.
he really is a loser.
gently, you lift the applicator and lean in, holding his chin steady with your free hand. his skin burns under your fingertips, and you swear you can hear his breathing get shakier. his eyes squeeze shut, his shoulders tense, and his entire existence is one giant ball of nerves.
but the second the wand makes contact with his pouty lower lip, he starts fidgeting.
"kai, hold still," you laugh, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. his cheeks are burning, and his lips part in surprise as your fingers graze his skin. his entire body locks up, lips parting slightly as his breath hitches. his big, round eyes are glued to your face now, completely mesmerized as you lean in closer.
his lips are so pouty. plush, glossy, glistening under the store’s lights, and suddenly, it feels like your body is moving on its own. before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to his wide, dazed eyes—then down to his parted lips—
and you kiss him.
It’s soft at first—just a press of your lips against his. but the moment you start to pull away, he—to your utter shock—kisses you back.
slow, hesitant, but definitely kissing back.
his lips move against yours in a way that’s both nervous and eager—like he can’t believe this is happening but wants more anyway. his hand hovers near your wrist, as if he wants to hold you closer but is too shy to do it.
and that’s when it hits you.
you just kissed hueningkai. in public.
iou jolt back, eyes wide. "i’m so sorry—i-i didn’t mean—"
but kai? he just stared at you, lips still glossy, blinking like his brain is still catching up to reality. then, slowly—so, so shyly—he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, lips curling into the tiniest smile.
"i... liked that, actually," he mutters, barely above a whisper.
the air turns thick with tension, and you can’t tell who’s more flustered—him, with his red ears and adorably shy expression, or you, with your pulse hammering a mile a minute.
for a long moment, neither of you say anything.
and then, in a quiet, hesitant voice, hueningkai clears his throat and asks, "s-so, um… which gloss do you think looks better?"
you laugh, cheeks still warm. "honestly?" you glance at his lips. "i think i like this one better."
and just like that, his face explodes into color all over again.
✦ Fandom : Enhypen
✦ Personnages : Ni-ki et narratrice
✦ Genres : Horreur, surnaturel, thriller psychologique
✦ Nombre de mots : 2k
✦ TW : Angoisse, isolement, réalité altérée, perte d’un être cher
✦ Résumé : Une jeune femme prend le métro comme à son habitude lorsque soudain, un arrêt brutal plonge le wagon dans le noir. Lorsqu’elle retrouve la lumière, tous les passagers ont disparu. En sortant, elle découvre une ville étrange, floue et irréelle. Elle y retrouve Ni-ki, un ami proche, mais quelque chose en lui semble différent, mélancolique.
✦ Note de l'autrice : L'idée de cette histoire m'est venue un jour où le métro que je prends habituellement a eu un arrêt d'urgence, plongeant les passagers dans l'obscurité totale pendant quelques instants. Ce moment suspendu, à la fois angoissant et fascinant, m'a rappelé une légende urbaine japonaise autour d’une station de métro fantôme : Kisaragi Station.
Le métro gronde sous terre, ses vibrations secouant doucement les passagers qui s’accrochent aux barres métalliques. J’ai mes écouteurs sur les oreilles, la musique couvrant le son mécanique du train. C’est mon quotidien, une routine invariable, où chaque station est un point fixe, une habitude rassurante. Les lumières artificielles défilent à travers les fenêtres, projetant leur lueur blafarde sur les visages fatigués. Une autre journée qui commence, sans surprise, sans éclat. Mais soudain, tout bascule. Un choc brutal me projette presque en avant. Le métro s’arrête, si brusquement que les passagers autour de moi émettent des exclamations de surprise, certains tombent, s’accrochent aux sièges. Puis, sans prévenir, les lumières se mettent à clignoter furieusement avant de s’éteindre complètement. Le noir m’enveloppe. J’entends des cris, des murmures paniqués. Une voix étouffée quelque part appelle quelqu’un, mais le son est comme aspiré par l’obscurité. Le silence tombe, lourd, oppressant, et mon cœur s’accélère, battant la chamade dans ce néant.
Quand les lumières se rallument, tout est différent. Autour de moi, il n’y a plus personne. Le wagon est vide. Je me redresse lentement, mes mains tremblantes agrippées à la barre devant moi. Les sièges désertés, les fenêtres plongées dans un noir d’encre... Je me sens soudain très petite dans cet espace immense et déshumanisé. Je fais quelques pas, mes chaussures crissant légèrement sur le sol.
— Est-ce qu’il y a quelqu’un ?
Mais aucune réponse ne vient, juste le bourdonnement léger des lampes au-dessus de ma tête. Je me dirige vers les portes, poussée par une curiosité irrésistible et une peur que je ne peux pas ignorer. Celle-ci s’ouvre automatiquement devant moi et je me retrouve dans une station qui m’est inconnue.
L’autre côté est un monde que je ne connais pas. Ou du moins, pas tout à fait. La ville est là, mais elle semble floue, comme une peinture à moitié effacée. Les rues sont vides, les bâtiments s’élèvent, grandioses et menaçants, leurs contours ondulant légèrement, comme dans un rêve. Le ciel est d’un gris étrange, un mélange d’aube et de crépuscule, sans soleil, sans lune. Une lumière diffuse éclaire tout, sans jamais vraiment chasser les ombres. Les murs des bâtiments sont ornés de motifs étranges, et l’écho de mes pas résonne comme une mélodie oubliée. L’atmosphère est chargée d’une énergie singulière, une sensation à la fois familière et terrifiante. Je scrute l’horizon, espérant voir un signe, quelque chose qui m’expliquerait où je suis. Je devrais avoir peur. Tout dans ce moment me crie de faire demi-tour, d’attendre que la réalité se réinstalle. Mais il y a quelque chose d’irrésistible dans cette lumière, une curiosité qui me pousse à avancer. Je marche, le cœur battant, cherchant un signe, quelque chose de familier. Et puis, je le vois. Assis sur un banc, au bout d’une ruelle étroite. Il semble tellement réel, et pourtant, il y a quelque chose d’étrange en lui. Ses yeux, d’habitude pétillants de vie, sont maintenant sombres, presque insondables.
— Ni-ki ! j’appelle, en courant vers lui.
Il tourne la tête, et son regard se pose sur moi, mais je ne vois pas la chaleur et l’amitié que j’ai toujours connues. Il y a une distance, une sorte de mélancolie dans son expression. Je m’arrête devant lui, haletante, et il me regarde de ses grands yeux sombres, une expression douce, mais indéchiffrable sur le visage.
— Qu’est-ce qu’il se passe ici ? Est-ce que je suis en train de rêver ? je demande, tentant
de reprendre mon souffle.
Il hausse les épaules, un léger sourire aux lèvres. Il s’avance, et je sens mon cœur se serrer. Il a toujours été celui qui m’apportait du réconfort, celui qui me faisait rire. Mais maintenant, il semble comme un étranger, perdu dans une réalité qui m’échappe.
— Viens, suis-moi.
Sa main se tend dans ma direction et j’hésite, quelques secondes, avant de lier nos doigts entre eux.
Nous marchons ensemble, et le monde autour de nous change au gré de nos pas. Des scènes de notre vie se dessinent, flottant comme des souvenirs projetés. Je vois la forêt où nous avons marché, un jour d’été, le soleil perçant à travers les branches, sa main tendue vers moi pour m’aider à franchir un ruisseau. Je revois cette soirée dans mon appartement, des pizzas sur la table, nos rires résonnant contre les murs alors que nous nous moquions des personnages d’une série stupide. Des simples moments de bonheur.
—Tu te souviens de ça ? je demande, pointant du doigt l’image de nous deux, assis sur le
canapé, riant aux éclats.
Il acquiesce, ses yeux rivés sur le souvenir, une amertume que je ne comprends pas dans son regard.
— Oui, murmure-t-il, c’était une excellente soirée.
Sa voix est douce, mais il y a quelque chose de triste, une profondeur qui me fait frissonner. Les souvenirs continuent de se matérialiser autour de nous, flous mais si vivants, et je suis happée par cette sensation étrange, cette nostalgie qui m’envahit de plus en plus. Pourquoi tout me donne l’impression que chaque seconde peut être la dernière ? Je lève les yeux vers lui, le cherchant du regard comme pour trouver un sens à tout ça, mais il l’évite soigneusement. Une certaine peur commence à naître dans mon esprit, comme si je sentais au fond de moi qu’il y a quelque chose que je devrais comprendre, une vérité enfouie derrière ce calme irréel.
— Pourquoi est-ce que tout semble si…
Je cherche le mot, mais il m’échappe.
— Pourquoi suis-je ici, Ni-ki ?
Il détourne les yeux, et le décor change à nouveau. Nous sommes sur un toit, le vent soufflant et emportant avec lui les feuilles mortes qui virevoltent autour de nous. Je me souviens de ce jour – nous avions passé l’après-midi sur ce toit, à parler de nos rêves, de nos secrets, à regarder la ville s’étendre à nos pieds. Mais ici, dans ce monde étrange, tout semble amplifié. Les couleurs sont plus vives, les émotions plus intenses, presque douloureuses.
— Parfois, dit-il, sa voix portée par le vent, il y a des choses qu’il faut accepter, même si
on ne les comprend pas tout de suite.
Je fronce les sourcils, cherchant à saisir ce qu’il essaie de me dire. Il me regarde alors, ses yeux brillants d’une tristesse indéchiffrable, et il tend la main.
— Viens.
Je la saisis, et une chaleur douce m’envahit. Nous dansons, là, au milieu de ce toit fantomatique, sans musique, juste le bruissement des feuilles dans les arbres et le battement irrégulier de mon cœur. Ses bras m’entourent, et je ferme les yeux, laissant la chaleur de sa présence m’envelopper, un instant hors du temps. Ses doigts finissent par se resserrer un peu autour des miens, sa main froide pressant contre la mienne. C’est si étrange, ce contraste. Lui qui, habituellement, est toujours plein d’énergie, là, il semble s’effacer, comme une ombre. Il relève la tête, son visage prenant une expression douce mais empreinte de ce trouble insaisissable.
— Je suis content que tu sois là.
Ses paroles me troublent profondément. Il y a quelque chose dans sa voix, une forme de résignation qui me fait comprendre qu’il y a plus que ce qu’il laisse paraître. Nous reprenons notre route, et je remarque que nos souvenirs s’estompent peu à peu, remplacés par des fragments de paysages incertains, de ruelles silencieuses et de lieux inconnus. À chaque pas, l’atmosphère semble se faire plus lourde, plus oppressante, comme si le temps lui-même ralentissait. Il me regarde cette fois avec une intensité qui me fige, avant de murmurer, presque trop bas pour que je l’entende :
— Il est temps.
Mes doigts se serrent instinctivement autour de sa main, refusant de lâcher prise, refusant de croire qu’il puisse y avoir quelque chose d’inéluctable ici. Puis, je le sens se détacher, doucement, comme un rêve qui s’évanouit au réveil. J’ouvre les yeux en sursaut dans le métro, la lumière crue des néons m'aveuglant un instant. Le brouhaha du train, les grincements des rails, tout semble étrangement familier. Je prends une grande inspiration et réalise que ma main est posée sur celle de Ni-ki, assis à côté de moi, un sourire tranquille sur le visage. Je me tourne pour l’observer alors qu’il me semble perdu dans ses pensées, sa tête se balançant au rythme de la musique qu’il écoute. Sa présence devrait me rassurer, mais pourtant, un sentiment, pesant, continue de courir dans mon esprit. Je sais que ce n’était qu’un rêve, mais il reste en moi comme une brume tenace, une sensation qui refuse de disparaître. Ses doigts, sous ma main, sont tièdes, bien réels cette fois, mais je n’arrive pas à chasser la trace de cette froideur qui s’était imprimée dans ma mémoire. Il pivote enfin la tête dans ma direction, son casque dorénavant autour de son cou, et m’adresse un sourire amusé.
— Ça va ? me demande-t-il sans doute à cause de mon regard insistant, on dirait que t’as
vu un fantôme.
— Oui… enfin, non. Ce n’est rien. J’ai juste fait un rêve étrange. je termine en secouant la tête, tentant de rire pour dissiper le malaise qui commence à s’installer.
Ni-ki se penche vers moi, et je peux lire l’amusement dans ses iris foncés.
— Du genre ? T’as rêvé de moi, c’est ça ?
Sa voix prend une intonation malicieuse, et je vois son sourire s’étirer.
— Allez, avoue. Tu te languis de moi jusque dans tes rêves maintenant ?
Je sens mes joues s’échauffer et je secoue vivement la tête pour le faire cesser.
— Ce… n’est pas ce que tu crois, je balbutie, tentant de minimiser. C’était différent.
Il écarquille légèrement les yeux, feignant une expression d’incrédulité exagérée.
Son visage s’approche du mien, l’air faussement sérieux.
— Ou bien, était-ce un rêve où tu me déclares ton amour éternel avant de t’enfuir dans le
coucher de soleil ?
Je me mordille la lèvre, cherchant quoi répondre, mes mains moites de gêne.
— Rien de tout ça, d’accord ? C’était…
Je cherche à détourner la conversation, mais il éclate de rire, ravi de ma réaction, et me pince gentiment l’épaule.
— Relax, dit-il en riant, ses doigts toujours entremêlés aux miens. Je te taquine.
Un sourire naît malgré moi, même si je détourne un peu les yeux pour échapper à son regard perçant. Sa main serre la mienne avec chaleur, et je sens mon cœur se calmer, même si quelque chose continue de me hanter.
La voix du conducteur annonce notre prochaine station, puis soudain, un flash de lumière intense envahit le wagon. Un bruit assourdissant secoue le métro, un grondement puissant qui résonne dans mes os. Le train tremble, et tout se passe en une fraction de seconde. J’entends des cris, je sens le sol se dérober sous mes pieds, et tout autour de moi se transforme en un chaos terrifiant. Le souffle d’une explosion ébranle la rame, le monde autour de nous devenant un tourbillon de poussière et de débris, et je perds pied, me sentant aspirée par un vide abyssal. Dans le tumulte, je m’accroche désespérément à la main de Ni-ki, le seul repère, le seul ancrage que j’ai dans ce monde qui s’effondre autour de moi. Je tente de murmurer son nom, mais ma voix se brise dans le bruit assourdissant. Alors que le train s’immobilise enfin, le silence s’installe progressivement, lourd et oppressant. Autour de nous, des débris jonchent le sol, et la lumière faiblit. Dans ce calme étrange, je ressens la chaleur de sa main… ou plutôt, je sens cette chaleur s’éteindre. Je tourne lentement la tête vers lui, mon cœur s’arrêtant presque en voyant son visage, calme, paisible. Il me regarde sans me regarder, ses yeux empreints de cette même mélancolie qui m’avait troublée plus tôt. Et là, je comprends. Ma gorge se serre alors que je ressens l’absence de chaleur à travers son épiderme, cette sensation glaciale qui remonte le long de mon bras.
