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Ruin the Friendship pt. 2| s.jy (18+)

After being abandoned by Jake with no explanation, you rebuilt your life from the ground up—only to return years later and find him broken, alone, and still desperately in love with you.

This is not a love story. It's a story of love.

Genre: enemies-to-lovers, angst, second chances Pairing: ENHYPEN Sim Jaeyun/Jake x afab!reader Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), MDNI Notes: 23k words. Song prompt was Ruin the Friendship by Taylor Swift. Part 2 of 2. This turned out longer than I initially planned, but I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (No really, pls like it) Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic.

(Part 1)

You and Leila ended up here somehow. Christmas break, the air was cold, the streets were quiet, and the two of you were sitting on the old playground swings like no time had passed at all. The metal chains were freezing against your palms, but you barely noticed—you were too busy laughing at the story Leila was telling, some wild college anecdote about her dorm roommate who kept stealing other people’s laundry.

You hadn’t seen each other in six months, not since you both left for college. Sure, you kept in touch. Constantly, even. But there was something different about being here again, side by side, bundled up in coats and scarves, letting your feet drag lines in the sandpit beneath the swings.

“I had to move out because of her,” she said, incredulous. “Good thing the nice senior from my department had a sister who was looking for a roommate.”

“This nice senior of yours keeps coming up,” you teased, scowling a little. “I wonder what Kevin thinks of him.”

Leila rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t even start. Kevin has been so overprotective lately. I mean, I get that he’s wary of that guy, but he’s really just a friend. I’m not even interested in him at all!”

She exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “He’s so annoying sometimes. But I kept reassuring him that nothing was going on. That guy’s just a friend. Heck, he even reminds me of J—”

Her mouth snapped shut, and your swing slowed down. The name didn’t come up, but you both heard it anyway.

Jake Sim.

For a moment, neither of you breathed. It had been six months since graduation—six months since he didn’t show up to the ceremony, six months since he vanished without a single explanation. Six months since you last saw him, since you almost said things you weren’t supposed to say, since he looked at you like he was thinking the exact same thing.

Leila sighed. “That moron.”

Despite being neighbors, even she had no idea why Jake and his entire family had left the night before graduation. She too hasn’t heard anything from him since.

“Leaving without even saying goodbye,” she muttered, smirking lightly. “It was so unlike him.”

You chuckled under your breath but didn’t say anything. Leila nudged your arm. “How are you holding up?”

“What would you ask me that?” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine.”

Before leaving for college, you had told her everything about the last time you saw Jake—how the two of you basically confirmed you had feelings for each other, despite not actually saying it.

“You’re not still stalking him on Instagram, are you?”

You choked on nothing, looking away and clearing your throat. “‘Course not. Ehem. I’m too busy adapting to college life and studying. I barely have time or space in my brain to think about him.”

That was a lie, and you were sure Leila saw right through it.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she said softly. “Honestly? I’m upset too. He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were four.”

Leila went on, voice soft but steady, “Look… maybe he had his reasons. I’m not saying he didn’t. But whatever those reasons were, he still ghosted us. And that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve that.” She huffed, kicking at the sand. “He could’ve messaged me. Or you. Or both of us. But he didn’t. And that’s on him.”

She paused, then added, “And don’t give me the ‘he’s not on his phone much’ excuse. I know he doesn’t post a lot, but he still updates his socials. He has no excuse.”

You nodded, pretending to agree. Pretending you hadn’t already dissected all of this months ago, over and over again.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Lei,” you told her, smiling. “I’m fine. I have lots of more important things to think about. Jake’s not one of them.”

But later that night, lying in your bed, the ceiling glowing faintly from the fairy lights you never bothered to take down, you grabbed your phone and opened Instagram. Your thumb knew exactly where to go—Jake’s profile.

He didn’t post much, and you knew this because you’d been stalking him every night for the last six months. The pattern was predictable by now: one post every two weeks. Gym photos, food shots, random snapshots from campus, and every now and then, a picture of himself. Tonight, there was nothing new. It hadn’t even been a full week since his last update.

It was a photo of him with some friends. He looked good. He always looked good, which was annoying on multiple levels.

God, you missed him. You hated that you missed him, because you used to swear you’d rather chew glass than spend a whole day with him. You used to fight over the dumbest things—movie genres, food orders, even the correct way to pronounce words. But you still couldn’t forget the last time you saw each other. The way that night felt. The way his voice sounded. The way he smiled like it wasn’t the last time you were seeing each other.

You sighed, only then noticing how far you’d gone. You’d scrolled way past his recent posts, past the college ones, past the gym shots, all the way down to the high school era. And that was when you realized two things at the exact same time:

One, you were deep enough in his feed to require excavation. Two, at some point during your mindless scrolling, you had already pressed like.

Your heart dropped in panic.

You scrambled upright, tapping the screen with the speed of someone disarming a bomb. You unliked the post, muttering curses under your breath because you know doing so wouldn’t stop Instagram from notifying him that ‘so-and-so liked your post’. You then chucked your phone toward the far edge of your bed as if distance would undo the whole thing.

You flopped back onto your pillows, face burning. Maybe Leila was right. Maybe you did need to move on.

The rest of winter break went by lazily. You and Leila spent most days lounging around her house, stealing snacks from the kitchen, and laughing at all the ridiculous stuff that had happened since you’d left for college. It was a nice break from alarms, lectures, and looming deadlines that you’d been swimming in for the last six months.

But breaks don’t last forever. Soon enough, you were back at the airport, dragging your suitcase through security and pretending you weren’t the tiniest bit sad about leaving. College welcomed you back the only way it knew how—by punching you in the face with responsibilities.

Lectures, assignments, club meetings, and somehow way too many late-night ramen runs. The months blurred into a cycle of running from one thing to the next, sleeping too little, and trying not to completely forget what a “normal schedule” even looked like.

But it wasn’t all deadlines and readings. There were nights after major exams when the library emptied and you and a few classmates ended up at some pub, talking, laughing, maybe celebrating surviving the week. Group projects weren’t all work either. You met classmates over coffee, at the cafeteria, or at some sketchy pizza place, trying to plan presentations but ending up swapping stories about embarrassing freshie fails and ridiculous professors. Sometimes, you even went out just to unwind, walking the streets of the college town, sharing a bottle of cheap wine or a box of fries, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Those nights reminded you that, yeah, college was hectic, but it was fun too.

Every now and then, something small would remind you of Jake—a joke someone made in class, a guy on campus who laughed too loudly, a familiar song drifting out of someone’s speaker. The thought always passed quickly, but it came back often enough to be annoying.

And then, almost a year after high school graduation, Leila texted you about something you’d nearly forgotten.

Leila: let’s vote on where we should go for our friendship renewal

A year ago, you, Leila, and Jake had agreed to meet up once a year. That was the promise. One weekend every year, no excuses. But Jake had gone radio silent. Not one message for you or Leila over the last year. Leila hadn’t heard anything from her mom’s side of the fence either—the Sim house remained empty, locked and untouched since the night they left.

Leila: looks like it’s just us this year You: whatever. It’s gonna be fun either way!

It stung a little that he wasn’t coming. Okay, maybe more than a little. But honestly? You were too busy juggling exams and group projects to spend too long sulking. The weekend wouldn’t be the same without him, but it would still be good. You and Leila? You always managed to make things good.

So that’s what you did. You shrugged, smiled, and started planning. Just the two of you. And somehow, even without him, it felt like everything was still exactly as it should be.

Soon enough, the semester was over. The weekend of your trip finally arrived. You were in the car, settling in, when Leila glanced at you with a sly smile. “Ready for our little vacation?”

“It’s only for a weekend. Hardly a vacation,” you chuckled. “But, yes I am!”

At the airport, the two of you were going through security, Leila chattering about flight schedules when you spotted a familiar figure waving across the terminal.

“Wait. Is that—” You stopped mid-step. Leila lagged behind you, following your gaze.

“Jake!” she called out excitedly, waving back.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. It really was him. Jake Sim. Standing there, grinning like he hadn’t ghosted you and Leila for a full year, like he wasn’t the cause of half your nightmares and lingering what-ifs.

“Lei, what’s going on? Why is he here?” you asked quietly. “Did you know about this?”

“He texted me a week ago,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “He was asking about the trip and said he wanted to come.”

You spun to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you hissed.

“I—he asked me not to!” she shot back, raising her hands.

You turned back to Jake, who was casually strolling over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself. “Surprise!” he sang, his smile wide and stupid.

Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. You took a tiny step back when he got closer, fingers tightening around your purse strap.

“You—what are you—why are you here?” you managed, sounding much more panicked than intended.

Jake shrugged. “It’s our friendship renewal. Figured I’d show up.”

“Figured you’d show up?” you repeated, incredulous. You took a deep breath, hoping to calm the rising anger in your chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jake blinked, glanced at Leila, then back at you. “I—”

You swung your purse at him before he could finish, and he yelped, throwing his hands up. You didn’t stop and just kept swinging. Backhand, side-swipe, the whole arsenal, with repeated shrieks of “Moron! Jerk! Asshole! Idiot!”

Jake, inexplicably, was laughing as he tried to block you. “Alright, okay—ow—! I missed you too,” he said between chuckles.

“You think this is funny?” you yelled, stomping your foot.

Jake straightened a little, still grinning but with that tiny flicker of guilt slipping through. “No. I mean—kind of? But mostly no.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You can’t just disappear for a year and then show up like this. What is wrong with you?”

Jake opened his mouth like he had a prepared speech, but then he hesitated. Instead, he said, “I wanted to surprise you.”

You blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then you swung your purse again.

Leila lunged forward, grabbing your arm mid-swing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough! We’re going to get kicked out of the airport at this rate!”

You let your arm drop, but didn’t take your eyes off Jake. He at least had the decency to look a little nervous now.

“I’m not going,” you announced, stepping back and crossing your arms. “Not with him. He can’t just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

Leila sighed. “Come on…”

“Nope,” you snapped. “He can go. You can go. I’ll go home and take a nap.”

Jake looked genuinely alarmed now. “Wait—what? No, hey—hold on.” He stepped closer, voice dropping a little. “Look, I know I messed up.”

You raised your eyebrows so high they nearly detached from your skull. “Messed up?”

“Okay, I really messed up,” he corrected quickly. “I’m not pretending nothing happened. I just… didn’t know how to reach out without making it worse.”

“Well, surprise,” you said, “you made it worse.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Leila glanced between the two of you, then nudged your elbow lightly. “Come on,” she said softly, “We can talk about this when we get there.”

You glared at her. “Oh, yeah. You two talk it out. As for me, there’s nothing for us to talk about,” you said, glancing at Jake and hoping, knowing, he understood what you were implying.

“Please,” Jake murmured. He didn’t look smug, or pretentious. He looked—God help you—earnest. The worst possible thing he could be.

You looked away immediately, trying to make up your mind. Seeing his face was only gonna make it hard to decide. Meanwhile, the announcement speakers crackled overhead.

“Final boarding call for Flight 27…”

Leila immediately grabbed your wrist. “We are not missing this flight,” she said, dragging both of you forward.

“Leila—!” you protested, digging your heels in. “I’m not going. I’m sulking. This is called sulking!”

“Sulking can continue on the plane,” she said cheerfully.

Jake walked beside you, wheeling his suitcase with one hand and keeping a respectful distance, probably so he wouldn’t get hit again. “I can help with that,” he offered, voice small, pointing at your bags.

“No,” you snapped instantly.

“…Okay.”

You marched toward the gate with your head high, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the loud beating of your heart that had nothing to do with anger, but all to do with the joy of seeing him again.

Jake Sim was back. And you absolutely weren’t ready for him.

The drive up the mountain should’ve been peaceful. It wasn’t. Leila was humming along to some playlist she found five seconds before starting the car, the windows were cracked just enough to let cold air nip at your face, and Jake—of course—kept making eye contact with you through the rearview mirror. Every time you caught him staring, he’d whip his gaze toward the trees outside, pretending to admire them like he hadn’t already looked at that same scenery four times since you left the airport.

Soon enough, you were all standing outside the resort’s lobby. The place was gorgeous, which only irritated you more. Clean stone walkways, warm wooden buildings, soft wind chimes playing in the background like the entire mountain was trying to tell you to relax. The kind of place that practically promised inner peace just from the exterior.

Too bad inner peace was not on your itinerary.

Staff members greeted you with mint tea and smiles. You hung back while Leila checked you in, arms crossed, eyes fixed anywhere that wasn’t Jake. He hovered near the luggage cart, hands in his pockets, pretending he wasn’t watching you. He was. You could feel it like a laser on the side of your head.

“Two-bedroom cabin, correct?” the staff member confirmed.

“Correct,” you and Leila said at the same time. Then she added, “And one extra guest, last minute.”

You shot her a look, and she cleared her throat.

The staff nodded. “No problem. It’s a spacious cabin. Two bedrooms, central living area, large balcony. Should be comfortable for a group of three.”

“Nice,” Jake chimed, probably delighted at hearing ‘comfortable,’ like he hadn’t been the human embodiment of discomfort for the last five hours.

The three of you were given your keycards and a map, and soon you were trudging up a path toward the cabin. The cabin itself was stupidly nice—warm lighting, soft blankets, that kind of rustic-chic design that’s meant to make you forget all your problems and embrace the serenity of nature or whatever.

You, however, could only think: This would’ve been perfect if someone wasn’t here.

You stepped inside. Two doors sat on opposite ends of the living room, clearly the bedrooms. Jake wandered in and paused, taking in the space.

“Nice,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “This is way better than I expected—”

You spun toward him. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I’m literally just standing,” he said quietly.

“You’re standing too close!”

Jake blinked, looked around him and the distance between the two of you. “We’re on both ends of the room.”

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer it if we’re on both ends of the planet.”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Leila clapped her hands. “So! Originally, the plan was, one room for me, one room for you,” she said, pointing at you with her thumb. “But, uh… since someone showed up—”

Jake raised a hand. “Hi. That’s me.”

“—we kind of have to adjust,” she finished.

Jake nodded earnestly. “I can take the smaller one. Or I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Jake’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him a hug. You realized too late what you just said, but you managed to roll your eyes and pretend it didn’t mean anything.

Leila smirked. “Right, so that’s settled. Girls’ room, Jake’s room.”

You dragged your suitcase into the room you and Leila would be sharing. It was cute, one queen-sized bed, fluffy blankets, and a small dresser. You didn’t bother unpacking, and just flopped face-first on the mattress.

From the hallway, Jake’s voice floated in. “They have free cookies in the kitchen!”

You didn’t even look up. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at the door.

Avoiding Jake proved to be tricky. Impossible, even. Because every time you left the bedroom, he was there.

You went to grab a glass of water—Jake was leaning over the mini-fridge, squinting at his phone. You walked to the balcony—Jake was already standing there, eyes closed, taking in the cool breeze. You reached for your charger on the couch—Jake walked past at that exact moment, froze, doubled back like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross your personal space.

After the tenth awkward collision, you turned to Leila, muttering, “He’s everywhere.”

She snorted. “It’s a cabin, not a mansion. And he’s trying, okay?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. Your heart was already betraying you, tight and warm and annoyingly hyperaware that after a whole year of silence, Jake Sim was suddenly close enough to brush shoulders with.

Morning at the resort was peaceful, birds chirping, sunlight streaming gently through the curtains, the earthy smell of pine drifting in. It was as if nature was trying to personally apologize for your stress.

You would’ve appreciated it more if you hadn’t woken up to Leila shaking your shoulder and whisper-yelling, “We’re gonna be late for yoga! Get up!”

You groaned into your pillow. “Yoga? This early?”

“It’s called morning yoga for a reason,” she reminded you. “And you picked the time.”

Right. Because you didn’t expect to be sharing oxygen with Jake Sim on this trip.

Fifteen minutes later, you were trudging toward the outdoor yoga deck, a wide wooden platform overlooking the mountains. Several guests were already there, their mats unrolled, breathing deeply and warming up.

You and Leila found a spot near the back. You were stretching your arms when you saw Jake, rolling out his mat, and looking stupidly good. Of course, he looked good—he looked amazing. Even more amazing than the last time you saw him. A year away would do that.

You’d never said it out loud before, because obviously you’d rather combust than say something nice about Jake, but he really is good-looking. You pretended to roll your eyes at the girls who were head over heels for him back in high school, but the truth was, you knew exactly what they saw in him.

He glanced up, spotted you, and froze for half a second like you’d caught him doing something illegal—like breathing in your vicinity. Then he lifted a hand in a small, hesitant wave.

You ignored it.

“Admit it. You’re glad he’s here,” Leila whispered, smirking as she nudged you.

“Don’t start,” you warned.

“You can be honest with me, you know,” she continued, rolling her mat beside yours. “You’re still mad, and I support this attitude you’re giving him right now. But you’re also glad to see him again, aren’t you?”

You exhaled sharply, opening your mouth to respond but the instructor walked in just in time, all smiles and pristine posture. Everyone shifted into position. “Let’s begin with some deep breaths,” she said. “In through the nose… out through the mouth…”

You inhaled. Exhaled. Tried to clear your mind. Which was difficult, because Jake was directly in your line of sight. Intentionally or not, you didn’t even wanna know. You just kept your gaze elsewhere and avoided meeting his eyes.

He was looking straight at you, though. And at one point, you forgot you were avoiding his gaze and glanced at him. You looked away so fast, you were sure you pulled a muscle.

Then the instructor guided everyone into a warrior pose. You lifted your arms, tried to focus on your breathing. In front of you, Jake was wobbling slightly on his back foot.

You choked on air.

Jake glanced over, caught you laughing, smiled a little, and then immediately lost his balance entirely. His foot slid, his arms twisted, and he almost toppled into the person next to him.

You slapped a hand over your mouth. Leila was silently wheezing beside you. The instructor did not look amused. Jake regained his footing, cheeks pink, eyes darting away like he hoped no one was looking. Everybody was definitely looking.

He glanced at you, looking sheepish. You stuck your tongue out at him and pulled a ‘L’ sign with your hand.

Leila snorted beside you. “What are you, twelve?” You just rolled your eyes at her.

Then came the partner stretch. The instructor was clapping her hands, telling everyone to pair up with the person in front of them. You froze, staring at Jake, who was already picking up his mat.

“Oh no,” you muttered.

“Oh yes,” Leila whispered dramatically.

“Hi,” Jake said, now standing in front of you, mat under one arm. “We’re partners.”

“Lucky me,” you deadpanned, glancing at Leila, who was absolutely no help because she was already partnered with a sweet-looking grandma and mouthing, “Good luck.”

The exercise was simple: back-to-back breathing. Sit cross-legged, backs touching, steady inhale-exhale. Simple.

Except nothing about sitting back-to-back with Jake Sim was simple.

When you sat, your spine pressed against his, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. He hesitated for a second, then gently adjusted so your backs aligned.

“Is this… okay?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t trust your voice to sound normal. “It’s fine,” you eventually muttered.

The instructor guided everyone through slow inhales, long exhales. Jake’s breathing was steady. A little shaky at first, then calmer. You felt the push and pull of each breath, the rhythm, the familiarity of someone you swore you didn’t miss but clearly did. Still do. Eventually, your own breathing synced with his.

For a few seconds, the world felt calmer. And then Jake whispered, barely audible, “I missed you.”

Your whole body tensed. “Well, fuck you,” you said, standing up before he could say anything else.

You moved to the edge of the deck for the rest of the session, pretending you needed more space to stretch. But the truth was simple and obvious. You didn’t wanna be anywhere near Jake. Not with him sitting there, breathing like that, sounding like that, looking at you like he’d been waiting a whole year to explain himself.

Breakfast followed yoga. Then, after that, the resort staff led your group toward the start of the mountain trail. The hike was advertised as “easy and rejuvenating,” which really meant ten percent uphill, eighty percent pretty views, and ten percent stopping to take photos.