— Ni-ki… je murmure, une larme roulant sur ma joue.
Mais il ne répond pas. Ses yeux restant fixés sur moi, empreints d'une tendresse infinie, comme un dernier adieu silencieux.
Moi, c’est Adeline, 28 ans, passionnée par l’écriture depuis aussi longtemps que je me souvienne.
Après des années à cacher mes histoires dans des tiroirs poussiéreux (littéralement ou non, on ne dira pas), j’ai enfin décidé de sauter le pas et de partager mes fanfictions ici. Pourquoi maintenant ? À cause de deux amies qui m’ont gentiment poussées (ou harcelées, tout dépend du point de vue) à sortir mes textes du secret.
Multistan assumée, j’écris principalement sur Xdinary Heroes, mais tu trouveras aussi quelques textes sur Tomorrow x Together, Enhypen et tant d'autres encore.
Ce que tu trouveras ici :
✦ Slow-burn, angst, fluff, des amitiés ambiguës, de la romance intense, de la dystopie ou du fantastique…
✦ Des récits où l’émotion prime
✦ Des personnages qui se cherchent dans un monde parfois trop grand
✦ Si tu aimes les récits où l’émotion prend le dessus et où la musique de nos groupes préférés résonne en arrière-plan, alors bienvenue ! J’espère que mes histoires te feront vibrer autant que j’aime les écrire.
N’hésite pas à liker, commenter ou juste profiter de la lecture. C’est parti pour une nouvelle aventure !
tw - surnaturel, sarcasme, traitement de plaie par balle à la bonne franquette, mention de morsure, légèrement suggestif
Un abri.
La forêt s’était mise à danser autour de Jiseok, les arbres poursuivant leur farandole infernale.
Les branches craquaient sous ses pas précipités et il étouffe un grognement quand son épaule cogne le tronc d’un arbre, comme si celui-ci s’était volontairement placé sur son chemin pour l’empêcher d’aller plus loin.
Un abri.
C’était l’unique pensée qui l’animait. Il fallait qu’il trouve un endroit où se cacher, où se faire oublier le temps que son corps traite la blessure qui pulsait douloureusement dans son flanc droit.
Il avait été négligeant. Il s’était cru suffisamment fort pour se mesurer à des adversaires en surnombre et il en payait le prix. S’il s’était nourri un peu plus tôt, il aurait certainement pu les vaincre, mais ils l’avaient pris au dépourvu avant qu’il puisse se sustenter et une seconde d’inattention leur avait permis de l’atteindre.
La brûlure était insoutenable et même s’il n’en était pas à son premier coup d’essai, elle lui faisait mal à crever. Jiseok sentait l’argent qui recouvrait la balle, toujours logée dans sa chair, se répandre un peu plus loin dans son organisme.
Chaque pas était une souffrance et il sentait une langueur prendre petit à petit possession de ses membres, le sang dans ses veines parcouru par un froid glacial.
Il détestait les blessures à l’argent. Elles étaient lentes et elles lui donnaient le sentiment de mourir à nouveau, mais la douleur était interminable et ses effets le rendaient pathétique. L’eau bénite avait l’avantage d’être rapide et efficace, comme une brûlure à vif dont la sensation s’atténuait avec l’expérience. Même si elle laissait des traces, qui elles ne disparaissaient pas avec le temps.
Un abri.
Il cligne des yeux pour tenter de chasser le voile qui s’était posé devant eux. Ses sens étaient affaiblis par le poison qui continuait de progresser à l’intérieur de lui et ses gestes lui semblaient lents, maladroits. Sa peau frémit au passage d’un courant d’air. Il se sentait tour à tour glacé jusqu’à l’os ou en proie à un incendie dévastateur. Ou peut-être les deux en même temps. Il n’arrivait plus à faire la différence. Il grogne à nouveau devant son état pitoyable avant de trébucher contre une racine, chutant au sol avec un gémissement. Mais un aboiement résonne au loin et le pousse à se relever. Ses mâchoires se contractent et il titube quand un vertige le saisit, prenant appui contre un arbre pour se stabiliser.
Les chasseurs se trouvaient à quelques centaines de mètres derrière lui et ils n’avaient pas l’air de vouloir lui lâcher les basques.
Il fallait vraiment qu’il trouve un endroit où se planquer. Ils allaient finir par le rattraper et ils n’auraient plus qu’à venir joyeusement le cueillir sans la moindre résistance de sa part, vu la faiblesse qui le gagnait un peu plus à chaque seconde.
Il plisse les paupières, sa vision nocturne effleurant des contours étranges au loin. Un bâtiment se dressait à l’horizon, insolite au milieu de cette forêt dense et à la réputation sinistre. Néanmoins, il pivote et ses pas se dirigent dans sa direction.
Il espérait simplement qu’il soit abandonné, qu’il puisse y souffrir en toute tranquillité.
Il entend la déflagration d’un tir résonner dans son dos et le projectile se contente de raser son épaule grâce au peu de réflexes qu’il lui restait avant d’aller s’écraser dans le tronc d’un arbre devant lui. La sensation de l’argent glissant contre sa peau, même l’espace d’une seconde, lui tire un sifflement de douleur. Des frissons courent le long de ses bras avant de se propager au reste de son corps et il déglutit. Il ne lui restait que quelques mètres à parcourir avant d’arriver à destination. Il était capable d’y arriver.
Il avait survécu à pire, après tout.
Il se traîne tant bien que mal jusqu’à la bâtisse et sa bouche frémit en apercevant la croix sculptée à même la pierre au-dessus de l’entrée. Une chapelle. S’il en avait eu la force, il aurait peut-être ri. Mais il essayait de ne pas s’évanouir et ça lui demandait déjà un effort considérable.
En tout cas, c’était l’endroit certainement le plus sûr pour lui et c’était peut-être le plus risible dans toute cette situation. Ils n’allaient jamais penser à le chercher dans un endroit saint, parce que ces foutus chasseurs étaient persuadés que les vampires n’étaient pas capables d’y entrer. Ce qui était le cas, habituellement. Lorsqu’ils étaient habités et régulièrement consacrés, impossible d’y mettre un pied. Mais dans le cas d’un bâtiment abandonné, la barrière de protection n’agissait plus. Ou pratiquement pas. Et il allait très vite le découvrir.
La chapelle semblait avoir été posée là, au milieu de rien. Ses pierres d’un gris terne étaient recouvertes de mousse par endroits et du lierre s’était frayé un chemin jusqu’à la tour centrale. Une grimace traverse son visage en apercevant les espaces vides où auraient dû se trouver des vitraux, laissant passer les faibles rayons de la lune. Il n’avait plus qu’à espérer guérir avant le début du jour, sinon ce n’était pas la brûlure de l’argent qui allait avoir raison de lui, mais celle du soleil lorsqu’il allait s’élever dans le ciel.
Jiseok pose sa main sur la façade pour en tester la résonance. Immobile sur le parvis de l’entrée principale, il attend une réponse. Aucune vibration ne vient cependant chatouiller la paume de sa main et s’il respirait encore, il aurait exhalé un soupir. Alors il s’engouffre à l’intérieur sans perdre une seconde, le bruit de ses poursuivants étouffé par les murs épais de l’édifice.
À l’intérieur, ne subsistait qu’une poignée de bancs rongés par les mites, certains renversés sur le sol. Des débris de verre jonchaient la nef centrale, l’autel avait été réduit en miettes et le tabernacle semblait être le seul élément à avoir été épargné par le passage du temps et des visiteurs intempestifs. La végétation s’était engouffrée à l’intérieur, gagnant du terrain et il régnait une atmosphère étrange.
Lugubre, mais étonnement paisible.
Il se fige néanmoins, les doigts crispés sur sa blessure. Un parfum flottait dans l’air et il renifle, cherchant à déterminer son origine.
Quelque chose le percute sur le côté au même moment, l’arrachant à son observation silencieuse et il s’écrase violemment sur le sol. Des bris de verre coloré s’enfoncent dans son dos et lui arrachent un geignement de douleur. Le monde autour de lui se remet à tourner et la pulsation dans son flanc gauche, à redoubler de vitesse. Un vertige le saisit et il ferme les yeux pendant une seconde. Lorsqu’il ouvre les paupières, il faut quelques instants à Jiseok pour réussir à ajuster sa vision, la morsure glaciale du poison continuant son chemin dans son organisme. Il était épinglé au sol par un loup-garou. Loup-garou qui le surplombait, les doigts fermement enroulés autour de ses poignets et les lèvres retroussées sur ses crocs. Ses cheveux formaient une corolle autour de son visage taillé à la serpe, scintillant comme des fils d’or à la lueur de la lune. Ses yeux menaçants étaient teintés d’une nuance similaire, pareils à deux lacs couleur whisky.
Mais ce qui l’avait trahi avant toute autre chose, c’était son odeur.
— Je me disais bien que ça sentait le chien mouillé, laisse-t-il échapper d’une voix rauque.
Un grognement lui répond et la pression sur ses poignets se raffermit davantage.
— Je ne sens pas le chien mouillé, lui répond son interlocuteur, irrité.
Pour être honnête, ce n’était pas le cas. Enfin, pas vraiment. Il y avait bien une note animale dans le parfum qu’il exhalait, mais elle était faible comparé à celles du feu de bois et de l’humus.
Toutefois, Jiseok n’allait pas lui faire ce plaisir.
Serrant les mâchoires, il fait fi de l’incendie qui se propageait à tout son être pour replier une jambe, son genou s’enfonçant dans l’estomac de son vis-à-vis. À ce geste, la douleur ravage son torse et le sang bat si fort dans ses temps que son cerveau lui donne l’impression de pouvoir exploser à n’importe quel instant. Mais le loup-garou relâche son emprise par réflexe, lui permettant de le repousser en arrière d’un coup de pied porté en plein centre de sa poitrine.
Il se redresse légèrement, reculant sur le sol à l’aide de ses bras pour mettre de la distance entre eux avant de s’effondrer contre le mur, un gargouillis s’échappant de la d’entre ses lèvres.
Il avait si froid. Le brasier qui le consumait plus tôt s’était transformé, laissant place à une coulée de givre dans le creux de ses veines. Des souvenirs de sa vie d’humain lui parvenaient par flashs, lui rappelant qu’il avait éprouvé le froid et l’humidité, qu’il avait senti l’hiver mordre sa peau et se faire une place dans sa cage thoracique, l’empêchant d’inspirer à pleins poumons.
Cela faisait longtemps qu’il ne ressentait plus, que son corps avait cessé de discerner le picotement d’une flamme sur le bout de ses doigts. Après tout, il n’était qu’un corps qui avait cessé de vivre depuis un certain temps. Il n’était animé que par la magie et le sang, si on y réfléchissait bien. Il ne vieillissait pas, ne respirait plus et ses sensations se limitaient à très peu de choses. Le plaisir et la douleur, deux entités à l’opposé l’une de l’autre. Il n’y avait que dans ces instants précis qu’il sentait sa carcasse se remplir d’émotions qu’il croyait oubliées, qu’il voyait s’effacer toujours un peu plus avec les années.
— Tu es blessé.
Jiseok lève les yeux en direction du loup-garou. Ses contours étaient flous, mais ses iris mordorés l’observaient sans relâche. Ils luisaient comme deux phares au beau milieu de la nuit. Le rire de Jiseok, à peine expiré, se mue aussitôt en toussotement puis en gémissement à cause de la pression exercée sur sa blessure.
— Moi ? Nan. Je fais juste semblant d’avoir l’air au seuil de la mort, répond-il faiblement, malgré tout le sarcasme qui suintait de ses paroles.
Il n’obtient qu’un soupir exaspéré pour toute réponse et le blond passe une main dans ses cheveux pour les repousser en arrière.
— Tu es bien arrogant pour quelqu’un qui se trouve au seuil de la mort, marmonne-t-il dans sa barbe, avant de relever subitement la tête dans sa direction. Attends un peu…T’es un vampire ! Ce qui veut dire que tu es déjà mort !
— Tu devrais le hurler encore plus fort, je suis sûr que les chasseurs qui veulent ta peau autant que la mienne n’ont pas bien entendu, siffle Jiseok avant de soulever le bord de son pull pour dévoiler sa blessure. Je suis peut-être mort, mais pas invincible à mon plus grand regret. Comme tu peux le constater, je ne suis pas en état de continuer à gambader joyeusement dans les bois alors je vais rester ici jusqu’à ce qu’ils débarrassent le plancher.
Chaque parole était une torture. Sa bouche lui semblait pâteuse et il déglutit. Il sentait son corps s’engourdir un peu plus plus à chaque seconde.
— Toi, tu fais ce que tu veux. Ça m’est égal.
Il pouvait rester, partir, faire de la méditation, ça ne le concernait pas. De son côté, Jiseok n’avait qu’un seul objectif : se dépêcher d’enlever cette fichue balle de son abdomen s’il voulait guérir au plus vite et quitter les lieux. Même si la chapelle avait accepté sa présence, elle lui rappelait qu’il avait été transformé en être de la nuit, que son âme avait été souillée contre son gré et qu’il n’était plus le bienvenu en ces lieux. Il sentait une pression poindre à l’arrière de son crâne, là où la souffrance n’avait pas encore élu domicile. Comme une présence qui le poussait à évacuer les lieux dès que possible, à ne pas abuser de son hospitalité.
Les aboiements reprennent à cet instant, plus proches et Jiseok se fige, l’oreille tendue. Il était incapable d’estimer à quelle distance ils se trouvaient de la chapelle, néanmoins ils semblaient se diriger dans leur direction. Il fait signe au lycanthrope de se taire d’un geste de la main. Celui-ci lui adresse un regard menaçant avant de se laisser tomber au sol à quelques mètres de lui, adossé au mur et les bras croisés dans son giron. Le vampire attend, aussi immobile que la pierre qui les entoure. Si son cœur avait continué de battre, il aurait sûrement cherché à se frayer un chemin hors de sa poitrine.
Faites qu’ils ne rentrent pas ici. Faites qu’ils ne rentrent pas ici.
Ses lèvres s’entrouvrent de surprise lorsque les bruits de cavalcade s’arrêtent à quelques mètres, non loin de l’entrée de la bâtisse. Puis ils s’éloignent, peu à peu étouffés. Il jette par réflexe un coup d'œil au loup-garou, captant le sourire suffisant qui étirait sa bouche en forme de cœur.
Et il comprend.
— Frimeur, lâche-t-il entre ses dents avant de se pencher pour écarter les bords de sa plaie de ses doigts tremblants.
Quitte à sentir un peu le chien mouillé, autant qu’il se rende utile.
— Jooyeon.
Le tissu coincé entre ses lèvres, il relève aussitôt les yeux pour le regarder à nouveau.
— Mmh ? l’interroge Jiseok, un sourcil arqué.
— Je m’appelle Jooyeon. Pas Frimeur.
Jiseok ne peut s’empêcher de ricaner devant l’expression sur le visage du lycanthrope et ce, malgré la douleur que ce geste lui inflige.
— Très bien, Jooyeon. Tu m’excuseras, mais il faut vraiment que je m’occupe de ce problème au plus vite. Histoire de ne pas décéder une seconde fois dans d’atroces souffrances.
Il baisse la tête, son attention dirigée à nouveau sur sa blessure. Puis il prend une inspiration, agissant d’un seul coup avant d’avoir le temps de réfléchir.
Il plonge ses doigts dans la chair à vif et ses crocs entaillent sa lèvre inférieure quand il serre les mâchoires, retenant à peine le hurlement qui remonte dans sa poitrine. Un feu d’artifice explose devant ses yeux, des points noirs troublant sa vision et un goût métallique envahit l’intérieur de sa bouche. Les contours de la balle effleurent la pulpe de son index et il grogne en enfonçant davantage celui-ci pour l’attraper, un bruit de succion accompagnant l’extraction du projectile hors de son corps.
Sa poitrine se soulève, secouée par un spasme et il lui faut un effort considérable pour soulever son bras, la balle retombant avec un tintement sur la pierre. Le bout de ses doigts était calciné par le contact avec l’argent et il n’osait même pas regarder l’état de sa plaie.
Il se sentait si faible. Il ne demandait rien d’autre qu’à se laisser emporter par la léthargie, qu’à sombrer dans l’inconscience.
— Hey, hey, reste avec moi.
Une paume tapote sa joue, lui faisant rouvrir les yeux qu’il n’avait pas conscience d’avoir commencé à fermer. La voix du loup-garou est toute proche, accompagnée du parfum de forêt qui lui était propre.
— Qu’est-ce que je peux faire ?
— Quoi ? croasse Jiseok, l’information se frayant difficilement un chemin jusqu’au centre de son crâne.
— Qu’est-ce que je peux faire pour t’aider ?
Il lève les yeux vers Jooyeon et il sent ses entrailles se nouer davantage en apercevant l’expression qui s’étendait sur son visage.
— Est-ce que…tu t’inquiètes pour moi ? murmure-t-il, perplexe.
Le regard mordoré posé sur lui semblait agité et les lèvres pleines, plissées en une moue concernée.
— Pourquoi ? l’interroge-t-il en le fixant avec intensité, surpris par sa propre curiosité.
Jiseok ne comprenait pas.
Pourquoi est-ce qu’il se donnait la peine de lui venir au secours ? Pourquoi est-ce que le regard du lycanthrope luisait d’un tourment qu’il n’aurait pas dû éprouver pour quelqu’un qu’il venait à peine de rencontrer ? Qui plus est, un vampire.
Cette attention provoquait des sensations étranges dans son corps déjà malmené par ses blessures et il étend ses jambes devant lui, détournant les yeux.
— Est-ce que j’ai vraiment besoin d’une raison ? lui répond Jooyeon, les sourcils froncés.
Jiseok soupire face à cette réponse, sa langue claquant contre son palais.
— Je ne sais pas si tu es inconscient ou juste stupide, mais tu ne vas pas faire de vieux os si tu viens en aide à toutes les créatures blessées qui croisent ton chemin, laisse-t-il échapper, railleur.
Le loup-garou se redresse avec un soupir agacé, son regard noir dardé sur lui.
— Tu as raison. Je dois sûrement être stupide pour croire que tout le monde mérite d’être sauvé.
Ses paroles atteignent Jiseok plus qu’il ne l’aurait voulu et il sent ses mâchoires se serrer. Plus que ça, c’était l’abattement qui suintait de ces mots, l’espoir qui donnait l’impression de s’être éteint comme la flamme d’une bougie au gré du vent qui le laissait avec un goût amer dans la bouche.
Jooyeon s’éloigne et la fragrance sauvage qui l’entoure s’efface peu à peu, laissant le vampire frissonnant contre le mur, les bras autour de la taille.
— Du sang, finit-il par confesser après quelques secondes.
La tête du loup-garou pivote instantanément vers lui à ses paroles.
— Quoi ?
— J’ai besoin de sang, explique-t-il, le visage crispé par le picotement douloureux qui parcourait son corps tout entier. Pour m’aider à me régénérer plus vite.
Sans ça, la plaie allait mettre des heures à se refermer et le poison à évacuer son organisme. Les molécules d’argent qui se baladaient librement dans son corps entravaient le processus de cicatrisation et le jour serait levé avant qu’il ne soit complètement rétabli.
Jooyeon l’observe, circonspect et Jiseok le voit s’avancer dans sa direction avant de s’arrêter, puis faire un pas en arrière avant de revenir dans sa direction. Puis il s’immobilise à nouveau et lorsque le vampire arrive à focaliser son regard sur lui, il le voit mordiller nerveusement sa lèvre inférieure.
— Il n’y a pas…Il n’y a pas d’autre solution ? lui demande-t-il, et Jiseok secoue la tête.
— Non. Soit je prends mon mal en patience, en espérant être guéri avant que le soleil ne se lève, soit j’arrive à me nourrir et ça prendra deux fois moins de temps.
Un silence s’étire entre eux et Jiseok voit le lycanthrope réfléchir, entre deux battements de paupières. Il pouvait presque visualiser les rouages dans un coin de son crâne, face aux questions qui devaient se bousculer dans sa tête.
— Tu n’es pas obligé, murmure Jiseok en reprenant la parole. Tu ne me dois rien.
Le geste n’avait rien d’anodin alors il pouvait comprendre le doute qui l’assaillait quant à l’idée de se faire mordre par un vampire. S’il acceptait, c’était une faveur qu’il lui faisait plus que toute autre chose et Jiseok savait que ce n’était pas à la portée de tout le monde d’accepter un tel sacrifice.
— Je veux t’aider, affirme néanmoins l’autre garçon, les sourcils froncés.
Il s’approche, le visage transformé par une farouche détermination avant de s’agenouiller à ses côtés, la tête penchée sur le côté. Puis il tend son bras vers Jiseok, plissant les lèvres. Celui-ci attrape son poignet, les membres engourdis et son pouce effleure maladroitement. Il ferme les yeux une seconde à la sensation du pouls de Jooyeon battant la mesure sous son doigt, avant de le repousser poliment pour pointer son cou d’un geste du menton.
— Ça…Ça ne suffira pas, explique-t-il, soudainement gêné par la situation. Il faut que…Il faut que je morde à la jugulaire. Pour que ça soit plus…efficace.
Le lycanthrope lui jette un regard méfiant et Jiseok observe sa pomme d’Adam rouler quand il déglutit, attirant son regard sur la ligne de sa gorge. Ses yeux s’attardent plus qu’il ne faut sur la peau légèrement bronzée. Mais surtout sur le renflement de la veine qui palpitait au-dessous, alléchante. Et il s’arrache difficilement à sa contemplation.
— Tu peux encore refuser.
Peu importe la faim qui asséchait la sienne et rendait tout ça plus pénible, peu importe le creux béant dans ses entrailles et le besoin.
— Non.
Il passe une nouvelle fois la main dans ses cheveux, repoussant des mèches dorées derrière son oreille d’un geste vif.
— C’est juste que…souffle-t-il, ses doigts échouant à la lisière de son tee-shirt. Est-ce que ça fait mal ?
La question fait résonner des émotions contradictoires à l’intérieur de Jiseok. Incrédulité. Amusement. Doute. Il avait l’air d’un enfant avant un passage chez le médecin. De toutes les craintes possibles, il s’était arrêté sur celle-là. Il était définitivement inconscient.
Jiseok déglutit, passant sa langue sur ses lèvres sèches pour les hydrater. Les yeux de Jooyeon suivent le mouvement avec attention et leurs regards se croisent une seconde avant que le loup-garou ne détourne le sien sur le côté.
— Je ne sais pas, confie le vampire. Personne ne s’est vraiment plaint jusqu’à maintenant. Malheureusement je n’ai jamais mordu autre chose que des humains, alors je ne peux pas t’affirmer que ça sera la même chose pour un lycanthrope.
En théorie, ça ne devrait pas changer quoi que ce soit. Néanmoins il n’avait rien pour le prouver.
— Dans le pire des cas, reprend-il avec une légère grimace, tu as la force nécessaire pour me repousser.
Jooyeon hausse les épaules, inclinant la tête pour acquiescer avant de mordiller à nouveau sa lèvre inférieure. Son air un peu perdu indique à Jiseok qu’il n’a pas la moindre idée de la manière dont il fallait procéder et le vampire tapote le sol à ses côtés d’un geste fébrile.
— Installe-toi là, déclare-t-il. Tu seras plus à l’aise.
Le loup-garou s’exécute, s’adossant au mur à sa gauche et il étend ses longues jambes devant lui, les mains dans son giron. D’une main, Jiseok pivote sur le côté, un grondement s’échappant de la barrière des lèvres quand le mouvement appuie sur sa blessure encore fraîche. Mais il arrive tant bien que mal à se hisser sur les cuisses de Jooyeon, celui-ci si figeant aussitôt.
— Qu’est-ce que…?
— Question d’angle. Tu es plus grand que moi et j’aimerais éviter de te dévisser la nuque, répond Jiseok faiblement, avec une pointe de moquerie.
Son vis-à-vis lui lance un regard indéchiffrable, la bouche plissée et les pommettes recouvertes d’une infime teinte rosée. Jiseok aurait peut-être pris le temps de reconsidérer leur position s’il n’avait pas été submergé par la faim. Celle-ci tambourinait aussi fort que la douleur dans le creux de son être et son monde s’était réduit au pouls qui battait la mesure sous la chair dorée du loup-garou.
— Je…Je vais essayer d’être le plus doux possible, murmure Jiseok, se voulant rassurant malgré le désespoir qui l’accablait.
Les poings de Jooyeon se referment et il tourne la tête sur le côté, exposant la chair tant convoitée au regard affamé du vampire.
Jiseok se penche, une main posée sur son épaule pour se maintenir. L’autre écarte délicatement les cheveux qui subsistent pour dégager sa jugulaire et son nez effleure la peau de son cou, chatouillé par un mélange d’humus, de feu de bois et d’autre chose, d’une fragrance qu’il était incapable de définir. Sa bouche flotte contre sa peau, ses crocs tendus le faisant souffrir le martyr.
— Si ça ne va pas, repousse-moi immédiatement, susurre Jiseok à l’intention du loup-garou.
Il savait qu’il ne serait pas capable de le faire de lui-même. En temps normal, il arrivait à se maîtriser. Là, il était blessé et il mourrait de faim. Il n’allait pas s’arrêter avant d’avoir bu suffisamment.
Jooyeon lui répond d’un léger bruit de gorge qui vibre contre ses lèvres et Jiseok ne perd pas une seconde. Il darde sa langue pour la laisser traîner contre l’épiderme brûlant, usant de la propriété anesthésiante de sa salive. Puis il penche sa tête sur le côté, cherchant le bon angle avant de planter ses crocs dans son cou.
L’univers tout entier explose autour de lui à la première gorgée.
Sa vision se pare de blanc, son corps tendu comme un arc et un flot de miel envahit sa gorge.
Sa main s’agrippe à la nuque du lycanthrope, ses doigts enfouis dans les cheveux dorés et il laisse échapper un gémissement de plaisir. Il n’avait jamais goûté quelque chose de pareil. Le sang qui remplissait sa bouche était chaud et doux, comme s’il avait la chance de pouvoir s’abreuver du soleil lui-même. Chaque gorgée faisait crépiter des feux d’artifice dans le creux de sa tête et ses yeux se révulsent, son corps débordé par l’afflux de sensations qui se bousculaient à l’intérieur de lui.
Deux mains attrapent brusquement sa taille et il se retrouve pressé de tout son long contre le corps de Jooyeon, un frisson remontant sa colonne vertébrale au grondement qui résonne dans la poitrine de celui-ci. Sans trop savoir comment, il arrive à se détacher de son cou pour le regarder et ses lèvres s’entrouvrent en apercevant son visage.
Ses yeux.
Ses pupilles s'étaient fendues et leur couleur mordorée était devenue aveuglante. Ses mâchoires étaient serrées, accentuant la ligne franche de son visage et de petits crocs dépassaient de ses lèvres entrouvertes. L’animal avait pris le pas sur l’homme et Jiseok aurait presque regretté l’absence des battements de son cœur face à l’aura sauvage et puissante qu’il dégageait en cet instant, loin du garçon balbutiant qu’il avait été quelques minutes plus tôt.
L’odeur de son sang appelle à nouveau Jiseok et il penche la tête, glissant ses crocs dans les trous déjà formés et arrachant cette fois un gémissement au loup-garou.
La prise contre sa taille se raffermit, les mains brûlantes glissant sous la barrière de son pull pour se poser à même sa peau. Comme si ses doigts cherchaient à imprimer leur chaleur en lui, à se raccrocher à quelque chose pour ne pas sombrer. Et un hoquet remonte dans la gorge de Jiseok en prenant conscience de ressentir leur présence.