You walked ahead with Leila, very intentionally keeping distance from several tourists and one very persistent Jake Sim. Every time you heard his footsteps get closer, you sped up. You weren’t even pretending you weren’t avoiding him. Why pretend? He knew. You knew he knew. And you wanted him to know.

Leila nudged you. “You’re walking too fast.”

“I am,” you muttered. “I’m trying not to get caught by that person.”

Of course, fate—or the resort’s narrow winding trail—hated you, because soon the path got smaller, and the guide called out, “Single file from here!”

Everyone shuffled into a line. Jake somehow ended up right behind you. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can we talk later? Whenever you’re ready.”

You smirked, not even looking back. “Later or whenever I’m ready? Pick one and stick to it.”

“Well, maybe late—”

“Doesn’t matter. The answer is no.”

He sighed, but didn’t insist. You wished he had, so you could have the satisfaction of shutting him down twice.

When the group stopped at a lookout point, you moved straight to the railing. Jake stepped up beside you anyway, keeping a careful distance.

“You’re mad,” he said softly.

You snorted. “Am I? I didn’t notice.”

He opened his mouth again, but you stepped away, already heading back to where Leila was taking photos of a tree. A very average tree.

“Would you tell your other best friend to leave me alone?” you whispered.

She didn’t even look up. “I can’t tell him what to do. He’s a grown ass man.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the tree she was oddly so interested in. “I don’t understand how you could forgive him so easily.”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” she replied, straightening up and tucking her phone back in her sling bag. “I gave him two days of hell before I let him explain himself.”

You frowned. “And what reason could he have that was acceptable enough for you to forget what he did and just move on?”

“I didn’t ‘forget’ what he did,” she chuckled. “I’m cutting him some slack. We’ve known each other for ages, and I understood that he didn’t do it all on purpose. We’re not kids anymore. I’m done throwing a tantrum over this.”

“Well, I’m not,” you said flatly.

“I know,” she said gently. “And that’s fine. But it would help if you two actually talked.”

You groaned and stalked off toward the next section of the trail. At one point, while everyone paused to let a family with kids pass, Jake appeared beside you again. “I really think we should—”

“Jake,” you interrupted sharply, “I am enjoying nature. Please let me enjoy nature.”

“You’re glaring at a squirrel.”

“It was looking at me funny! I have to show him I’m not someone to be messed with. This is how I enjoy nature.”

He let out a breathy laugh but stopped the moment you glared at him too. “Sorry.”

Finally, at a flat clearing where the guide announced a short break, Leila pulled the two of you aside and slapped her hands together.

“Okay,” she said, staring dead at the two of you, “that’s it. I’ve had enough of this.”

You blinked. “What?”

“No more running away,” she said, pointing at you. Then she pointed at Jake. “And no more puppy-dog eyes at her. Both of you, figure your shit out.”

Jake raised his hands. “Dude, I’m trying to.”

“I don’t want to,” you shot back.

Leila groaned into her palms. “Guys. This is supposed to be a fun weekend. It won’t be unless you talk. So please, for the love of God and my sanity, go over there—” she pointed at a shaded bench under a tree “—and fix whatever this is. I want peace. I want harmony. I want a nice photo for Instagram to celebrate our first friendship renewal trip.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Jake spoke first, voice gentler than you expected.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said. “I get that you don’t wanna hear me out. I just… I just wanna talk to you. After that, I’m done. Seriously. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You hated everything about this. The sincerity on his face, the way your chest felt tight, the way running wasn’t an option anymore, not without looking ridiculous in front of twenty hikers.

Finally, you sighed. “Fine. Talking. We’re talking.”

Jake let out a relieved sigh. Leila beamed like she’d just solved world hunger. “Great! I’ll give you some space.”

You shot her a look. “I’m surprised you don’t wanna hear this.”

She shushed you and leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Tell me later.” Then she pulled away, smiling at Jake. “Don’t fight, okay?”

You turned to Jake, heart thudding in that awful, familiar way it did when Jake was nearby.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Start talking.”

Jake didn’t jump straight into apologizing. He just stood there on the trail beside you, shoes half-buried in pine needles, fingers fiddling with the strap of his water bottle. “Can I—” He exhaled. “Can I explain?”

You crossed your arms, not saying yes or walking away. He took that as permission.

“The night before graduation,” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “My dad got a call. His mom—my grandma, she uh…”

He pressed his lips together, nodded once, as if confirming it to himself before saying it out loud. “She had a heart attack. We had to leave that night.”

Your breath hitched before you could help it. He wasn’t looking at you, but he must’ve felt it, because he rushed to add, “There was no time to tell anyone. I didn’t even grab half my stuff. We just drove to the airport and took the first flight.”

A bird chirped somewhere overhead. It felt too cheerful for the conversation.

“I kept thinking I’d text you,” he said, rolling the water bottle between his palms. “Or at least Leila. Just something. But then my grandma, she uh… she didn’t make it. And then the funeral happened, and the family was all over the place, and by the time things calmed down…” He shook his head. “It had already been weeks.”

He finally looked at you then, tired in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“And I swear, every day I told myself, ‘today.’” His mouth twisted into something like a self-deprecating smile. “But the longer I waited, the worse it felt. Like… the window had closed, and it was just too late to try.”

He shifted his weight, kicking lightly at a pinecone. “I know it sounds like I’m making excuses,” he said quietly. “And maybe I am. But that’s what happened.”

Then he was quiet. That was the end of his explanation, it seemed. You took a deep breath, still staring at him, and he was still unable to meet your eyes. Your anger hadn’t disappeared, but it loosened its grip just enough.

“Are you okay?” you asked, and Jake looked at you like he was surprised.

“What?” he asked, blinking.

“Are you okay?” you repeated. “I think Leila mentioned once that you dearly loved your grandma.”

“Oh,” he muttered, huffing a sad laugh. “It was rough. But I’m okay now. Thanks for asking.”

You nodded slowly, looking out at the trees again, hands tucked under your arms. The anger wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t burning as hot anymore. Manageable. Understandable.

“Well,” you said finally, “I’m glad you’re okay now.” Jake looked relieved for half a second—until you added, “But that doesn’t magically make everything else okay.”

He winced. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you should know,” you continued, staring him down, “that I understand now why you disappeared overnight. It was an emergency. Got it. And I’m really very sorry for your loss. But you left me and Leila hanging for a whole year without a single text.”

Jake nodded, shoulders dropping just a little. “I know. That was the worst part.”

“I’m not trying to punish you,” you said, softer. “I’m just genuinely upset. You could’ve handled this better than you did. And if you had just reached out, I know I speak for Leila too when I say we would’ve been there for you.”

He let out a slow breath. “I know. Leila said the exact same thing. I’m really sorry, and thank you for listening.”

You shrugged, kicking at the dirt with your shoe. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still mad at you.”

He huffed out a tiny laugh. “I can work with that.”

You didn’t smile, but something in your chest eased. You tutted, turning back to the group. “Let’s just… finish the hike.”

Jake nodded, his voice lighter now. “Okay.”

You both stepped away from the bench. He tried to fall into step beside you, and you whipped your head toward him. “Don’t walk too close.”

He immediately took a step back. “Yes, ma’am.”

The rest of the hike passed in a kind of shaky truce. You and Jake kept a polite distance, him occasionally glancing your way, you occasionally smirking when he nearly tripped over a root or bumped into a low-hanging branch. Leila flitted between photographing leaves and nudging you both like the mischievous friend she was.

When the group paused for a snack break beside a stream, you sat on a fallen log, stretching out your legs. Jake plopped down beside you and, without asking, grabbed the last granola bar. Your eyes narrowed instantly.

“Really?” you said, holding up the empty wrapper.

Jake’s cheeks went pink. “I—uh… I thought you were done eating.”

Leila rolled her eyes from across the stream. “It’s literally a granola bar, you two. Calm down.”

“Fine,” you said, straightening up and crossing your arms. “I’ll let this one slide. But don’t think this means you can get away with everything.”

Jake blinked at you, looking puzzled. “Everything?”

“You know,” you said, leaning against a tree, smirking, “the small stuff. Like stealing the last snack. Or… ghosting us all year.”

Jake froze mid-chew, granola crumbs threatening to escape his lips. His eyes went wide, and for a second, it looked like he might actually start crying out og shame. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then stared at you in horror.

You gave him a sweet smile—something that should have been endearing if he weren’t choking on his own guilt. Then you walked away, satisfied with the small victory, leaving him muttering under his breath, while Leila was in stitches, laughing her ass off.

By the time you all made it back to the cabin, your legs felt like cooked noodles. Leila kicked off her shoes the second she stepped through the door, sighing like she had just finished climbing Everest. Meanwhile, Jake held the door open for everyone.

Inside, it smelled like pine and whatever candle the resort staff had lit up before you came back from the hike. You made a beeline for the couch, collapsing with a grunt. Jake tossed his backpack and immediately rummaged in the kitchen like he knew what he was doing.

He did not, as it turned out. He was looking around like a headless chicken before giving up and asking, “Where are the bowls?”

“Try the cabinet. You know,” you said, waving a hand, “the thing that stores things.”

Jake paused, looked over his shoulder, and gave you the flattest expression known to man. “Ha. Hilarious.”

“Thank you,” you said, crossing your arms, “I learned it from the person who ghosted me for twelve months.”

He froze with his hand still inside the cabinet. “That’s n—okay. Yep. That’s… fair.”

Leila, sitting at the dining table scrolling through her phone, snorted so hard she nearly choked.

Forgive, never forget. That became the running theme of the trip. Things didn’t magically return to normal. You were still annoyed. Jake was still guilty. And Leila was still extremely Done™ with both of you.

But clearing the air brought back something familiar: you could talk to him again. Which, naturally, meant you could also bicker with him again. Except, this time, you have an ace up your sleeve.

Every time he got a little too smug, every time he tried to one-up you or threw a playful comment your way, you raised a single eyebrow and said, “Didn’t you ghost us for a year?”