Il éprouvait tout. La pression presque douloureuse des doigts de Jooyeon contre lui, le frottement languide de son corps contre le sien, son souffle saccadé et le feu que ses doigts répandaient contre son épiderme.
Comme s’il était redevenu humain, l’espace d’un court moment.
Cette simple pensée l’étourdit et il se love davantage contre le loup-garou, enivré par la saveur de son sang, par les émotions brutes qu’il faisait éclater au creux de son être, par cette lave brûlante qui ravageait ses veines, dévastant tout sur leur passage. Ses joues s’humidifient d’un seul coup, des larmes traçant un chemin silencieux jusqu’à son menton.
Il savait au plus profond de son être qu’il n’allait jamais en être rassasié. Pire encore, qu’il n’allait jamais retrouver quelque chose à la hauteur du nectar qui glissait sur sa langue.
La saveur était indescriptible. Comme si elle avait été faite pour lui.
Est-ce que c’était parce qu’il était un loup-garou ? Jiseok n’en savait rien. Ce dont il était parfaitement sûr, en revanche, c’était que son existence allait devenir une torture à partir de cet instant. Il le savait, comme une évidence ancrée profondément en lui, comme une réalité qui venait le claquer en plein visage.
Rien ne lui avait jamais autant donné l’impression d’être vivant.
Il s’arrache difficilement à la nuque dorée de Jooyeon après ce qui lui semble des heures et l’espace d’une seconde, la sensation fantôme de son cœur qui bat lui parvient, troublante. Il avait l’impression d’être à l’étroit dans son propre corps. De ne pas pouvoir retenir le flot démentiel qui se mouvait en lui, qui enflait encore et encore, sans s’arrêter.
Le monde autour de lui était trouble, ses contours à peine définis et il sent un nouveau vertige le traverser. Secouant légèrement la tête, il donne un coup de langue paresseux sur les marques laissées par ses crocs, laissant le soin à sa salive de refermer les trous avant de reculer, la peau vibrante d’une énergie qu’il peinait à maîtriser.
Il aperçoit le regard doré de Jooyeon, embrumé et son souffle saccadé échoue sur son visage. Sa tête était affaissée contre le mur, son visage recouvert d’une fine pellicule de sueur. Ses mains, elles, étaient mollement posées sur la taille de Jiseok et celui-ci frissonne à la sensation de son pouce effleurant distraitement sa peau.
L’instant d’après, il sent l’inconscience le frapper d’un coup net, comme un souffle remontant de ses entrailles pour l’emporter tout entier.
Le jour n’était pas tout à fait levé lorsqu’il ouvre les yeux, plissant les paupières face à la lumière qui inondait la chapelle à travers les vitres brisées. La première chose qui l’interpelle en s’éveillant est la sensation de chaleur logée dans son flanc gauche. Il baisse la tête en déterminer l’origine avant de s’immobiliser aussitôt en apercevant le loup allongé à ses côtés sur le sol, le museau posé sur sa cuisse. Son pelage épais reflétait les faibles lueurs du soleil, tout en nuances d’or et de cuivre. Ses paupières s’ouvrent sur deux prunelles couleur whisky, qui l’observent avec curiosité et Jiseok se perd dans la contemplation de ces iris à l’allure bien trop humaine.
— Jooyeon ? murmure-t-il à voix basse.
Il n’aurait même pas eu besoin de demander, son être tout entier lui criant confirmation, mais il avait besoin de le verbaliser pour se donner l’impression d’être toujours le même. Alors qu’il percevait très bien le changement qui s’était opéré en lui dès son réveil, l’onde qui le parcourait et courait comme un fil invisible jusqu’au garçon lové contre lui.
Le loup hoche la tête et les épaules du vampire s’affaissent. En humant l’air, rien d’autre ne lui parvient que le parfum de d‘humus émanant de son compagnon. Et lorsqu’il tend l’oreille pour analyser les environs, il n’entend que la mélodie de la forêt qui poursuit son cours de l’autre côté des murs de la chapelle.
— Tu m’as déplacé de l’autre côté ? poursuit-il, sa voix encore pâteuse.
Jooyeon acquiesce d’un nouveau mouvement de museau avant de pointer celui-ci en direction des fenêtres.
Soleil.
Le mot lui était parvenu comme une image vive en regardant le loup-garou, comme un flash apparaissant devant ses yeux sans prévenir. Il n’aurait pas pu l’expliquer, mais c’était comme s’il l’avait compris sans un mot. Et une chaleur supplémentaire envahit sa poitrine devant sa considération, son corps frémissant d’une vie qui n’était pas la sienne.
— Merci.
Il aurait pu passer son chemin au moment où il avait posé les yeux sur lui, le tailler en pièces ou l’abandonner à sa souffrance, mais il avait décidé de lui offrir son sang pour lui venir en aide. Sans rien demander en retour. Plus que ça, il était resté. Il se tenait à ses côtés et lui avait évité la morsure foudroyante de l’astre solaire au petit matin.
Dans un monde où rien ne venait sans contrepartie, Jiseok débordait d’une gratitude qui lui était difficile à exprimer.
Son corps se meut de lui-même et il se rend compte de son geste au dernier moment, sa main se figeant à quelques centimètres de la fourrure dorée de Joyeon. Incertain, il cherche une confirmation muette dans les yeux du loup.
Une réponse à toutes les questions qui se pressaient dans un coin de sa tête, aux problèmes qu’il sentait poindre à toute vitesse et auxquels il n’avait pas trouvé de solution.
Il n’arrivait pas à s’expliquer la sérénité qui l’avait envahi depuis qu’il avait ouvert les yeux. Ce sentiment de bien-être, de légèreté qui l’enveloppait tout entier. Comme s’il était enroulé dans une épaisse couverture, assis devant un feu de cheminée. Cette simplicité déconcertante entre Jooyeon et lui, comme s’ils s’étaient connus toute leur vie, comme si bien des années s’étaient écoulées depuis leur rencontre. Où ils n’avaient pas besoin de mots pour se comprendre, où le danger et la méfiance n’avaient jamais eu leur place.
À aucun moment il n’avait ressenti d’hostilité de la part du lycanthrope et il ne se souvenait pas en avoir éprouvé à son égard. Même blessé et désarmé, il avait accueilli sa présence comme si elle était tout à fait normale. Peut-être parce que Jooyeon ne l’avait pas regardé comme une créature sans défense. Ni comme un vampire, un ennemi naturel dont on avait du lui dire de se tenir le plus éloigné possible. De lui, il n’avait flairé que de la curiosité, ainsi qu’une honnête envie de lui porter secours. Rien d’autre. Et c’était ce qui le perturbait le plus, en fin de compte. Parce qu’il n’avait pas l’habitude d’une telle sollicitude et qu’elle lui semblait en parfait décalage avec toute cette situation. Néanmoins, une partie de lui était reconnaissante de son aide. Sans lui, il n’aurait probablement pas survécu à cette nuit.
Pourtant, il n’arrivait pas à saisir ce qu’il faisait encore là. Il devait avoir senti que Jiseok était rétabli. Mais il n’avait pas bougé, immobile contre lui. Comme s’il attendait quelque chose.
Sa main s’aventure finalement dans la fourrure du loup-garou et il est surpris par leur texture soyeuse. Un frisson remonte le long de sa colonne vertébrale et il laisse ses doigts parcourir les poils épais, suivant un chemin jusqu’à son encolure. Jiseok se fige quand ils rencontrent une aspérité sur leur passage, suivie d’une seconde quelques centimètres plus loin.
— Elle te fait mal ? demande-t-il à Jooyeon, la gorge nouée. La morsure ?
Une inquiétude étrange le saisit à l’idée qu’elle puisse être réellement douloureuse et il recule sa main, comme brûlé. Mais le museau du loup frôle aussitôt ses doigts avant d’appuyer contre sa paume.
Non.
Encore cette voix, indéniablement sienne, qui résonnait dans le creux de sa tête. Jiseok ne savait pas si Jooyeon avait conscience d’être compris, s’il ressentait lui aussi le lien nébuleux qui les reliait l’un à l’autre. Est-ce que c’était une conséquence de leur nature surnaturelle à tous les deux ? Il n’en savait rien. Il n’était plus sûr de quoi que ce soit, en cet instant. Son univers s’était troublé en l’espace de quelques heures et son instinct lui criait qu’il n’était plus le même. Qu’il devait s’éloigner de Jooyeon et retourner à son existence, laisser les souvenirs de cette nuit derrière lui. Mais le simple fait de l’imaginer lui inspirait une douleur aussi vive que celle de l’argent.
Et c’était ça, le plus terrifiant.
Il n’avait pas envie de partir. Il ne s’était jamais aussi senti à sa place que dans cette chapelle en ruine, assis à côté d’un loup-garou.
Il était apaisé. Toutes les ombres qui l’accompagnaient depuis qu’il était devenu un vampire étaient écrasées par une plénitude qu’il n’avait jamais éprouvée auparavant.
— Tu ne vas pas reprendre forme humaine ? demande finalement Jiseok, dans un filet de voix.
Il voulait retrouver son visage aux contours anguleux, le léger froncement de son nez qu’il avait aperçu la veille pendant leur conversation. Maintenant qu’il était rétabli, que sa vision avait retrouvé toute sa netteté, il n’avait qu’une envie : s’attarder sur ses traits et les mémoriser un par un. Pour ne pas l’oublier. Pour ne pas le sentir s’estomper avec le temps, comme tous les autres.
Non.
La réponse de Jooyeon remplit sa bouche d’un goût amer, semblable à celui du sang vicié. Les lèvres du vampire se plissent et sa main se crispe dans le pelage du loup.
— Pourquoi ?
Pas envie.
Un rictus étire la bouche de Jiseok à cet argument. Il avait senti une onde de bougonnerie tapisser son esprit au même moment et elle ne pouvait provenir que de son compagnon lupin. Mêlée à quelque chose d’autre, qu’il n’arrivait pas à définir, mais sur lequel il avait curieusement envie de poser des mots.
— Tu fais ton timide ? renchérit-il, amusé.
Jooyeon tourne la tête de l’autre côté avec un léger grondement. Cependant, des flashs apparaissent devant la rétine de Jiseok, comme des séquences d’un film projetées les unes après les autres. Un film qui n’était pas le sien, dont il était le seul et unique spectateur. Il savait que ces images ne lui appartenaient pas parce qu’il se voyait. Pendant un court instant, il a l’impression d’être le lycanthrope, de voir à travers ses yeux et de ressentir ses émotions.
La sensation d’un être fragile et tremblant entre ses mains, qu’il serait capable de briser en deux s’il en avait eu la moindre envie. L’écho des déglutitions régulières, si proche, affolant ses sens. La caresse de ses cheveux contre son cou. L’éclat rougeoyant dans ses yeux quand Jiseok avait relevé les yeux pour l’observer. La chaleur, dévastatrice. Le bien-être. La douceur de sa peau sous les doigts de Jooyeon. L’envie primitive. Le mouvement de leurs corps l’un contre l’autre, qui menaçait de le rendre fou. Qui n’était jamais suffisant pour le rassasier. Le frisson divin qui l’avait parcouru à chaque gorgée, à chaque pression de lèvres contre son cou devenu hypersensible. Cette langueur dans laquelle il avait envie de se plonger, quitte à laisser Jiseok le drainer de son sang jusqu’à la dernière goutte.
Comme si plus rien d’autre n’avait d’importance, hormis cette symbiose qui s’était établie entre eux.
Ces images se succédaient et Jiseok n’arrivait pas à lutter contre les émotions qui n’étaient pas les siennes mais continuaient de se déverser en lui. Pire même, il les accueillait et s’en nourrissait comme s’il s’était agi d’une gorgée d’hémoglobine. Elles vibraient d’une puissance, d’une intensité qui le dépassait complètement, mais elles agissaient comme un souffle tiède, rassurant.
Puis tout s’arrête d’un seul coup, comme si Jooyeon avait pris conscience de la porte qu’il avait laissée entrouverte.
Un mur est érigé entre eux en un instant et Jiseok se sent comme aspiré hors de la vision. Lorsqu’il revient à lui, hébété, le loup-garou regardait toujours de l’autre côté. Pourtant les battements de son cœur s'étaient accélérés, lui faisant penser à un oiseau affolé et le sien aurait certainement suivi le même rythme, dans d’autres circonstances.
Il se sent rougir face à la tension flottant dans l’air entre Jooyeon et lui. Posant le plat de sa main sur sa joue, il constate la chaleur à la surface de celle-ci, possible grâce à la présence du sang neuf présent dans son organisme. Et il ne peut pas s’empêcher de ressentir une satisfaction presque enfantine face à cette réaction tout ce qu’il y avait de plus humaine.
Un rire lui échappe et il passe sa main libre dans ses cheveux, les repoussant en arrière.
— C’est une réaction normale, tu sais, explique-t-il en tapotant la fourrure de Jooyeon. Tu n’as pas à avoir honte. Les choses peuvent vite devenir…intenses.
Une grimace déforme son visage à ces paroles et un nouveau grognement lui parvient de la poitrine du lycanthrope.
À vrai dire, ce n’était pas totalement la vérité. Oui, la morsure provoquait ces effets dans la majorité des cas. En plus d’être anesthésiante, la salive de vampire avait des propriétés aphrodisiaques et Jiseok s’était toujours dit que c’était une contrepartie pour atténuer la douleur causée par l’acte en lui-même, un moyen de rendre ça plus supportable pour la victime, qu’elle soit consentante ou non.
Il ne s’en était jamais formalisé plus que ça. Se nourrir était un besoin vital pour lui, un moyen de survie. Mais ce qui s’était produit avec Jooyeon n’avait rien à voir.
C’était tellement plus que ça. Une vague monstrueuse qui avait déferlé sur lui et s’était infiltrée sous sa peau, au plus profond de son âme. Comme si tous les événements qui s’étaient produits jusqu’à présent l’avaient mené à le rencontrer. Comme si son existence toute entière avait tourné au ralenti jusqu’à ce que sa route ne croise celle du loup-garou. Et l’immensité de la chose le terrifiait, parce qu’il sentait qu’il n’y avait pas de retour en arrière.
Il y avait eu une vie sans lui. Et il y aurait désormais une vie où une partie de lui serait à jamais avec Jooyeon, où qu’il aille.
C’était un fait. Une réalité si vive, si palpable qu’elle en était presque douloureuse. Permanente.
Il fallait qu’il lui dise.
Les mots se pressent derrière la barrière de ses lèvres, mais aucun n’en sort. Immobile, il cherche le meilleur moyen de lui expliquer le tourment qui l’habitait sans l’effrayer. Alors qu’il n’allait pas pouvoir en être autrement, il en était certain. Et Jiseok sentait déjà le désespoir s’inviter dans ma poitrine, frémir sous sa peau comme une chape glacée.
— Jooyeon.
L’attention du loup-garou se porte à nouveau de son côté et il penche la tête, ses iris couleur whisky posés sur lui.
Problème ?
Un rictus étire les lèvres de Jiseok devant la clairvoyance de son compagnon, somme toute naturelle compte tenu de la situation. Avant de s’affaisser face à l’abattement considérable qui ployait sur ses épaules. Chaque idée qui lui traversait l’esprit était aussitôt balayée par le doute et il soupire, frustré.
Jooyeon presse une nouvelle fois son museau contre sa main, l’invitant à poursuivre et Jiseok hydrate sa bouche d’un coup de langue.
— Je…Il faut que je te dise quelque chose. Hier-
Un hurlement lointain brise son sursaut de courage et il se fige, les sens en alerte.
Le loup-garou s’était redressé en position assise, les oreilles dressées et ses yeux luisent un instant avant de retrouver leur couleur d’origine. Levant la tête vers le plafond de la chapelle, il laisse échapper un cri similaire qui résonne entre les murs de pierre, l’onde faisant trembler la poitrine de Jiseok sur son passage.
Partir.
Ce mot s’imprime en lui comme une lame chauffée à blanc et il sent l’angoisse remplir ses entrailles, ses doigts parcourus de picotements.
— Maintenant ? Tu ne peux pas rester un peu plus longtemps ? l’interroge fébrilement Jiseok.
Non.
Le lycanthrope secoue la tête, pliant les pattes arrière pour se remettre debout et il hume l’air autour de lui. Le vampire se relève à son tour, la bouche pâteuse et le torse comprimé par une sensation désagréable.
Partir. Vite.
— Est-ce que…est-ce je vais te revoir ?
Les mots étaient sortis tout seuls, poussés par la peur.
Parce que Jiseok était effrayé. Consumé par la crainte que ce soit la dernière fois.
Sais pas.
Une coulée de givre se déverse en lui et un gémissement de dépit remonte dans sa gorge. Le loup-garou se rapproche de lui pour donner un coup de langue sur le dos de sa main et Jiseok sent poindre des larmes qu’il n’était même pas en mesure d’expliquer avec des mots, déchiré par la réalité qui le claquait en plein visage.
L’instant d’après, Jooyeon pivote sur lui-même pour quitter les lieux, sa silhouette duveteuse disparaissant à l’extérieur. Et Jiseok se laisse choir au sol, une main sur le torse. Là où son cœur gisait, inerte. Pourtant, il avait l’impression d’avoir mal à cet endroit. Mal à en crever. Chaque mètre parcouru par le loup était un supplice. Une peine qui se propageait dans ses os, dans les abysses de son âme. Une douleur innommable qui le faisait se recroqueviller sur lui-même avec un geignement de souffrance. Toutes les fibres de son être lui hurlaient de partir à sa poursuite pour réduire la distance et il avait l’impression d’être coupé en deux.
Les mâchoires serrées, il entoure ses jambes de ses bras, les ongles plantés dans les paumes de ses mains et l’environnement devient flou à partir d’un certain moment. Il ne pouvait pas partir tant que la nuit ne serait pas tombée, prisonnier de ces parois recouvertes de mousse. Il ne savait même pas s’il en avait même envie. Le parfum de Jooyeon imprégnait encore les lieux et s’il se forçait un peu, il pouvait presque ressentir sa présence, comme un spectre aux lignes vagues, un ersatz de chaleur rampant sur sa peau frémissante.
Son cerveau se déconnecte de la réalité à un certain moment, son regard fixé dans les aspérités du mur en face de lui.
Et au beau milieu de la vie qui continuait paisiblement son cours de l’autre côté, un seul mot résonnait encore et encore dans son esprit. Comme le martèlement d’un tambour, prenant un peu plus d’ampleur à chaque seconde écoulée. Calice.
tw - un guitariste blessé pour noël, des amis géniaux, un cadeau de rêve et beaucoup de love
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere I go ~ ♪
Un scintillement perce l’obscurité qui recouvre l’esprit de Hyeongjun, le tirant doucement du sommeil dans lequel il était plongé. Son rêve se délite, morceau par morceau et il sent la réalité l’envelopper entre ses bras, les images devenant de plus en plus floues à mesure des secondes.
Il se souvient de l’endroit où il se trouve avant même d’avoir ouvert les yeux. Il flottait dans l’air une effluve piquante, propre au produit d’entretien qu’ils utilisaient dans les hôpitaux pour aseptiser les lieux du sol au plafond. Et la douleur sourde au niveau de son coude, raison pour laquelle il se retrouvait là, se rappelle soudainement à lui au moment de son réveil.
Maudite plaque de glace qui s’était retrouvée sous son pied au mauvais moment.
Il savait qu’il aurait dû s'écouter et rester enroulé dans son pull-plaid moelleux, bien au chaud chez lui au lieu de suivre les zouaves qui lui servaient de meilleurs amis. Le monde extérieur était trop dangereux pour une créature maladroite comme lui alors il lui rendait service en restant le plus souvent possible à l’intérieur.
Parfois, il avait du mal à se rappeler comment il en était venu à se lier d’amitié avec Seungmin et Jiseok. Ils étaient tellement extravertis. Ils aimaient vadrouiller dehors, explorer et faire des rencontres. Alors que Hyeongjun aimait la solitude et le calme qu’elle conférait à son existence, la quiétude du silence et la sérénité d’un environnement que personne ne venait troubler. Mais comme il était difficile de dire non à Seungmin quand il lui faisait les yeux doux, il avait accepté de l’accompagner lui et le troisième larron de leur groupe au marché de Noël qui se tenait au centre-ville.
Malheureusement pour lui, il n’avait jamais atteint le parc où se tenait l’événement.
L’onde de choc s’était répercutée aux quatre coins de son corps, au moment où il s’était écrasé sur le sol, pareille à un courant électrique. Son cri s’était vite transformé en gémissement pathétique face à la douleur lancinante qui avait explosé simultanément à l’arrière de son crâne et dans son coude, remontant jusqu’à son épaule. Le monde s’était résumé à des contours flous et une sensation désagréable dans le fond de sa gorge, proche de la nausée.
Les garçons s’étaient précipités sur lui en un instant, l’interrogeant sur son état, mais l’impact l’avait étourdi, leurs visages lui semblant étrangers pendant quelques secondes. Jiseok s’était placé derrière pour lui pour le redresser en position assise avec toute la délicatesse dont il était capable, ses deux mains posées son dos pour lui donner un poids d’appui. Le bras de Hyeongjun lui avait semblé comme rempli de lave brûlante et une bouffée de panique l’avait saisi quand il n’avait pas réussi à le déplier. Seungmin avait tenté de vérifier l’étendue des dégâts, mais la simple pression de ses doigts contre sa peau pour relever la manche de sa veste lui avait arraché un hurlement de souffrance.
La douleur avait été fulgurante et des points noirs s’étaient mis à clignoter devant ses yeux puis tout était devenu noir d’un seul coup et il avait sombré dans l’inconscience.
Lorsqu’il s’était réveillé, il se trouvait sur un lit d’hôpital avec ses amis à son chevet.
Seungmin s’était aussitôt glissé à ses côtés, attrapant sa main valide dans la sienne et une litanie d’excuses s’était échappée de sa bouche. Ses yeux étaient teintés d’un mélange de détresse et de culpabilité qui avait comprimé le cœur de Hyeongjun dans sa poitrine. Il l’avait rassuré tant bien que mal avant de gémir de douleur en voulant bouger son bras par réflexe et les doigts du garçon aux cheveux fauves s’étaient crispés contre les siens.
Un médecin était entré quelques secondes plus tard et son regard s’était posé sur Hyeongjun avant de passer à son bras en écharpe, replié contre son buste.
“Ce jeune homme va devoir passer quelques jours parmi nous et passer de nouveaux scanners pour s’assurer que sa contusion à la tête n’a pas causé de dommages. De plus, la fracture au niveau de son coude n’est pas grande mais rester le plus immobile possible va permettre d'accélérer le processus de soudure.”
Les explications avaient jeté un froid dans la pièce et la gorge de Hyeongjun s’était serrée en comprenant ce que ça impliquait : il allait passer Noël dans un lit d’hôpital.
Jiseok et Seungmin étaient devenus blêmes et Hyeongjun avait cru apercevoir des larmes pointer au coin des yeux de son meilleur ami. Mais celui-ci avait lâché sa main pour s’avancer vers le médecin. Ils avaient échangé des paroles à voix basse mais le praticien avait secoué la tête, l’air profondément navré et les épaules de Seungmin s’étaient affaissées de dépit.
— Je suis tellement désolé, Jun, avait-il soufflé à son intention lorsqu’ils s’étaient retrouvés à nouveau tous les trois.
— Ouais. Désolé Hyeongjunie, avait poursuivi Jiseok, les yeux brillants. Ça ne serait probablement pas arrivé si on ne t’avait pas traîné dehors.
Un doux sourire avait étiré les lèvres du brun devant l’air penaud sur le visage de ses amis. Il savait qu’ils étaient profondément désolés pour lui et c’était suffisant pour le réconforter. Ils n’auraient de toute façon pas pu prévoir qu’il allait chuter et se blesser.
— C’est bon, les gars. Vous devez juste me promettre des plus gros cadeaux cette année, c’est tout, avait-il plaisanté avant de repousser ses cheveux sur le haut de son crâne. Et si je ne vous vois pas pointer le bout de votre nez ici le 25, notre amitié s’arrête là.
Ils avaient pris un air horrifié devant ses paroles et Hyeongjun avait éclaté de rire, son gloussement se muant en glapissement quand la secousse avait fait trembler son coude. Un léger soupir était remonté dans sa poitrine et il avait penché la tête sur le côté en observant les garçons s’en aller à la fin de la période destinée aux visites. Ils lui avaient promis de passer tous les jours jusqu’à sa sortie et il avait eu un petit pincement au cœur quand le silence s’était installé après leur départ.
Cette fois, celui-ci ne lui avait pas paru agréable. Au contraire. La solitude s’était faite hostile, comme un courant d’air frais se glissant entre ses habits pour lui arracher des frissons déplaisants. Il s’était enfoncé un peu plus dans le matelas, les yeux baissés sur son bras recouvert d’une épaisse couche de gaze.
Noël allait seulement être un peu différent, cette année.
Pas de feu de cheminée devant lequel s’installer, pas de sapin décoré dans le coin de la pièce, pas de fumet délicat pour le faire saliver. Des murs blancs, des draps blancs, un ciel blanc à travers la fenêtre. Un cadre bien différent de celui auquel il avait été habitué. Moins chaleureux et festif. Mais c’était comme ça et il avait dû l'accepter.
Néanmoins, il était pratiquement certain que ses parents allaient lui apporter une montagne de sucreries pour égayer sa soirée et que les garçons feraient leur apparition dans une effusion de joie, Jiseok accompagné de sa guitare acoustique parée d’une superbe guirlande de Noël autour du manche.
Il les connaissait assez pour savoir qu’ils allaient faire tout ce qui était en leur pouvoir pour lui faire passer le meilleur moment possible compte tenu de la situation et cette simple pensée avait suffi à lui réchauffer la poitrine.
Ça allait bien se passer.
Mais il ne s’était pas attendu à la profusion de guirlandes qui couraient désormais le long des murs de sa chambre et au sapin qui trônait fièrement près de la fenêtre, apparu comme par magie pendant la nuit. Ni à la voix suave de Michael Bubblé qui s’élevait depuis la petite enceinte couleur vermillon qui trônait sur la table en face de lui et encore moins à la tablette dressée à la verticale juste à côté, diffusant une vidéo de feu de cheminée.
Take a look at the five and ten, it's glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes that glow ~ ♪
Ses yeux s’écarquillent à cette vision tout droit sortie d’un rêve et il les frotte vigoureusement à l’aide de son unique bras encore fonctionnel, s’attendant à ce que l’illusion se dissipe lorsqu’il aurait rouvert les paupières.
Mais rien n’avait disparu.
Les guirlandes étaient toujours là, clignotant joyeusement à un rythme précis et le sapin se tenait toujours au même endroit, ses branches d’un joli vert brillant sous le soleil matinal. Il avait été soigneusement décoré et brillait de mille feux, tout de rouge et noir vêtu. En se redressant d’un geste maladroit sur ses oreillers, il aperçoit des paquets de différentes tailles disposés au pied de l’arbre et ses sourcils se froncent de curiosité.
— Tu es réveillé !
Une voix enjouée détourne son attention du décor pour se poser sur la silhouette mince de Seungmin, les mains occupées par deux gobelets fumants.
— Je t’ai pris un chocolat chaud, énonce-t-il en s’approchant, déposant l’un des deux sur la table de chevet située à côté de son lit.
— Qu’est-ce que…bredouille Hyeongjun, étourdi par la présence de son meilleur ami dans sa chambre d’hôpital de si bonne heure.
— Tada ! s’exclame le rouquin, en désignant la décoration d’un ample geste du bras. Ce n’est pas génial ? C’est presque comme si tu fêtais Noël à la maison ! Tu aimes ?
Une bouffée de tendresse envahit soudainement la poitrine de Hyeongjun devant l’excitation palpable de Seungmin. Son visage était rayonnant d’une joie communicative et le simple fait qu’il soit venu dans son sommeil pour parer sa chambre d’une atmosphère festive suffisait à le combler. Il avait fait le choix d’être seul pendant si longtemps qu’il se sentait chanceux d’avoir été accepté par des personnes aussi bienveillantes que lui, qui donnaient sans compter. La tristesse qu’il avait pu ressentir à l’idée de passer Noël dans cet endroit et la peine qui s’était logée dans sa poitrine en réalisant enfin qu’il ne pourrait pas jouer de la guitare avant un certain temps s’étaient dissipées lorsque Seungmin était apparu dans le pièce, pareil à un soleil miniature.