And like magic, Jake Sim—tall, confident, annoyingly handsome Jake Sim—immediately shrank three inches.

“No, you’re right,” he’d mumble. “My bad.”

Leila watched this happen twice before cackling, “Oh, you are so abusing that power.”

“As I should,” you replied.

It wasn’t mature, sure. But it was fun. And after a year of radio silence, you deserved at least a little fun.

That night, staff invited you out to a bonfire activity. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and took a seat on the log bench, half-watching as Jake tried, and failed, to ignite the fire with a too-small lighter.

“Are bonfires supposed to be this cold?” you asked, sarcasm dripping in your tone.

“Just wait. I’ve got it,” he insisted, flicking the lighter again and again.

Leila leaned in, placing a hand near her mouth as if she was whispering but her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear when she said, “I’m not saying he’s hopeless, but if we were stranded in the woods I’d eat tree bark before relying on him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t rely on him at all,” you replied, earning a laugh from the small group that had gathered around the firepit.

Finally, with the help of someone far more competent, the fire crackled to life. The glow made everyone look warmer. Even Jake, whose face lit up like a kid on Christmas. He sat across from you, knees drawn close, hands stretched to the heat.

Conversations began. People joked about the hike. Someone brought marshmallows. Leila began narrating Jake’s granola-bar theft like it was a true crime podcast.

Jake groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Can we not?”

“No,” Leila said sweetly. “Criminals must face justice.”

He peeked through his fingers. “…It was one granola bar.”

“It was the last granola bar,” you corrected. “And you didn’t even ask.”

Beside Leila, a girl leaned to ask, “What episode do they kiss?”

Leila made a show of sighing dramatically. “I’ve been asking myself that exact question for five years.”

You nearly threw your marshmallow stick at her. Jake choked on his own saliva.

The group eventually thinned out as the night deepened. Two people went to a hall to play board games with other guests. One couple retreated to their cabin. Leila stayed for a bit longer, then yawned aggressively and announced, “I’m gonna go before you two start passive-aggressively flirting again.”

“When did we ever—” you began.

“Goodnight,” she sang, skipping away.

Suddenly, the air felt quieter. The fire crackled. Crickets hummed. Jake nudged the dirt with his shoe, eyes focused on the flames.

“The hike was nice,” he said softly, like he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk to you alone.

“Mm,” you hummed, staring at the fire. “The scenery was nice.”

“The scenery,” he echoed, clearing his throat. “So… not the company.”

You shot him a sideways look. “Don’t get me started with that.”

He winced, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Another moment passed. Not uncomfortable. Not exactly comfortable either. Jake cleared his throat again. “I really am sorry, you know. The whole time I was away. I was just too ashamed to reach out.”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You updated your Instagram just fine.”

“Oh, that was my way of—” He stopped himself, sighed. “Never mind. Just another excuse.”

He hesitated, glancing at you, away, then back again with a flicker of something hopeful on his face. “I heard you’ve been checking in on me. On Instagram, I mean.”

Your brows furrowed as you put on an annoyed expression to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Did Leila tell you that?”

“Was it true?”

“That traitor,” you muttered. Your annoyance was mostly performative; he didn’t need to know that. “What else did she tell you?”

“She didn’t mean to. It’s sort of… a slip of the tongue.”

“That tongue of hers.”

“But,” he tried again, leaning just slightly closer, “was it true?”

You kept your eyes on the fire. “So what if it is?”

“Every day? The whole year?”

“No,” you scoffed. “Only the first few months. I moved on eventually. There was no point waiting for something I wasn’t even sure was real.”

He straightened a little. “What does that mean?”

“You know what that means, Jake.”

And he did. You watched the memory hit him. You could see it in the way his shoulders softened, the way his mouth pressed into something regretful. He was remembering that night—the walk home, the confessions that weren’t confessions, the time when both of you knew exactly what was happening without saying any of it out loud. And maybe, if things had gone differently, something would’ve happened.

“I thought we had something going on,” you said, barely above a whisper. The words felt too vulnerable, so you looked at the fire instead.

“We had,” he said immediately, desperately. “I mean, we still have. Wait—do we… still have something going on?”

You stared at him, stunned at how he could ask you something so intimate when you haven’t even made up yet. “Did you seriously just ask me that? I’m giving you an inch and you’re taking a mile. Is that it?”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t tell me your…” you grimaced, “feelings, or whatever you call it, still haven’t changed after all this time?”

He scoffed lightly. “After all this time? It’s only been a year.”

“Answer the question.”

He swallowed, then looked at you with conviction in his eyes. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, it hasn’t changed,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I still think about you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to talk to you the whole time I was away.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced your expression to stay neutral. “Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you reach out and talk to me? You could’ve done that.”

His face crumpled just slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Great,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet with a smirk sharp enough to hide the hurt. “You’ll get points for consistency if you’re still sorry tomorrow.”

Then you walk past him, not one glance back.

You woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains, Leila’s soft snoring, and the vague memory of last night’s conversation replaying in your head. The fire, Jake’s confession, your own frustration spilling out.

You expected things to be awkward. Or stiff. Or at least normal Jake levels of annoying. Instead, you opened your bedroom door and found him already outside, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting.

“There you are,” he said, suspiciously bright.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Just saying good morning.”

“No one says good morning like that unless they’ve done something shady.”

He snorted, straightened. “Okay, wow. Incredible vote of confidence.”

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“I—uh.” He glanced around, hands in his pockets. “Staff came to say breakfast is ready at the main lodge. I thought, since we’re all walking there anyway, that I could, like… walk with you.”

You stared. He smiled wider, but nervously. Behind you, Leila shoved her head out of the doorway, eyes squinting. She saw Jake, then paused. She looked at you, back at him, and then nodded like she’d confirmed something.

“Morning,” she muttered, pushing past both of you and heading straight to the bathroom.

Jake kept his eyes on you. “Should we leave now or do you need to get ready?”

You rolled your eyes, turned around, and shut the door to his face. Outside, you could hear him calling out, “I’ll wait for you here!”

You didn’t step out until Leila was back. You hoped she would take too long and Jake would just forget about walking with you. But when Leila came back and you both stepped out of your bedroom, Jake was still waiting there.

He walked with you to breakfast and pulled out a chair for you—a thing he’d literally never done. You stared at him in shock. He pretended not to notice, but you saw the little twitch in his jaw.

Leila shot you a ‘what is going on with him’ look. You shrugged back because honestly? You had no clue.

And then Jake went and got your plate. He just stood up, gathered your food preferences with concerning accuracy, and set the dish in front of you.

“You’re being weird,” you said.

He bit into his pancake, absolutely avoiding your eyes. “No I’m not.”

“You are. You’re being extremely weird.”

“Maybe I’m just… being nice.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you accused, hesitating to eat your food. “You’re mean and annoying.”

He just laughed, ignoring your statement completely and asking, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” A few seconds of silence, then he asked, “Did you eat enough last night?”

“Stop it.”

“Okay,” he chuckledd. “Just checking. Jeez.”

You looked at Leila. “What’s wrong with your other best friend?”

Leila raised an eyebrow. “How would I know? He was with you last night.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I figured you said something that made him all weird and cringey.”

“Don’t talk like I’m not sitting right here,” Jake cut in, chuckling. “And I’m really just trying to be nice.”

Leila narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, whatever, Sim Jaeyun.”

The group’s morning activity was a nature scavenger hunt. Mostly an excuse for people to walk around the forest while staff supervised from afar. You were given a list, a tiny cloth bag, and instructions not to wander out of bounds.

As soon as the group dispersed, Jake fell into step beside you again. You narrowed your eyes. “Are you planning to stick to me the entire day?”

“I mean… only if you want?” He immediately winced. “I mean—not if you don’t want. But also if you don’t want, I could still—no, wait, that sounds wrong.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Walk away.”

“Walking away.” He dutifully walked away, but not without shouting, “I’ll be back later.”

“Please don’t,” you called back, rolling your eyes before walking the opposite way.

True to his words, Jake came back beside you—not even ten minutes since you told him to walk away. You had spotted a smooth stone and bent down to pick it up. Before you could reach it, Jake was suddenly crouched next to you, offering another stone that was identical but flatter and shinier.

“I found a better one,” he said, smiling hopefully. “You can have this.”

“Better for what? Skipping across a lake?”

He paused. “Yes?”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “We’re not skipping stones, we’re collecting them.”

“Oh.” He tossed the stone without even thinking about it.

Leila appeared from behind a tree, laughing. “He is trying. Respect the effort.”

“He’s trying too hard,” you muttered.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Leila whispered. “Also, he ghosted you, so let him suffer some more.”

Jake blinked. “I can hear you.”

“I know you can,” Leila teased, already walking away.

He fell quiet after that. Not sulking, but trying obviously too hard to behave, which somehow made it even more unnatural. He handed you water without you asking. He carried your jacket when the sun came out. He made space on narrow parts of the trail like you were made of glass.

By lunch, you were convinced he was suffering from something. A fever, maybe. Or guilt-induced personality distortion.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie. You’re being useful today,” you said when he fetched snacks for you without being asked.

“Thank you,” he chimed, sitting down on the log beside you. “Do you want my water? You can have my water. You can have this too.”

“Do you want his left kidney?” Leila deadpanned. “Pretty sure he’d give it up if you ask for it.”

You rolled your eyes, meeting Jake’s gaze when you did. He shrugged. “I mean… If you need it.”

“Oh my god. Just what is up with you today?”

Leila snorted. “He’s malfunctioning.”

Jake pouted. “You can say something nice to me, you know.”

“I could,” you replied, shrugging.

“You won’t, will you?” he asked, pouting harder.

“No,” you replied without missing a beat, even shaking your head.

The rest of the day was just lounging around and doing nothing. You liked the idea, but Jake wouldn’t stop hovering around you. He kept doing things that would have been sweet and thoughtful if it wasn’t completely out of character and odd of him. At one point, you realized you had to confront him about it. For real.

“Jake. Just stop.”

He blinked. “Stop what?” If he was genuinely confused or just pretending to be, you had no idea.