Aucun mot ne serait jamais suffisant pour exprimer à quel point il leur était reconnaissant, pour décrire l’affection qu’il ressentait à leur égard et la gratitude qui grossissait dans son cœur à chaque attention de leur part.
— Tu ne dis rien. J’en ai trop fait, c’est ça ?
La déception dans la voix de Seungmin le tire de ses pensées et il pivote la tête dans sa direction, un trouble évident creusant des sillons sur son visage pâle.
— Pas du tout ! s’écrie-t-il pour le détromper, en secouant sa main libre devant lui pour accompagner ses paroles. J’aime beaucoup. Vraiment.
Il n’avait pas imaginé une seule seconde qu’il viendrait embellir la pièce pour le réconforter et lui permettre de passer les fêtes dans une ambiance plus chaleureuse que celle que l’on retrouvait généralement dans un hôpital.
La crispation des épaules de Seungmin s’efface à mesure de ses paroles et il semble relâcher la pression, tirant une chaise près du lit pour se laisser tomber dessus avec un soupir apaisé.
— J’avais tellement peur que tu te réveilles en plein milieu et que la surprise tombe à l’eau, explique-t-il avec un petit rire. Mais je ne sais pas ce qu’ils t’ont donné hier soir, parce que tu dormais comme un bébé.
Hyeongjun blêmit aux paroles de son meilleur ami avant de piquer un fard, dissimulant son visage brûlant dans sa main.
— Hyung…gémit-il, gêné au plus haut point d’avoir été vu comme ça.
Il passe une main autour de sa bouche pour vérifier qu’il ne restait pas une trace de sa nuit, les joues cuisantes. Il avait dû avoir l’air ridicule. Il ne pouvait même pas se tourner le côté pour dormir à cause de son bras immobilisé. La seule option qui lui restait était de rester sur le dos, pareil à une étoile de mer étendue sur le sable. Ses cheveux devaient ressembler à s’y méprendre à un nid d’oiseau balayé par le vent et il laisse échapper une plainte de dépit en imaginant l’image qu’il avait dû renvoyer à son ami lorsqu’il était entré dans la chambre.
— Tu étais a-do-rable, ne t’en fais pas, renchérit Seungmin, approfondissant son malaise et il choisit de fuir sous la couverture pour préserver le peu de dignité qu’il lui restait encore. J’ai même pris une photo, en souvenir.
Sa réponse lui parvient, légèrement étouffée et il retire aussitôt le drap qui recouvrait sa tête, lui jetant un regard scandalisé.
— Hyung !
— Pour ma défense, tu étais vraiment trop mignon ! se justifie-t-il dans un nouvel éclat de rire. Je n’ai pas pu résister.
Hyeongjun marmonne dans sa barbe, mortifié avant de se renfrogner dans son lit.
— Je trouve que tu prends un peu trop de plaisir à me mettre dans l’embarras, bougonne-t-il en plaquant ses cheveux sur le sommet de son crâne pour leur donner une forme à peu près présentable.
— Qui aime bien châtie bien, lui répond Seungmin en prenant l’air le plus innocent qu’il soit.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the bells will start ~ ♪
Le garçon aux cheveux fauves lui sourit et le geste plisse encore davantage ses yeux en amande. Renforçant l’image du renard qui venait toujours à l’esprit de Hyeongjun quand il regardait son meilleur ami.
Alors il lui sourit en retour, incapable de lui en vouloir un seul instant. Seungmin avait fait entrer Noël dans sa chambre vide et froide, la remplissant d’une multitude de couleurs et d’une chaleur qui le réconfortait jusqu’au plus profond de son âme.
Rien que pour ça, il ne pourrait jamais être fâché contre lui.
— Ça te plaît vraiment ? l’interroge à nouveau le rouquin, plus timidement.
— Oui, lui souffle Hyeongjun avec un regard débordant de gratitude. Merci.
Il n’était pas très bavard et encore moins démonstratif quand il s’agissait de sentiments, mais ce simple mot semble redonner confiance à son ami. Celui-ci se redresse sur sa chaise, tendant le bras pour attraper sa main libre dans la sienne. Son visage avait retrouvé sa lumière, traversé par une gaieté renouvelée qui mettait du baume sur le cœur de Hyeongjun.
— Je sais que ce n’est pas comme ça que tu avais imaginé passer les fêtes cette année, mais joyeux Noël, Jun.
— Joyeux Noël hyung, lui répond-il, les lèvres étirées par un nouveau sourire.
Ils se regardent, complices. Et là où les mots ne sont jamais assez justes pour exprimer toute l’étendue de l’affection qu’ils se portent l’un à l’autre, l’éclat chaleureux dans leurs yeux suffit à mesurer ce lien puissant qui les unit, forgé dans la simplicité et les silences, dans les gestes plutôt que dans les paroles.
La porte s’ouvre brutalement, leur faisant tourner la tête et Jiseok se tient à l’entrée de sa chambre, le souffle court et le béret de travers.
— Tiens, te voilà enfin toi ! l’interpelle Seungmin, en le pointant du bout de l’index.
— Me voilà ! Le seul, l’unique et surtout le plus beau, l’illustre Kwak Jiseok pour mettre des paillettes dans vos vies en ce beau jour de Noël !
Hyeongjun pouffe devant les manières grandiloquentes du blond, resserrant légèrement ses doigts contre ceux de Seungmin.
— Maintenant que l’illustre Kwak Jiseok a daigné nous faire grâce de sa présence, on va pouvoir t’offrir tes cadeaux, souffle celui-ci, les yeux pétillants de malice.
Mais ça n’a pas échappé au dernier arrivé et Jiseok lui adresse un regard noir avant de pointer le couloir d’un geste du pouce.
— Peut-être que je serais arrivé plus vite si je n’avais pas eu à traîner un paquet qui fait la moitié de ma taille dans les transports en commun.
— Comment ça ? l’interroge Hyeongjun, les yeux écarquillés.
Jiseok disparaît subitement de la chambre avant d’y entrer à nouveau quelques secondes plus tard, les bras chargés d’un carton plus long que large. Mais ce qui attire son regard avant toute autre chose, c’est le mot logé en haut à droite sur l’un des côtés, dont la police lui est tout de suite familière.
— Dites-moi que ce n’est pas ce à quoi je pense…chuchote-t-il d’une voix blanche.
Le blond lui sourit de toutes ses dents, approchant tant bien que mal avant de stabiliser le carton à la verticale au pied du lit.
— C’est exactement ce à quoi tu penses, très cher.
Fender.
Ce nom ne pouvait signifier qu’une chose.
— Tu es désormais le propriétaire d’une rutilante American Original ‘60s Jaguar, à la jolie carrosserie Surf Green, expose Jiseok avec un air pompeux, en désignant le paquet qui se dressait à ses côtés.
Un feu d’artifice explose simultanément dans les tréfonds de son cerveau et au centre même de sa poitrine. S’il n’était pas dans l’incapacité de se lever sans hurler de douleur, il se serait précipité vers le carton pour le déchirer sans plus de cérémonie et découvrir la somptueuse guitare qui se trouvait à l’intérieur. À la place, il sent poindre des larmes au coin de ses yeux et il observe ses deux amis l’un après l’autre, la gorge nouée.
— Les gars…
Seungmin resserre son étreinte autour de sa main et Jiseok s’avance à son tour, ébouriffant doucement ses cheveux d’un geste de la main.
— On sait que ça va être une torture de ne pas pouvoir en jouer jusqu’à ce que ton coude ne soit ressoudé, mais on s’est dit qu’il n’y aurait pas de meilleure motivation pour guérir en bonne et due forme.
Hyeongjun renifle piteusement, essuyant ses yeux d’un revers de bras et Jiseok laisse échapper un petit gloussement. Il n’y avait que les guitares pour le rendre aussi émotif. Même ses propres congénères n’y arrivaient pas, courbant l’échine face aux instruments à cordes.
— Vous êtes fous, bredouille-t-il, décontenancé.
Il n’arrivait pas à réaliser. Ils lui avaient vraiment offert une guitare ? Celle dont il rêvait depuis des années et qu’il n’avait jamais pu s’offrir ? Elle se trouvait vraiment dans ce carton ? Elle lui appartenait ? Tout lui semblait irréel. Et pourtant, il suffisait de voir l’air éminemment satisfait sur le visage de ses amis pour savoir que c’était vrai, qu’ils avaient fait cette folie pour lui, parce qu’ils l’aimaient assez pour casser leur tirelire et lui permettre de réaliser un de ses rêves.
Et ça valait toutes les fractures du monde.
— Joyeux Noël Hyeongjunie ! chantonne joyeusement Jiseok, les yeux brillants de cet éclat qui donnait l’impression que l’univers tout entier se trouvait concentré dans ses pupilles.
— Joyeux Noël, Jun, lui souffle à nouveau Seungmin, le visage orné de ce doux sourire qui réconfortait Hyeongjun comme un rayon de soleil pendant une froide journée d’hiver.
— Est-ce que c’est…du chocolat chaud que je vois là ? les interrompt le blond en pointant le gobelet posé sur la table de chevet.
— Kwak Jiseok ! Est-ce que je dois te rappeler que tu es intolérant au lactose !? s’écrie le rouquin en fronçant les sourcils.
— Juste une gorgée ? S’il te plaît ? On parle de chocolat chaud, là !
Un rire échappe à Hyeongjun devant la familiarité de la scène et son corps se détend contre ses oreillers devant la légèreté de ce moment. Ce Noël n’était de toute évidence pas comme il l’avait imaginé. Pourtant il n’aurait pas pu rêver mieux.
And the thing that'll make 'em ring is the carol that you sing
tw - fluff, douceur, leçon de piano, relation de couple
✧ inspirée par xymphony, cette masterclasse intergalactique (comment ne pas succomber à Jungthoven, je vous le demande)
Le salon était nimbé d’une douce lumière, de timides rayons cherchant à se frayer un chemin à travers les rideaux. Mes pas sont étouffés par la moquette duveteuse sous mes pieds et je continue d’avancer, les yeux rivés sur l’instrument qui se dressait majestueusement dans un coin de la pièce.
J’ai toujours aimé le piano. À défaut de savoir en jouer, je me contentais d’être emportée par la vibration puissante des notes qu’il était capable d’exprimer, submergée par une émotion impossible à décrire avec de simples mots. Il était capable d’inspirer la plus grande douceur, pareille à la caresse du soleil sur ma peau un beau jour d’été ou à une balade romantique en bord de mer. Mais il pouvait également se faire tempête, ouragan dévastant tout sur son passage et je sentais mon coeur battre à un rythme insoutenable lorsque les touches se succédaient à une vitesse folle.
Il était une entité à part entière et il ne pouvait pourtant pas vivre sans son partenaire le plus précieux. Celui qui lui permettait de prendre vie et délivrer sa magie, celui qui pressait les noires et blanches, faisant vibrer les cordes dans sa poitrine au fur et à mesure de ses mouvements.
Et je n’avais jamais trouvé plus passionné qu’un pianiste.
Il y avait une dualité en eux, une sorte de folie passagère qui ne se manifestait que lorsqu’ils s’asseyaient sur la banquette et se mettaient à l'œuvre. Comme s’ils étaient habités par quelque d’inexplicable, traversés par une onde surnaturelle dont ils étaient incapables de se détourner ne serait-ce qu’un court instant, les doigts filant à toute allure sur le bois verni.
J’avais toujours le souffle coupé quand j’assistais à une représentation, le cerveau crépitant d’une émotion vive. Et je n’avais jamais réussi à expliquer avec précision l’effet renversant de cet instrument sur les molécules à l’intérieur de mon crâne. Mais il me transcendait comme aucune autre et je ne m’en étais jamais lassée, laissant ses mélodies imprégner les parties les plus profondes de ma boîte crânienne.
Ma main glisse sur l’ébène luisant, saisissant les aspérités du bois sous la pulpe de mes doigts et je baisse les yeux sur le clavier, contraste saisissant entre les touches d’un blanc laiteux et leurs compagnes aussi noires que du charbon.
Dévorée par la curiosité, j’approche avant de presser au hasard sur l’une d’entre elles, un son grave s’étirant dans la pièce.
Il se répercute un instant dans ma poitrine avant que celle-ci ne se fige, mes doigts crispés flottant au-dessus du clavier.
— Tu veux jouer un morceau ?
Une voix profonde, aussi soyeuse qu’un filet de miel s’élève dans mon dos et je sursaute, mon dos cognant contre un torse ferme. Je retire ma main avec la sensation d’avoir été prise en faute, mais des doigts s’enroulent au même moment autour de mon poignet pour la maintenir à sa place.
— Su ? je murmure, le ventre noué par un mélange de surprise et d’inquiétude.
Je savais que Jungsu n’aimait pas particulièrement que l’on touche son piano en son absence, mais je n’avais pas pu m’empêcher, hypnotisée par son aspect élégant. Cependant son emprise se desserre légèrement, presque caressante.
— Shhh. Tout va bien, répond-il sur le même ton, se pressant de toute sa longueur derrière moi.
Il enroule un bras autour de ma taille et je laisse échapper un soupir à la sensation de sa main posée sagement sur mon ventre, répandant une chaleur agréable contre ma peau.
— Je peux te montrer, si tu veux, reprend-il dans un souffle, le bout de son nez effleurant délibérément la peau sensible juste sous mon oreille.
Je ferme les yeux un instant, étourdie par sa proximité et la sensualité de cet instant. Je savais à quel point il était grand sans même avoir besoin de me retourner, à quel point il était capable de m’engloutir toute entière d’une seule étreinte s’il le voulait, à quel point il se faisait délicat et mesuré pour me tenir entre ses bras alors qu’il aurait pu me briser en deux s’il en avait eu la moindre envie.
Mais Jungsu n’était qu’un amalgame de douceur et de gaieté, d’un dévouement presque douloureux tant il était désintéressé. D’une passion vive et débordante qui se reflétait dans ses yeux brillants, dans ses sourires chaleureux, dans son enthousiasme singulier à chaque fois qu’il se retrouvait derrière un piano.