“Stop trying so hard,” you said, rubbing your temples. “You’re being weird.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. You added, “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not working. Just be normal. The Jake I knew didn’t act like this.”

He blinked at you slowly, like your words were rewiring his brain. “Okay. I can do normal.”

“Good. Now give me some space.”

That night, the staff set up another bonfire, someone found a guitar, and the entire group fell into a classic bonfire karaoke where half the songs were sung off-key and the other half were from your childhood.

You sat wrapped in your blanket, warm and cozy. Jake stayed near, not glued to your side, but orbiting close enough that you could sense him even when you weren’t looking. Every now and then you’d catch him watching you, smiling a little before pretending he wasn’t.

Eventually people peeled off one by one. Leila lasted almost to the end, mostly because she was determined to finish her hot chocolate. When she finally stood, she pointed at the two of you with her mug and said, “I’m going to bed. Please don’t create problems while I’m gone.”

“We don’t—” you started.

“You absolutely do,” she said, already walking away.

You tilted your head, puzzled. “What’s with this odd sense of deja vu?”

Jake settled beside you. “That’s just your mind playing tricks with you.”

“You’re sitting too close.”

He glanced blankly at you and scooted closer. Close enough that your shoulders were touching. You leaned away, but couldn’t move because you were already at the edge of the log. “What are you doing?”

“You told me to act normal,” he replied casually, turning back to the flames.

You scoffed, nudged him to move, but he ignored it. “This trip was fun. Despite everything.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t disagree. “Yeah,” you admitted. “It’s not terrible. You’re not terrible.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me on this trip.”

“Exaggerate more, please.”

He threw his head back laughing, making you grimace at the exaggerated reaction. Then, his laugh faded slowly and he looked at you when he said, “I missed you. Us, I mean. Arguing with you was always fun.”

Your heart flipped, and you smirked to hide it. “For me, it wasn’t. You were just genuinely annoying.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s the point. I was annoying you on purpose. People call it rage baiting nowadays.”

“I know what rage baiting is, thank you very much.”

Jake faked a gasp. “You do? Good for you. And here I thought all you ever did was bury your face in books.”

You scoffed. “I’m not that bad!”

“No, you’re not.” Laughing, He poked at the embers with a stick, then glanced at you with a small smile. “You were very smart, and still managed to balance your studies and your social life.”

You snorted. “Well, you were stupid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open a book. You’re always out partying or chasing after girls.”

“Wrong. I never chased girls. They chased me. You chased me too.”

“As if!”

“Want me to prove it?” he asked, and you raised an eyebrow as a challenge. But then he smirked and you got nervous.

Is he gonna bring up the time you went to his bedroom and asked him to have se—

“You kissed me in a closet once,” he said, silencing your thoughts. “Unprovoked.”

Your jaw dropped. “I was most definitely provoked at the time!”

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t change the fact that you kissed me.”

“You kissed me back!”

“I had to. It was the first time I felt butterflies in my stomach,” he said casually, like he wasn’t dropping a bomb right at your feet. “One passive-aggressive closet incident and everything went downhill from there,” he added, shaking his head fondly.

You didn’t say anything to that—not immediately. Your hands felt warm under your blanket, but your chest felt warmer because of the bomb he just dropped.

He glanced at you when he noticed your silence. “I’m saying that was when I started having feel—”

“Stop,” you blurted, looking away and hoping he couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

You heard him chuckle, and then felt him lean closer. “I liked you, you know.:

“…Past tense?” you asked, unsure but also aware of what you were doing.

“I still do.”

The world stopped for a second, the air felt hot, and the space between you felt smaller. “Really?” you asked, glancing back at him only to realize how close his face was.

Jake’s gaze flitted to your lips. “Really.”

Something fluttered up your spine. And maybe it was the warmth, or the dreamy way the firelight was making his skin glow, or maybe it was just the both of you finally running out of excuses, but you leaned in first. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell. The kiss was soft, gentle, almost uncertain, like both of you were waiting for the other to pull away. Neither of you did.

When you finally pulled back, he exhaled a laugh, like he couldn’t believe it actually happened. “You just kissed me.”

You rolled your eyes to cover the fluttering under your ribs. “You’re so dramatic.” That made him grin even harder.

Back at the cabin, you tried, like really tried, to go to your room. You even made it to your door. But then he reached for your hand, squeezing it lightly as he murmured, “Stay?”.

You really should’ve said no. You absolutely, definitely, objectively should have. Instead, you tiptoed with him into his room and climbed onto his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped his arms around you right away, warm and solid and stupidly comforting.

The next morning, you woke up warm against him, his arm heavy around your waist, his face buried in your hair like he had no intention of letting go.

But it was already morning, and you couldn’t risk having Leila wake up and find your spot in the bed cold and empty. So you slowly sat up, only to be pulled back down by Jake.

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.” He tightened his hold like a stubborn child. “Stay. It’s still early.”

“No,” you whispered, struggling out of his hold. “I have to. I don’t want Leila to find out. Not yet, at least.”

Jake groaned, pulling you closer instead of letting go. “She doesn’t care. She already knows I’m in love with you.”

You froze, heart jumping to your throat. “Say that again?”

He fell quiet for a few seconds before eventually saying, “No.”

“Jake,” you sang, turning to face him.

He saw your face and something flickered in his eyes. It almost looked like he was gonnasay it again, but he buried his face into the pillow to stop himself. “No. You heard me just fine. That’s enough.”

“Please?” you tried again, pulling some puppy eyes and tilting your head for added effect.

Jake peeked at you, then made an annoyed noise, the kind that meant he was absolutely giving in. “Fine. I’m in love with you. Whatever.”

You smiled. For the first time, you didn’t even think to hide it behind a witty remark or downplay the whole thing. You even giggled, which just made Jake groan louder and pull the blanket over his head.

You ran your hand through his hair. “That’s good to know, but I spent most of this trip being mad at you,” you whispered. “I can’t let Leila think I forgave you in five seconds.”

“I don’t care what she thinks.”

“Well I do,” you hissed, slipping out of bed. “She’ll never let me live it down.”

But the moment you stepped into the living room, Leila was already sitting on the couch, sipping coffee with the smuggest grin known to mankind.

“Good morning,” you said, trying very, very hard to sound normal.

Leila lowered her mug, eyes sparkling. “Oh,” she said sweetly. “I bet it was.”

You nearly turned around and walked straight back into Jake’s room.

After that trip, the two of you slipped into long-distance without ever officially deciding anything. It just happened. You were in love, he was in love, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in pretending otherwise. Messages every day, late-night calls that stretched longer than planned, random selfies he sent at weird hours with captions that barely made sense.

One time, you bought a soft blanket on a whim and showed it to him on Facetime. The next day, Jake got the exact same one. Whenever you called, he’d pull it into frame like a cat showing off its catch.

Sometimes you’d do groceries together. In different time zones, but acting like you lived together and needed to coordinate groceries. You’d be walking around the store while on Facetime with him, offering ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the items he kept showing you on the screen, while also picking out your own stuff.

Jake was coming home for the holidays this year, and you and Leila made an effort to make his house feel like a proper home again. Garland hung across the windows, twinkling lights draped over the banister, and the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and roasting pine nuts. Jake walked in and laughed like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then he dropped his bag and hugged you, like he’d been waiting months for the chance.

The holiday itself was warm in that soft and lovely way you never appreciated growing up. Christmas music played quietly in the background as you wrapped presents, Jake stealing bites of cookies whenever you weren’t looking. The house was empty except for the three of you, but somehow it felt warm and full.

You cooked together, watched garbage movies, argued about who ate the last cookie even though it was obviously him, and let yourselves fall into a routine that felt embarrassingly natural. It was stupidly domestic and you loved it.

Then January came and the holidays was over. The two of you went back into the LDR pattern. Calls, texts, that steady stream of check-ins that made the distance feel less like a wall and more like something you just worked around. You got used to the part where he would disappear sometimes. Dropping off for a day or two, buried in course work or forgetting to charge his phone or getting distracted by something he never explained clearly.

You got annoyed sometimes, sparking little fights or bigger arguments, but he always came back with an apology and things would be okay again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was working, and you were happy. Happier than you expected to be, considering how long you spent hating each other in high school. It felt real and constant, like something that could actually last.

Time passed quicker than you expected, and soon, it was time for your next friendship renewal trip.

Aruba felt unreal the moment you stepped out of the airport. Hot wind, salt in the air, sunlight bouncing off every surface. The heat wrapped around you the second you stepped out of the airport, and you honestly thought you’d melt right there on the pavement. Jake only laughed when you fanned yourself with your passport, which was rude because he looked perfectly fine with his hair pushed back and sunglasses hanging from his shirt. Meanwhile, you probably looked like humidity had chewed you up and spat you out.

“You look excited,” you teased.

“You look beautiful,” he shot back without hesitation—still not used to the way he said things like that now. You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm anyway.

Aruba was stupidly gorgeous. The kind of gorgeousness that made you forget the long flight, and the fact that Leila had bailed forty-eight hours before departure with the most casual “You two will be fine!” text in the history of betrayal.

“Leila’s missing out,” Jake said as he slid your luggage into the trunk.

“Her loss.”

The resort was especially pretty. Every corner was postcard-worthy—white umbrellas, turquoise water, the smell of coconut sunscreen drifting around. Even the ocean sounded pretty. You barely got the door open before Jake launched himself onto the bed with a dramatic groan. Meanwhile, you stood there taking in the room, the balcony, the ocean view, and the stupidly fluffy pillows.

“Get up,” you told him, tapping his leg. “C’mon, we’re wasting Aruba.”

“We just got here.” His voice was muffled. “Let’s get some rest first. That flight was long.”

“Jake, we only have like five days here.”

“It’s okay, we have time,” he groaned, but he rolled up anyway, hair rumpled, eyes heavy-lidded and tired.

You crossed your arms and put on a stern face. Jake only grinned, then held out his arms. “Come here.”