Pourtant, il y avait quelque chose de brut chez lui et il me faisait penser à un diamant qui n’avait pas encore été poli par les doigts de l’homme. Parfois, la candeur dans son regard laissait place à une lueur prédatrice, celle qui faisait dévaler des frissons le long de ma colonne vertébrale et j’avais appris à décoder ses gestes, ses murmures et les intentions cachées derrière les mouvements presque imperceptibles de son corps contre le mien.
À cet instant, je ne décelais qu’une envie de proximité, mixée à une profonde curiosité quant à ma présence dans son salon aussi tôt le matin.
Et je brûlais d’envie de découvrir son monde, celui qui me tendait les bras et que j’étais réduite à contempler de loin, depuis un siège parmi le reste du public. Alors je cède à la tentation, le laissant m’inviter dans sa bulle.
— Montre-moi, je susurre alors en penchant la tête sur le côté pour lui laisser plus d’espace.
Sa bouche se pose sur mon épaule, pressant un baiser avant de se frayer un chemin plus haut, remontant jusqu’à mon cou. Il inspire, me tirant un nouveau frisson. Et je me sens vaciller quand son souffle échoue à nouveau contre moi, m’appuyant contre lui pour garder l’équilibre.
Il me guide encore plus près de l’instrument, se décalant sur le côté pour aller s’asseoir sur la banquette en velours noir. Ses doigts tirent sur mon poignet avec une infinie précaution, dans une invitation à le rejoindre et je passe ma langue sur mes lèvres avant de me laisser choir sur sa cuisse.
Il y avait quelque chose de terriblement intime dans cette position. Dans la manière dont son bras s’était à nouveau refermé autour de moi, pour me presser contre lui. Comme si c’était un moyen pour lui de s’assurer que je n’allais pas m’en aller, une garantie de ma présence à ses côtés.
Je tourne la tête dans sa direction, la rougeur de mes pommettes atténuée par la pénombre matinale. Son visage s’était orné d’un doux sourire, celui qui plissait joliment ses yeux et celui-ci m’arrache un battement de cœur. Il approche, caressant ma joue du bout des lèvres et la tendresse contenue dans ce simple geste faisait crépiter le feu de joie qui brûlait dans ma poitrine en sa présence.
Puis sa main se détache de mon poignet pour survoler le dos de la mienne, manipulant celle-ci comme une marionnette. Et je me laisse guider, observant la manière dont il actionnait délicatement mes doigts sur les touches, faisant résonner des notes les unes après les autres dans la quiétude de la pièce. Son menton s’était trouvé une place de choix dans le creux de mon cou et ses cheveux soyeux effleuraient parfois mes tempes quand il tendait le bras pour atteindre des touches aux extrémités du clavier, son torse nu ployant contre mon dos.
J’aurais donné n’importe quoi pour que ce moment ne s’arrête jamais, pour conserver la sérénité qui me traversait dans le creux de mes mains et la chérir jusqu’à la fin de temps. Il me faisait l’effet d’un rêve éveillé. Un songe dont je ne voulais pas me réveiller parce qu’il était doux, paisible et d’une fragilité pareille à l’aile d’un papillon, son existence menacée à chaque instant.
Il fredonne un air à voix basse, l’écho de celle-ci rampant sur la chair tendre de ma nuque et je frissonne, fronçant néanmoins les sourcils quand sa main libère la mienne de son étreinte. Elle reste à côté, immobile sur les touches du clavier et je jette un regard à Jungsu, les lèvres plissées.
— À ton tour, déclare-t-il, les yeux teintés de malice.
Je fais la moue, observant la succession de noires et de blanches étalées devant moi avant de presser fébrilement l’une d’entre elles. Jungsu me montre un exemple du bout des doigts et je mords ma lèvre inférieure avant de copier ses gestes, un sourire fleurissant aussitôt sur mon visage à cette victoire. Il recommence, avec un autre accord et je fronce les sourcils, concentrée avant de reproduire la succession de notes dans le même ordre.
— Continue. Tu te débrouilles très bien, commente-t-il dans un souffle et je fonds à nouveau devant l’onctuosité de sa voix.
Il poursuit sa démonstration, toujours un peu plus poussée à mesure des essais et je m’applique à reproduire ses mouvements de mon côté.
L’atmosphère était légère et la complicité partagée avec lui me remplissait d’une joie indescriptible. Alors je savoure la moindre seconde qui s’écoule à ses côtés, enveloppée par la vibration délicieuse de l’instrument sous nos doigts, son âme et la mienne semblant battre sur la même mélodie.
tw - humour, présence de smooch facial de type baiser, présence de références de pop culture
✧ (mention de crise d'angoisse, j'espère avoir été au plus proche de la réalité mais n'hésitez pas à me faire savoir si ça vous paraît incomplet ou incohérent)
— Dis-moi que l’ascenseur ne vient pas de se bloquer entre deux étages.
Le silence qui s’était installé dans la cabine depuis qu’elle s’était immobilisée continue de s’étirer et la grimace sur le visage du garçon devant lui n’augure absolument rien de bon.
— Je crois que l’ascenseur vient de se bloquer entre deux étages, finit-il par déclarer, l’air déconfit et Jiseok ferme les yeux un instant, réprimant à peine un râle de dépit.
— Putain.
Il savait qu’il aurait dû prendre les escaliers, quitte à se briser la colonne en deux. Mais le mal du siècle autrement nommé flemmingite et le poids plus que conséquent de son colis l’avaient poussé à prendre la pire décision de son existence : utiliser l’appareil qu’il considérait comme une création de Satan lui-même.
Dire qu’il détestait les ascenseurs était un euphémisme. Son aversion s’étendait à tout ce qui se rapprochait de près ou de loin à un endroit confiné, avec très peu (voire pas) de portes de sortie et l’idée même d’être bloqué dans une cabine hermétique pendant de trop longues secondes était ce qui se rapprochait le plus possible de la torture psychologique.
Il était resté un bon moment à lorgner les portes avec méfiance, une balle de golf logée dans le creux de la gorge. Il avait pesé le pour et le contre suffisamment longtemps pour saluer au moins deux salves de voisins lors de leur sortie de l’ascenseur. Voisins qui lui avaient jeté des regards circonspects avant de s’éloigner en chuchotant et devaient désormais le prendre pour un dégénéré.
Si ce n’était pas déjà le cas, compte tenu de ses cheveux couleur Malabar ou de la ribambelle de chaînes et de clous qui parsemaient ses habits.
Il avait été tenté d’appeler Jungsu pour lui demander un coup de main avant de se raviser, gêné à l’idée de le faire traverser la ville simplement pour l’aider à grimper trois étages avec un carton excessivement lourd. Mais la simple pensée d’être enfermé dans la cabine lui avait donné des sueurs froides alors il lui avait fallu de nombreuses minutes et tout autant de respirations pour prendre son courage à deux mains.
Ce n’était qu’un court moment à passer. Il en était capable.
Enfin, c’était ce dont il avait essayé de se convaincre pour ne pas rester planté au rez-de-chaussée jusqu’à ce que mort s’en suive.
Même s’il n’arrivait pas à contrôler la crainte qui le saisissait à la gorge dès qu’il se retrouvait confronté à ce genre de situation, il savait pertinemment qu’il ne pourrait pas l’éviter toute sa vie. Et il n’y avait, de toute façon, personne pour l’aider à monter son colis jusqu’à son appartement.
Fébrile, il s’était avancé jusqu’à la cabine désormais vide de tout occupant et il avait senti la boule grossir un peu plus dans sa gorge lorsqu’il avait vu les portes se refermer. Une infime partie de lui avait espéré de la compagnie lors de cette traversée de l’enfer, mais il allait devoir affronter ce moment en solitaire et il avait dégluti, les doigts crispés contre le rebord du carton. Peut-être que c’était mieux ainsi. Personne ne serait témoin de la paralysie qui allait le clouer au plancher de cabine pendant l’ascension et de ses inspirations bruyantes par le nez pour éviter de suffoquer à cause de la panique.
Pourtant, une main s’était glissée dans le mince espace entre les portes au dernier moment, le faisant tressaillir. Un garçon qui devait sûrement avoir son âge était apparu dans l’ascenseur, essoufflé mais vibrant d’une bonne humeur communicative. Il l’avait salué dans une expiration, l’unique mèche blonde au milieu de ses cheveux noirs valdiguant sur son front dans le mouvement.
Jiseok avait peut-être songé à se rendre à l’église pour y allumer une bougie, en guise de remerciements à la divinité supérieure qui avait entendu ses prières silencieuses.
Une présence à ses côtés, même celle d’un illustre inconnu (aussi charmant semble-t-il être, derrière l’étui à guitare qui le cachait à sa vue) était un réconfort tout ce qu’il y avait de plus appréciable.
Finalement, peu importe l’humiliation cuisante. Au moins, il n’allait pas mourir seul.
Les premières secondes s’étaient déroulées de manière tout à fait normale et il avait senti le poids sur son cœur s’alléger un tant soit peu. Tu peux le faire. Tu peux le faire. Tu peux le faire. Il s’était répété cette phrase comme un mantra, prenant de profondes respirations pour se forcer à rester aussi détendu que possible. La sensation d’élévation n’était pas déplaisante mais il avait essayé de ne pas trop fixer les parois de la cabine, concentrant son regard sur l’arrière de la tête du garçon devant lui, son énorme carton gisant entre eux sur le plancher.
— Tes cheveux déchirent, au fait.
La voix du brun s’était élevée entre eux et Jiseok avait souri, ses doigts glissant à la base de sa nuque pour enrouler une courte mèche rose bonbon autour de son index. Sa mère avait failli faire un arrêt cardiaque en le voyant, le premier jour. Avant de lui tourner autour comme un prédateur, le jaugeant comme un jury d’un défilé de mode et de finalement déclarer que c’était parfait assorti au reste de son look. Mais qu’il ressemblait tout de même à un Malabar. Il l’avait pris comme un compliment, venant d’elle et lui avait promis de la prévenir à l’avenir, s’il décidait d’opter pour quelque chose d’encore plus tapageur.
— La mèche à la Malicia est également un très bon choix, lui avait-il répondu, amusé, en espérant qu’il aurait la référence.
— Wolverine reste quand même mon personnage préféré.
Il avait reconnu la référence à X-Men. Pourquoi Jiseok n’avait-il jamais vu ce garçon avant aujourd’hui ?
— La question ne se pose même pas, avait-il soufflé, les lèvres étirées par un large sourire.
Il allait lui demander s’il habitait dans l’immeuble (et si oui, depuis quand) quand une vive secousse avait ébranlé la cabine, soulevant son cœur dans sa poitrine. Celle-ci avait aussitôt stoppé son ascension et le compteur s’était figé sur le deuxième étage, la flèche lumineuse indiquant la montée s’éteignant d’un seul coup.
Le pire cauchemar de Jiseok avait pris vie en un instant et son corps s’était plaqué contre la paroi à laquelle il s’était appuyé, ses yeux rivés sur le panneau de commande de l’ascenseur.
— Seungmin-hyung va me tuer…soupire le garçon en secouant la tête. Je vais appuyer sur le bouton d’alarme. Et on aura plus qu’à espérer qu’il redémarre au plus vite.
Ses paroles étaient comme un bourdonnement étouffé, pratiquement indistinctes. Jiseok ne l’écoutait plus vraiment, envahi par une soudaine chaleur qui lui donnait l’impression d’avoir été lâché au beau milieu d’un feu de forêt. Ses doigts s’agrippent au col de son pull, tirant dessus pour dégager son cou. Son cœur palpitait avec férocité dans sa cage thoracique, pareil à un oiseau affolé et il se sentait étourdi, sa gorge un peu plus obstruée à chaque seconde.
— Euh…Est-ce que ça va ? T’es tout pâle, l’interroge-t-il, l’air inquiet.
Non, ça n’allait pas. Il était juste un petit peu en train de rendre l’âme.
Les parois de l’ascenseur semblaient se rétrécir peu à peu autour de lui et sa respiration s’étrangle dans sa gorge à cette vision. Son dos cherchait à s’enfoncer davantage dans le métal glacé, comme s’il pouvait s’y fondre et son corps tout entier tremblait, ses jambes réussissant à peine à supporter son propre poids. Puis elles atteignent à leur tour leur limite et il se laisse glisser au sol, repliant ses jambes contre son buste. Sa vision s’était troublée et il ferme les yeux un instant pour essayer de garder un point de contact avec la réalité.
— …coincés entre le deuxième et le troisième étage. Je crois que le garçon qui est avec moi fait une crise de claustrophobie. Faites-vite, s’il vous plaît !
La voix du brun lui semble si lointaine et ses ongles s’enfoncent dans le tissu épais de son jean à cette simple pensée. Un mouvement sur le côté lui arrache un glapissement et il plonge la tête entre ses genoux, le souffle court.
— …ce que je peux faire ? Hey !? Tu m’entends ?
Il serre les dents, fermant les poings pour endiguer les spasmes qui parcouraient ses mains et se force à relever le nez pour le regarder. Des larmes avaient pointé au coin de ses yeux et des soubresauts secouaient sa poitrine à chaque inspiration. Il ne pensait même plus à la vision pitoyable qu’il devait représenter en cet instant, accaparé par la sensation de suffocation qui comprimait sa poitrine et la terreur qui se répandait à l’intérieur de lui, pareille à du mercure en fusion.
Il faisait beaucoup trop chaud. Ou froid. Il n’arrivait plus à faire la différence.
— Hey, reste avec moi. Ok ? lui murmure le brun, les yeux écarquillés.
Sa main se pose sur l’épaule de Jiseok pour le secouer et celui-ci s’accroche à cette pression comme Thésée l’avait fait avec le fil offert par Ariane. Il se concentre dessus pour ne pas perdre complètement pied, pour ne pas se laisser dériver dans ce mauvais rêve aux origines purement irrationnelles. Rien n’était réel, il aurait dû en avoir conscience.
Pourtant, il se laissait submerger un peu plus par les parois de la cabine, par le manque d’oxygène qu’il croyait ressentir à chaque halètement, par les scénarios délirants qui se frayaient un passage devant sa rétine.
Est-ce que c’était ici et maintenant qu’il allait rendre son dernier souffle ?