You tossed a pillow at his face instead, but somehow you still ended up falling onto the bed next to him, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your cheek.

“I hate to say this but, I’m kinda glad Leila isn’t here,” he admitted, making you scoff. He then crashed his mouth into yours before you could even say anything.

The kissing only escalated from there.

The first day melted into the second. You slipped into a routine without trying—late breakfasts, sunscreen that never rubbed in properly, you complaining about the sun, Jake insisting you’d be fine, you saying you didn’t wanna go out only to do the exact opposite. You swam until your arms felt like noodles and then laid on towels, half-asleep, listening to the ocean breathe. Or… Kissing.

Every morning Jake kissed you before you even woke up properly. Softly on your shoulder, the line of your jaw, then a little firmer when you mumbled something that sounded like his name.

He kissed you while handing you sunscreen. He kissed you while you waited for the elevator. He kissed you underwater, laughing when you accidentally inhaled half the pool.

One afternoon, on the beach, he leaned over your lounge chair to say something and ended up kissing you instead—because apparently your mouth was more interesting than whatever he was about to say. You tugged him down for another one. And another. And another, until a kid walked by and Jake pulled away with a guilty smile.

“We should not traumatize the youth,” he said, but then he kissed once more anyway.

It was like your mouths had their own gravitational pull. But it wasn’t only the kissing. It was the tiny things that seemed so ordinary but actually sweet in retrospect.

Like when you were both floating on your backs in the water and he bumped your foot gently to keep you close. You feeding him fruit from a plastic container while he drove the rental too fast. The way he automatically reached for your hand whenever you crossed a street. How he'd press his lips to your shoulder whenever you spaced out for more than five seconds.

Sometimes you swore he was looking at you like he was memorizing you, the shape of your mouth when you smiled, the curve of your shoulder under your sundress, the way your fingers brushed the edge of your glass. Those glances always hit you in the chest, making you feel warm and giddy. You never said anything about it. Warm and giddy was becoming the norm of the entire trip.

And of course, the laughs. The stupid inside jokes. The way you’d both talk about nothing for hours and then fall into a comfortable silence that didn’t feel like silence at all.

But then there were odd moments when he dissociated. Not for long, maybe ten or twenty seconds, but it always felt longer. You’d be telling him something—something boring, something random, something about the guy at the bar who tried to flirt with you while Jake was in the bathroom—and you’d realize he wasn’t fully there. His eyes would go a little distant, expression softening in that way that wasn’t about you. Like he was wandering somewhere inside his own head.

Then he’d blink, shake himself back, and say something funny. “Sorry,” he’d say. “Brain went offline.”

“Again?”

“It happens. You’re too relaxing.” Then he’d kiss the top of your head.

But the thing about paradise is that it makes it easy to forgive your instincts for sounding alarms. You told yourself not to overthink it. You always got anxious when things felt too perfect. And this trip? It was dangerously perfect. This trip was borderline unreal.

One serene afternoon, Jake took you to the beach, sand sticking to your sunscreen, drinks in hand, waves crashing close enough to mist your legs. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and everything felt unreal in that pretty, golden way Aruba kept doing without trying.

Jake lay on the towel beside you, propped up on his elbows. “You’re not swimming?” he asked.

“I like the view from here.”

He grinned at you. “The view being…?” He pointed at himself like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“The ocean, dumbass,” you replied, kicking a small pile of sand at his foot.

He grinned, tilting his head like he didn’t believe you for a second. Then he sat up and tugged his sleeveless shirt off in one smooth motion before flopping back down, chest and abs on full display.

“How about now?”

You tried, and failed, not to ogle him. You knew Jake saw the way your eyes traced the lines of his muscles, if the grin on his face was any indication. Still not giving him the satisfaction, you simply hummed and looked away.

“It’s alright,” you said casually, taking a sip from your glass.

He laughed, loud, unguarded, delighted by your stubbornness. “Me though? I love my view,” he said, eyes sweeping over your body without shame before he slipped on his sunglasses like he made a point and signed it.

You rolled your eyes and flung sand at his feet again.

Later, when you went into the water, he followed without hesitation, wading in beside you until you both floated, sun glaring overhead. A wave lifted you unexpectedly, and you reached out instinctively—but he already had his arms around you, firm and warm and close enough to feel his breath on your cheek.

The next few days passed in a blur of warm nights and lazy mornings. You ate breakfast on the balcony, took photos of each other you’d never admit you liked, wandered through the markets with matching coconut drinks because Jake insisted they “fit the vacation aesthetic.”

On the fourth night, you had dinner by the beach. String lights hung above you, swaying gently with the breeze. The air smelled like salt and something sweet drifting from the resort kitchen. Jake tapped his fork against his plate, staring at you with a look that made your stomach flutter.

“This feels like a date,” he said.

You scoffed, playing along. “It’s not. Don’t be silly.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, flashing a confident grin. “It’s okay to be honest. I know you’re secretly screaming and giggling right now.”

“Who? Me?” you snorted. “Don’t think so. If anyone’s excited about this, that would be you. Grinning so hard, one would think you won the lottery or something.”

Jake lifted his drink, swirling the ice around. “You’re projecting,” he said. “You’re the one who got all dressed up for me.”

“I got dressed up for Aruba,” you corrected.

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Because Aruba specifically told you to wear that dress.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re getting bold.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he grinned. “You’ve been smiling at me all night too.”

“You mean I’ve been smiling in your general direction.”

“Uh-huh.” He pointed a finger at you. “That’s the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. But then he smirked. That specific smirk. The one you hated because it meant he thought he was winning. Which, technically, he was.

You sipped your drink instead of admitting it. He tilted his head, victorious. “See? You can’t even deny it.”

You inhaled through your nose. You’d been generous and patient. Letting him have his cute little moment. But it was time to end him.

“Careful. You ghosted me once. And I’m still keeping score.”

Jake froze. Exactly the result you wanted. He huffed out a laugh, his fork clinking against his plate as he set it down. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, reaching for your drink and winking at him as you took a sip.

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “I cannot believe you still pull this card.”

“Oh, I’ll pull it every day until the end of time.”

He tried to glare at you, but he cracked first, the corner of his mouth lifting despite his effort to look offended. He leaned back, defeated but smiling like he didn’t mind losing one bit.

“Fine,” he said softly. “If it makes you happy.”

You hummed, smiling and enjoying your victory. Jake watched you like that for a while, a sweet reminiscent smile playing on his lips. Then you felt his feet nudging yours under the table.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, tilting his head toward the exit.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not even hiding your ulterior motives.”

Jake lifted his arms in surrender. “Do I really have to? It’s just you and me here, in wonderful Aruba.”

You lifted a brow at him, pretending you weren’t already halfway melted from the way he said wonderful Aruba.l “Fine,” you muttered, pushing your chair back.

Jake grinned like you’d just agreed to something he hadn’t even asked yet. He tossed a couple of bills onto the table—overpaying, because why not?—and stood up. When he extended a hand toward you, you rolled your eyes again, but you were smiling when you slipped your fingers into his.

You walked barefoot along the shoreline, fingers laced with Jake’s, your heels dangling from his free hand. The sky was dark blue, stars twinkling overhead in clusters and reflecting on the calm water.

Jake kept swinging your shoes back and forth, humming some tune you recognized but couldn’t place. Every now and then, he glanced down at your feet to make sure you weren’t stepping on shells. Every now and then, he used even the smallest pebble as an excuse to tug you closer and steady you, which was ridiculous because you were walking on perfectly flat sand.

“How’s school been?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You lifted a shoulder. “It’s alright, nothing new. Still hectic. Studio classes feel like they’re designed to kill me slowly. And club activities aren’t helping.”

Jake chuckled, that knowing look on his face making it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the exact complaint. “You could just leave the clubs, you know. Focus on studying instead.”

“Yeah, no way,” you replied, shaking your head. “Those aren’t ordinary clubs. It’s where I’m building my network. Those people are gonna graduate and become successful professionals. I need to be acquainted with them.”

“Yes, but some of them could also become corrupt politicians and rotten businessmen,” he countered.

“I know. And I’m choosing my friends carefully, so you don’t have to worry about me,” you chimed, smiling up at him. “What about you?”

Jake shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Nothing much really happens in engineering.”

“Engineering?” you asked, genuinely surprised. “How come you never told me yuo were taking engineering?”

He froze mid-step. “You didn’t know?” His eyebrows shot up, offended in the most dramatic way. “Wow, you don’t love me at all.”

“That’s not true.” You laughed, but he was already shaking his head, hand on his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“No, it’s fine,” he said solemnly. “I’m just a random hot guy you Facetime every night.”

You slapped his arm so hard he stumbled. “Don’t start.”

He gasped. “I get it now. You were never interested in anything about me, except my body,” he said, hugging himself and leaning away.

“Jake,” you whined, tugging him back. You were already laughing again, cheeks warm. “I’m serious. I didn’t know. You never told me.”

He squinted at you. “I totally told you. Like—like four years ago.”

“You told us you liked ‘building stuff,’ not that you wanted to be an engineer!”

“That’s what I meant!”

“How was I supposed to interpret that?” you demanded. “You could’ve meant LEGOs!”

Jake looked personally wounded. “I did mean LEGOs. But also engineering!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is ridiculous. It’s not that I’m not interested, Jake. It just never came up.”

He stopped, the offended act disappearing immediately. He straightened up and smiled at you. “I know. I was just teasing you.”

You huffed, pouting. “Our time was always short. Our time zones never matched. We always had just a few hours of video call. It… never felt like there was room to talk about the bigger stuff. It was always—” You gestured vaguely between you. “You have no idea how much stuff I want to talk about with you.”

He sighed, the relieved kind. Then he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re together right now, aren’t we?” he said. “So tell me everything you wanna tell me. All of it. What you want. What you dream about. And I’ll tell you mine too.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but it didn’t hide the smile on your lips. Not when he was looking at you like that. “Fine. If you insist,” you muttered, looking away.

He tugged you into a warm hug—arms around your shoulders, your face pressed against his chest. “And just so you know,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, “you can want me for my body. I get it. It’s a good body. I don’t mind being used.”

You shoved him, only managing to pull away for a second before he reeled you right back in. “Shut up.”

He chuckled lightly, placing his chin on top of your head, and patting your back. And then slowly, his hand moved lower down to your spine, stopping just above your backside. “So…” he whispered into your ear, kissing the side of your head. “How about using me tonight?”

You groaned and pushed him away, but this time, he didn’t pull you back in. He just stood there, grinning. That slow, awful, knowing grin, the one that meant he was up to no good.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, already prepared to bolt.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “What?”

The sand kicked under your feet as you bolted down the shoreline. The breeze whipped your hair back, laughter ripping out of you before you could stop it. The ocean glowed silver in the moonlight, the breeze cool and soft. You didn’t even look behind you—you didn’t need to. You could feel him gaining on you.

“You can’t run from me,” he called, his voice light, breathy from holding back a laugh.

“Watch me!” you yelled, nearly tripping when the tide rushed over your ankles.

“Get back here!” Jake yelled, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“No!” you shouted back, half-laughing, half-screaming as his footsteps grew louder.

Then a hand wrapped around your waist. You squealed as he spun you, momentum sending you both stumbling into each other. His arms locked around you from behind, his breath warm against your neck. You twisted in his grip, breathless, trying to get away but he was stronger than you were.

“You wanna keep running?” he whispered, arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath hitched. “No.”

“Good.” His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “Because I really wanna do this.”

He kissed you hard. Like he’d been waiting for you to run, just so he could catch you. His hands slid up your back, yours curling into his shirt as he pressed you against him, the crash of the ocean roaring behind you. Then the kiss grew deeper, hungrier, as his other hand found your waist and drew you impossibly closer.

The world blurred around the two of you, your heart pounding as he kissed you like he’d finally caught something he wasn’t willing to lose again.

The next thing you remembered was stumbling into the hotel room together, still kissing, his hands at your waist as he pressed you up against the wall. His hands trailed along your waist, carefully and slowly, like he was taking his time reclaiming every inch of you. Your fingers threaded into his hair on instinct, bucking your hips forward to meet his, and the sharp exhale he let out against your mouth told you exactly how much he felt it.

“Do that again,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw now, “and we’re not making it to the bed.”

You shivered, because you knew he meant it.

You tilted your head sideways, letting him ravage the skin of your neck. His mouth trailed down the curve of your throat, slow kisses that grew firmer, teeth grazing your skin and sucking until your knees went weak enough that you had to brace your hand on his shoulder.

Jake grabbed one of your thighs, lifting it and wrapping it around his torso. His erection rubbing against your crotch made your entire body quiver at the sensation.

He lifted his head to look at you then, eyes dark, breath unsteady, like he was holding back only because he knew you liked when he did. His thumb brushed your cheek, gentle in a way that contrasted the heat between you.

“Tell me what you want,” he said softly, like he already knew but wanted to hear it from you anyway.

“You know what I want,” you whined, pressing yourself harder against him.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you, then he kissed you again, holding you firmly as he carried you over to the bed. You expected him to lay you down, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat down, hands moving to your hips, then pulling away from the kiss just to look up at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, reading clearly into that smile, and the way his fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress, easing it upward slowly and squeezing the skin underneath.

“Ride me?” he asked, still grinning, not even bothering to pretend he was begging. “Please?”

You scoffed, exasperated, but didn’t say anything. Instead, you placed a hand on his chest and he fell on his back at the lightest push. His eyes followed you, dark and hungry, as you lifted your dress over your head and tossed it aside.

Jake lay back on the pillows, breath already unsteady, watching you crawl over him with a look that made your skin prickle. His hands skimmed up your thighs as you straddled his hips, his touch warm, reverent, almost too gentle for the hunger in his eyes.

“You look so pretty up there,” he murmured, thumbs brushing the sensitive spots on the inside of your legs.

You leaned down, kissing him again, slowly and deeply. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you closer, moving your hips against his, aching for some friction. You grabbed his hand to stop him, pulling away from the kiss to glare at him.

“My bad,” he chuckled, squeezing your thighs. “You’re not gonna make me work for it, are you?”

You rolled your hips just slightly, more of a tease than anything, and his breath stuttered. His head dropped back against the mattress for a second, jaw clenched, a curse slipping out under his breath before he looked up at you again.

“You like it when I do,” you whispered, confidence rising. “The same way you liked it whenever I called you a moron back in high school.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he breathed, almost instantly. “Does that make me a masochist?”

You chuckled, straightening a little, sitting up on his lap. Jake’s hands followed the movement, tracing up your sides, then back down in a slow, possessive sweep. He looked up at you like he was memorizing the sight—your breathing, your posture, the way you held yourself above him with so much confidence it made his chest rise in a sharp inhale.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“Oh, I do,” you replied, rolling your hips against his crotch one more time.

His jaw flexed. “Get over here.”

He pulled you in for another kiss, deeper this time—his mouth hot and impatient, his tongue brushing yours in a way that made your whole body burn up. His hands slid under your thighs, urging your legs wider around him, then unbuttoning his own jeans and shimmying out of it.

You braced your hands on his stomach, feeling every muscle tighten beneath your palms. You lifted your hips slightly, dragging a breathy curse from him.

“Baby,” he cooed, reaching for your face. “Please don’t make me beg for it.”

“You’re already begging, Jake,” you chuckled, finally reaching down between your bodies, tugging his boxers down, and wrapping your fingers around his manhood. His head fell back with a sharp inhale.

That reaction made you smile, then you guided him to your sex with a soft, shaky breath.

Jake’s eyes snapped open, dark and blown. “Baby…”

You steadied yourself with one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shoulder. Then, slowly, teasingly, you lowered yourself onto him—inch by inch, breath by breath—until your head tipped back and a moan slipped out of your lips.

“Holy—” He cut himself off, eyes dragging up your body like he didn’t know where to look first. “Come here.”

You shook your head with a small, wicked smile, staying upright, keeping him exactly where you wanted him: beneath you, watching.

Your hips moved again, a slow grind that dragged a groan out of him so rough it sent heat straight through you. His hands shot to your waist like reflex, and you leaned back slightly, hands sliding over his stomach, feeling every muscle twitch under your touch.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re gonna destroy me.”

“That’s the idea.” You leaned forward just enough that your breath ghosted over his mouth. “So don’t blink.”

Then you set the pace. Slow at first, enough to make him swallow hard, enough that your own breath hitched in your throat. Each rise and fall made your body tighten, every motion sending ripples of desire over your skin. The sight of him with his jaw clenched, and his eyes dark, only spurred you on. Your hips moved faster, smoother this time, picking up a rhythm that made his fingers dig hard enough into your waist to leave faint marks.

His voice dropped, low and ragged. “Baby—slow down—”

“No,” you gasped, the word barely formed.

You lifted your hips again, this time sinking down in one smooth motion that pulled a raw groan from him—deep, helpless, pulled straight from his chest. He looked wrecked already. And you weren’t even close to done.

You straightened your back, hands sliding to your own thighs for balance, and moved with an intensity that made the headboard knock faintly against the wall. He cursed under his breath meeting your movements with upward thrusts that nearly sent you over the edge. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders, nails dragging lightly down his skin as your rhythm faltered for just a moment.

His voice broke as he called out your name. “You feel…—damn it—keep going,” he gruntied, like he’s ffighting not to fall apart too fast

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Don’t hold it.”

That drove him over the edge.

His breath stuttered, a sharp inhale—and then his hands clamp around your waist, hard. His hips pressed up once, deep enough that you nearly lost your balance and gasped, and then he was gone.

His whole body locked beneath you, a tremor running through him so intense you feel it everywhere—under your hands, between your thighs, across the space where your bodies meet. He buried his face against your shoulder like he was trying to hide the sound he was making, but it slipped out anyway—raw, guttural, and desperate.

The kind of sound that told you exactly how hard you pushed him. Exactly how just much he wanted you. Exactly how completely he was coming apart because of you.

He gripped you tighter, pulling you down against him as if he needed you there, needed the closeness, needed you to feel all of it. His breaths broke into uneven, shaking exhales as the wave passed, leaving him trembling and still holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he loosened his grip.

When he finally looked up, he was wrecked—his hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. He let out a slow, shaky breath, one hand sliding up your back, still inside you, still trying to collect himself.

You brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, and he leaned into the touch just before he collapsed on the bed with a groan, flinging an arm over his face like he’d just finished running a marathon.

He sighed out your name. “I love you so much.”

You snorted. “I think that’s your dick talking.”

He peeked at you from under his arm, eyes soft. “It’s not,” he said softly, reaching for your hand and tugging you down to his chest.

“And you better stay right here,” he murmured, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You lay tangled together, still naked under the sheets, with no idea what time it was but knowing damn well that it was already the early hours of the day. Your head rested on Jake’s chest, your body sore and tired. Meanwhile, Jake looked completely fine and energized, like he hadn’t spent the entire night making you tremble and cry out his name.

He was playing with your hair as he watched you talk about your dreams and plans for the future. You forgot what the conversation was before this, only that it was brought up after he asked your opinion on Aruban architecture.

You told him about your plans after graduation, the steps you were taking to slowly build it up. You told him your dream was to open your own firm and practice architecture as an art, rather than a means to an income. You told him you were a little embarrassed about the fact that your parents will obviously help you build your own company once you graduate, but you were grateful for it too.

Jake listened intently, his eyes gleaming fondly as you talked. You could see, and feel, that he was proud of you through his eyes, and you couldn’t help your stomach from fluttering at his attention.

“What about you?” you mumbled, half-laughing, half-sinking into sleep. “What’s your dream?”

He was quiet long enough that you lifted your head to look at him. Jake reached up to cup your face. He was smiling, but the look in his eyes didn’t match it. Something shimmered there, tender but with a glint of something else. Something uncertain—fear, perhaps.

“I want you to be happy,” he said softly.

You huffed. “I am happy right now.”