— Dis-moi ce que je peux faire !
Au prix d’un effort surhumain, il arrive enfin à focaliser son regard sur le visage du jeune homme qui lui faisait face. Est-ce que c’était de l’affolement qu’il distinguait dans ses yeux ? Celui-ci s’était teinté d’une lueur trouble et sa bouche en forme de cœur s’était plissée vers le bas, lui donnant un air que Jiseok sûrement trouvé adorable dans d’autres circonstances.
Là, il essayait juste de comprendre ses paroles, les mots se faisant difficilement un chemin jusqu’à ses neurones.
— Quoi ? croasse-t-il, avant de fermer subitement les yeux en voyant les parois de l’ascenseur se rapprocher davantage.
Il avait l’impression de les entendre racler le sol et le bruit métallique faisait déferler des vagues de frissons à travers son corps.
— Dis-moi ce que je peux faire pour toi, lui souffle à nouveau le brun et Jiseok prend une inspiration tremblante devant la volonté contenue dans ses propos. N’importe quoi.
Il y avait quelque chose dans sa voix, comme une fêlure qui n’avait rien à voir avec la brève chaleur qu’il avait pu ressentir lorsque le garçon l’avait salué. Une sorte d’impatience qu’il avait du mal à contenir, proche du désespoir.
— Je ne sais pas quoi faire, je panique de te voir paniquer et je vais devenir barjo si je continue de te regarder partir en vrille sans pouvoir me rendre utile. Alors dis-moi comment t’aider.
Sa main se trouvait toujours sur son épaule et l’autre venait de s’avancer avec lenteur pour recouvrir celles de Jiseok, toujours entrelacées au niveau de ses chevilles. Des mèches de ses cheveux sombres effleurent ses joues lorsqu’il penche la tête pour le regarder, une expression peinée creusant des sillons sur son visage.
Il se force à réfléchir, à sillonner les méandres de sa mémoire pour lui donner une réponse. Bravant l’épais brouillard qui avait envahi sa boîte crânienne, il cherche dans ses souvenirs.
Il doit bien y avoir quelque chose.
“Il faut distraire tes pensées de la situation qui génère la crise et les localiser sur autre chose.”
— Occupe-moi.
Sa gorge nouée avait rendu sa voix rauque et son regard croise celui du brun, interdit.
— Hein ?
Jiseok déglutit, fermant les yeux avant de resserrer ses bras autour de ses jambes.
— Je n’arrive pas à penser à autre chose qu’à ces putain de parois qui se rapprochent et la probabilité que la cabine se détache et que je ne veux pas mourir aussi jeune et tu dois vraiment me distraire pour que j’arrête de psychoter sinon je pense que je vais vraiment rendre l’âme et-
Ses paroles sont étouffées par la bouche chaude qui se pose d’un seul coup sur la sienne, lui arrachant un couinement. Des mains glissent contre sa mâchoire pour prendre son visage en coupe et son cerveau se vide instantanément.
Un choix insolite mais tout ce qu’il y a de plus efficace.
Ses paupières - qui s’étaient ouvertes à cause de la surprise - se referment à la pression suivante contre ses lèvres. Jiseok se concentre sur leur texture charnue, sur la manière timide qu’elles avaient de glisser contre les siennes, sur les doigts brûlants posés contre sa peau et qui semblent diffuser une chaleur pareille à un feu de cheminée après une longue journée d’hiver.
La position n’avait rien de confortable, avec Jiseok toujours roulé en boule contre le mur et le brun qui devait se contorsionner pour l’embrasser sans lui dévisser la nuque mais c’était un détail comparé au crépitement qui montait petit à petit dans sa poitrine.
C’était maladroit, inexpérimenté des deux côtés mais ça avait le mérite d’avoir arraché Jiseok au cauchemar dans lequel il était plongé. C’était d’une douceur presque douloureuse, d’une gaucherie proche de la perfection et son corps se détend de lui-même au fur et à mesure des baisers déposés avec une hésitation touchante contre sa bouche.
Son cœur papillonne et son souffle vient à lui manquer, le forçant à reculer. Mais le brun ne lui laisse que le temps d’une inspiration tremblante avant de le ramener vers lui, picorant ses lèvres de nouvelles attentions. Ses yeux bruns l’observaient, attentifs et avides. Comme s’ils cherchaient à percevoir quelque chose en lui, leur immensité troublant Jiseok plus qu’il ne l’aurait jamais imaginé.
Est-ce qu’il était vraiment en train d’embrasser un inconnu dans un ascenseur ? Apparemment. Est-ce que ça se serait produit, dans un autre contexte ? Probablement pas. C’était uniquement dans le but de l’aider à gérer sa crise.
— Ne te déconcentre pas, lui susurre le brun, sa bouche effleurant imperceptiblement la sienne.
Jiseok ferme à nouveau les paupières, intimidé par le regard posé sur lui et le temps semble se tordre dans tous les sens. Il n’arrivait plus à distinguer s’il passait trop vite ou s’il s’étirait en longueur, son monde ne se résumant plus qu’à la sensation brûlante logée dans son ventre. Les pouces du garçon imprimaient un rythme lent sur ses joues, teinté d’une tendresse insoupçonnée et il laisse échapper un soupir. Ses membres se délient et ses doigts crispés se raccrochent à la veste en jean du garçon, trouvant un certain réconfort dans le tissu rêche.
Il ne sait pas combien de minutes s’écoulent, après ça. Il ne s’en souciait pas vraiment, à vrai dire. Tout ce qui comptait, c’était cette présence rassurante et cette chaleur qui rampait sur ses bras, s’étirant jusqu’à l’arrière de sa nuque. La sensation d’ivresse qu’il ressentait devant l’incongruité de la situation et la langueur de leurs mouvements, devenus presque paresseux.
Comme si tout était parfaitement normal.
Un gros déclic se fait entendre, les interrompant et Jiseok a l’impression de se réveiller en sursaut, d’émerger d’un rêve dont il n’avait pas pu découvrir la fin. Il secoue légèrement la tête, la gorge nouée et le regard fuyant. Ils reculent tous les deux, sans un mot et Jiseok ne s’est jamais senti aussi gêné de toute sa vie. Après avoir vérifié qu’il était capable de tenir sur ses deux jambes, il se redresse, suivi de près par le brun.
“Est-ce que vous allez bien ? L’ascenseur va repartir. Nous sommes vraiment désolés pour le désagrément.”
Une voix s’échappe du petit combiné logé dans le panneau de commande de la cabine et ils tournent la tête dans sa direction. L’appareil se remet en mouvement au même instant avant de se stabiliser une poignée de secondes plus tard, le petit ding qui annonçait l’ouverture des portes se faisant entendre au-dessus de leurs têtes.
Jiseok allait être libéré de cet enfer.
Ils sortent de la cabine aussitôt, le jeune homme l’aidant à pousser son carton dans le couloir et il prend une grande inspiration, tâtant la dureté du sol sous ses pieds comme pour se rassurer quant au fait que c’était enfin terminé.
— Je ne suis pas mort, murmure-t-il pour lui-même, une main posée sur le cœur.
— Tu te sens vraiment mieux ? l’interroge le brun à ses côtés, après un moment de silence.
Il n’était pas en meilleur état, avec ses yeux luisants et ses lèvres encore gonflées. Mais il n’avait pas l’air particulièrement mal à l’aise, malgré la teinte rose qui s’étalait sur ses pommettes ciselées.
Néanmoins, il mettait le doigt sur un point essentiel.
Le geste avait fait refluer la panique dans un coin de sa tête. Ce n’était pas très conventionnel, il devait l’avouer mais ça avait fonctionné et la crise lui semblait déjà comme un mauvais rêve qui s’effaçait petit à petit après s’être levé.
— Ouais. Bizarrement, ça va mieux, lui confie finalement Jiseok, dans un souffle.
Le brun pouffe, son étui à guitare à nouveau juché sur son dos.
— Tant mieux. C’était l’idée, après tout.
— De toutes les possibilités pour me distraire, la seule chose à laquelle tu as pensé c’était de m’embrasser ?
— Je…Tu…J’ai paniqué, d’accord ? bafouille le jeune homme, ses paumes levées vers lui en signe de reddition. C’est la première chose qui m’est venue à l’esprit.
Jiseok rosit à son tour mais ses lèvres esquissent un sourire amusé.
— J’ai cru remarquer.
Le guitariste rougit davantage avant de s’approcher, l’air soudainement inquiet.
— Je suis désolé si je-
— Merci, l’interrompt-il pour le rassurer, penchant légèrement la tête pour accompagner ses paroles.
Il le pensait. Et ce n’était pas à la hauteur de la reconnaissance qu’il ressentait à son égard. Peu importe le moyen employé, il avait été là et c’était plus significatif que toute autre chose. Il l’avait aidé à traverser ce moment et l’avait accompagné sans le moindre jugement.
De plus, il était loin d’avoir trouvé ce moment désagréable.
— Merci. Tu m’as évité de finir en position foetale à attendre que la mort ne vienne me chercher. Et ton choix d’occupation, bien que discutable, était…intéressant ? poursuit-il, en lui jetant un coup d’oeil.
Il ne perdait rien à tenter le coup, non ?
Le visage du brun se détend de manière significative et il relâche les épaules, ses bras retombant le long de son corps. Jiseok se rapproche de son carton, ses dents mordillant sa lèvre inférieure.
— Tu habites ici ? demande-t-il, l’air de rien.
Il se renseignait simplement à propos de son sauveur, rien d’autre.
— Juste là, lui répond le garçon, en pointant la porte située au fond de l’étage. J’ai emménagé la semaine dernière.
— Oh.
Oh.
Il habitait au même étage que lui. Très bien. Il ne savait pas trop quoi faire de cette information, mais elle n’était pas dénuée d’intérêt.
— Mon appartement est là, explique-t-il en désignant sa porte ornée d’une petite plaque noire en forme de guitare.
Oui, il faisait aussi de la musique mais il n’avait pas vraiment eu l'occasion de le préciser, jusqu’ici. Et l’idée d’approfondir le sujet était plutôt tentante.
— Ah oui ?
— Ouais, souffle Jiseok, en faisant jouer le bout de sa chaussure sur le sol.
Ils se regardent sans un mot et Jiseok déglutit avant de s’emparer du haut de son colis, glissant ses mains sous les attaches en plastique pour sécuriser le carton contre lui.
— Je dois installer ça. Vu ce qu’il m’a coûté et je dis ça dans tous les sens du terme, autant qu’il se rende utile, plaisante-il pour dissimuler sa gêne.
— Bon courage. Moi je vais certainement subir les foudres de mon hyung à cause de mon retard, mais je lui dirais que c’était pour la bonne cause, lui répond le brun en mimant un salut militaire.
Un sourire fleurit sur les lèvres de Jiseok et il retrouve le même sur celui de son vis-à-vis. Il le salue timidement et il entend ses pas s’éloigner avant de chercher ses clés pour ouvrir la porte de son appartement.
— Attends !
La voix désormais familière de son voisin de palier lui parvient au moment où il est en train de refermer la porte et il s’arrête aussitôt, pointant la tête dans le couloir. La silhouette dégingandée de celui-ci s’approche dans sa direction et il tend la main devant lui, paume tournée vers le haut.
— Ta main.
— Ma main ?
Le guitariste tape du pied, ses cheveux voltigeant à cause du mouvement avant de presser sa main vers lui.
— Donne-moi ta main.
Jiseok s’exécute malgré la surprise et le brun l’attrape entre ses doigts pour la retourner. C’est là qu’il remarque le marqueur noir qu’il tient dans l’autre et la sensation de la mine se mouvant sur sa peau lui procure de petites chatouilles qui le font glousser malgré-lui. Une fois l’autre satisfait, sa main lui est rendue et il la lève au niveau de ses yeux pour observer ce qui y est inscrit.
Un numéro de téléphone. Et un…surnom ?
— Joo ? s’enquiert-il, les sourcils froncés.
— Jooyeon. Mais tu peux m’appeler Joo, si tu veux.
Jooyeon. Joli. Le prénom roulait agréablement bien sur sa langue.
— Jiseok, se présente-t-il à son tour.
Il jette un nouveau coup d'œil aux chiffres qui se succédaient sur le dos de sa main avant de la désigner à Jooyeon d’un geste du menton.
— Je…J’ai pensé…Si jamais tu as besoin de quelqu’un pour t’aider à porter un colis, balbutie celui-ci en haussant les épaules. Ou si tu te sens l’envie d’un marathon X-Men, à l’occasion.
Un feu de joie se met à crépiter dans la poitrine de Jiseok à ces paroles.
— Je prends note, souffle-t-il, son pouce longeant la ligne de numéros tatoués momentanément sur sa peau.
— Voilà…Euh…C’était tout, poursuit Joo en se frottant l’arrière de la tête. Je vais aller récupérer les partitions que j’ai oublié et me dépêcher avant de rater complètement la répétition.
— Je sais où tu habites de toute façon, lui répond Jiseok avec humour, avant de l’inciter à fuir avant de subir davantage les foudres de son hyung.
Il l’observe cavaler jusqu’à l’ascenseur, un frisson remontant le long de sa colonne vertébrale en le voyant s’engouffrer dans la cabine. Mais les portes s’ouvrent de nouveau et le buste de Jooyeon émerge dans l’embrasure, son bras faisant de grands gestes vers lui.
— Je n’ai pas de répet le jeudi soir, si jamais ! beugle-t-il avant de disparaître à l’intérieur, tirant un éclat de rire à Jiseok.
Il finit par refermer la porte de chez lui avant de s’adosser à celle-ci, les lèvres étirées par un sourire des plus stupides.
D’aussi loin qu’il s’en souvienne, il ne lui était jamais rien arrivé de similaire. Et il n’avait jamais rencontré quelqu’un comme Jooyeon. Pourtant, c’était comme si les choses avaient été écrites, comme s’il avait été destiné à le croiser sur sa route. L’image du brun lui souriant à pleines dents en lui donnant pratiquement rendez-vous persistait sur sa rétine, lui volant quelques battements de cœur.
Est-ce que c’était de l’espoir qu’il sentait naître au fond de lui ?
En tout cas, si ça ressemblait à ça, c’était une sensation drôlement agréable.