His thumb brushed your cheekbone, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know,” he said gently. “But I want you to be happier. Happier than you are right now.”

There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, warm and aching at the same time. Like he meant it. Like he wished he could promise it.

You rolled your eyes anyway, because his face was too serious for someone who was supposed to be cuddly and sleep-drunk. “Whatever. Boring,” you muttered, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. “I love you.”

He smiled against your lips. “I love you,” he whispered back, fingers sliding into your hair as he pulled you in for another kiss.

Those last days in Aruba passed beautifully. Lazy mornings tangled in hotel sheets, sunlight spilling across the bed while he refused to let you get up yet, mumbling something about “five more minutes” that always turned into twenty. Breakfasts that tasted sweeter just because he insists on feeding you himself. Long walks along the shoreline where you talked about anything and everything.

You spent most of the day at the beach—naps under the umbrella, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek while the breeze moved through the palms above you. He smelled like sunscreen and salt. Every time you looked at him, he was looking back.

Nights were louder. Laughter echoing, drinks you didn’t finish because you got too caught up talking. His hand on the small of your back as he led you through crowded places, or the way he’d pull you close during slow songs at the nightclubs.

You were seeing the world in gold-tinted glasses, and you could only agree when Jake once said, “Aruba feels like a fever dream.”

And somewhere between all of it, you kept getting this odd feeling in your chest. Like a gut feeling that some impending disappointment awaited you after your days in this sunkissed paradise was over. But you pushed it aside, told yourself you were anxious for no reason.

Jake was here with you. Even if this little vacation was over, he’d still be there for you—maybe not physically, but he’d still be a constant presence in your life. You love him, he loves you. This anxiety was unnecessary.

Befoe you knew it, you were already walking through security. The airport was bright, cold, and noisy—a huge contrast to the island’s warm and peaceful glow. You kept close to Jake as you walked, your suitcase wheels rattling across the tile while his hand brushed yours every few steps, like he kept forgetting he couldn’t hold it the whole way.

His flight boarded first, and your chest ached at the thought of finally parting ways with him. The idea of going back to your mundane LDR setup was upsetting, but you knew you had to compromise.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he murmured, kissing your forehead as he pulled you into a hug. “Be safe.”

“Call me when you land,” you demanded, looping your arms around his waist. “I’ll call you too. Even if it’s late.”

“I love you,” he said softly, hand cupping your cheek. He looked close to crying, with his creased forehead and the glint of hurt in his eyes.

You laughed quietly, reaching up to touch his face too. “I love you more. And don’t cry. It’s not like we won’t see each other again.”

Jake didn’t say anything. He just smiled, then leaned in to kiss you—soft, careful, nothing like the frantic airport kisses you’d seen in movies. You wanted to say something else, something meaningful or witty or reassuring, but all that came out was, “Go. Before you miss your flight.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, stepping away but not quite letting go of your hand yet .He gave your fingers one last squeeze before finally letting go, stepping backward toward his gate with that small, uneven smile he only wore when he was trying not to fall apart.

“Don’t forget to text me,” you reminded him, waving a hand. “If you don’t, I’m blocking you.”

That made him laugh softly, breathily, a little sad. The boarding staff checked his documents, and motioned for him to proceed. He looked over his shoulder one more time, lifting his hand to wave before disappearing into the line of passengers.

And just like that, the warmth of Aruba faded, replaced by the hollow brightness of the terminal and the loud echoes of boarding announcements.

Your own flight boarded shortly after. You spent the entire time staring out the plane window, replaying every moment from the past few days—the beach, his hand in yours, the way he looked at you that last night as if the future didn’t scare him yet. You already missed him.

The flight was long, but you barely remembered it. You slept through most of it, dreaming in pieces about his voice, his laugh, the feeling of his arms around you. Each time you stirred awake, your first instinct was to check your phone.

As soon as your plane touched down, your heart jumped. You turned your phone back on immediately, waiting for it to light up with a message from him. There was nothing, but you didn’t mind. You tapped his name and lifted the phone to your ear, excited to hear his voice again.

The call rang. And rang. Over and over, but there was no answer. You tried again. And again. Still nothing.

Fear began to creep into your chest.

You tried one more time, listening to the ring until it cut off, leaving a dead, hollow silence in its place. Your heart was sinking, but you tried to calm yourself, willing yourself to believe he was probably still onboard. Or that his phone battery had died.

“Right. That must be it,” you whispered, patting your chest as if it could ease the heaviness pressing against it.

You had no idea then that something beautiful had already died.

You kept trying to reach Jake even after classes started up again, calling whenever you had a free moment, sending messages he never opened. Days passed like that.

You kept telling yourself he was busy. Jet-lagged. Buried in schoolwork. Maybe he lost his charger. Maybe something came up. But deep down, a part of you already knew. You just didn’t want to believe it.

Still, you tried. You called in the mornings, at night, between classes, hoping that maybe this time he’d pick up and explain everything in that soft voice you’d fallen a little too hard for. But the ringing always stopped in the same hollow way, leaving you staring at your screen, heart sinking a little deeper each time.

Eventually, your phone finally stopped ringing altogether. When you tried to call again, the automated voice informed you that the number was no longer in service. Your heart dropped.

With numb fingers, you opened his socials—every account you knew, every platform he used, even the old ones he hadn’t touched in years, all of them were gone. Deactivated. Wiped clean like he’d never existed at all. That was when you finally accepted the truth.

Jake had ghosted you again.

The days that followed were foggy. You barely moved from your bed. You didn’t eat unless someone insisted. You couldn’t focus long enough to read a single page of your notes. Even the thought of going to class felt impossible—like your body had forgotten how to stand, how to walk, how to be a person outside the hurt.

Every night, you cried yourself to sleep, then slept too much and still woke up exhausted. You hated how easily you broke down, how deeply the loss of one person managed to bleed into everything else. You hated how much you missed him.

But even at your lowest, some small, stubborn part of you refused to stay there. You were stronger than you looked, and your dreams were bigger than whatever fragile thing you and Jake had been trying to hold together.

So slowly, begrudgingly, you began to pull yourself back together. One morning, after lying awake for hours, you finally forced yourself out of bed. You showered. You ate something. You opened your laptop and stared at your assignments until your brain caught up enough to work through them.

Nothing about it was easy—but it was movement. It was proof that you were still here. You reminded yourself of the future you wanted, and recalled the steps you needed to take toward it—classes, internships, goals, deadlines—slowly reminding yourself that your life didn’t end just because he walked out of it.

Jake had disappeared. But you weren’t going to. And though your heart still ached, you chose to keep going. Not for him, but for yourself.

Leila was furious on your behalf, pacing your dorm room like she wanted to fly to Korea and drag Jake out of whatever hole he’d disappeared into. But after the initial explosion of anger burned off, she looked at you and realized you weren’t falling apart forever. You were hurting, yes, bruised in a way heartbreak always leaves behind, but you were still you. Determined. Stubborn. Chasing the life you’d always wanted. She trusted you to make the right decisions, and she refused to let this ruin you, even when you had days where you wanted nothing more than to break.

Life didn't pause for heartbreak. Studio deadlines, rendering practice, group meetings, portfolio reviews—they all demanded your attention whether you could breathe properly or not. And somehow, the routine helped. It forced you out of bed, dragged you into classrooms, surrounded you with people who barely knew the ache you were carrying inside your chest.

You threw yourself into your architecture classes like they were the only thing tethering you to the ground. Late nights in the studio became your comfort—your headphones on, your hands full of pencil smudges and tracing paper, your mind too busy calculating measurements to spiral into the silence Jake left behind.

But even while you were rebuilding your life brick by brick, you never stopped trying to reach him. It wasn't an obsession, more like a misplaced hope. You checked his socials, even though you knew they were gone. You contacted a few acquaintances who had interacted with him online, but all you got were apologies and confused messages saying they hadn’t heard from him either. You sent a letter to his home address in Korea once a month, each envelope containing something different—sometimes a long, heartfelt message, sometimes just a single line asking if he was okay. You never got a reply. Not once. Not even a returned envelope.

Still, your life didn’t revolve around your futile attempts. The world kept spinning, pulling you along with it. You grew. You learned. You blossomed. You found yourself taking on more responsibilities, chasing internships, building your network the way you always said you would. Leila cheered every success, dragged you out for weekend road trips across states. There were days when you forgot about him entirely—whole stretches of time where your head was filled with blueprints, parties, new friends, petty college drama.

And then there were nights where you stared at your phone again. Where you typed out a message and deleted it. Where you wondered if he was alive. Or okay. Or thinking of you.

You didn’t let those nights consume you, though. You let them pass. You let yourself feel the ache, let it wash over you, let it fade naturally. And then you kept going. Because your dreams were bigger than the ghost-shaped hole he left behind.

Two years passed like that, with bursts of joy and exhaustion and everything in between. And even though some part of you still carried the memory of him, it no longer held you back.

Graduation came faster than you expected. One moment you were drowning in finals and sleepless nights, and the next you were standing in a sea of gowns and flowers, sunlight hitting your face as your name echoed through the auditorium. People cheered. Cameras flashed. Leila screamed your name so loudly that strangers turned to look.

You smiled for the photos, accepted the hugs, tossed your cap into the air with everyone else. But beneath the celebrations, you could feel in your chest a painful hollow space where a boy with soft eyes and terrible timing used to sit.

Leila nudged you with her shoulder while your family fussed over your medal. “You okay?” she asked, too gently.

“Yeah,” you lied.

She shot you a look that said she didn’t buy it, but she didn’t push. She just squeezed your hand and said, “He doesn’t get to ruin this for you. Not today.”

You nodded, because she was right. But even then, a stupid part of you wished Jake could’ve seen you walk that stage—wished he could’ve said, “I’m proud of you” the way he used to say it over the phone.

But then again, life goes on. It never stopped for anyone.

After graduation, you packed up your dorm room. Every object triggered a memory—some good, some painful. You found the seashell anklet you bought in Aruba, holding it up and feeling a surge of memories register in your mind—most of it hazy now. It has been a while after all.

You considered throwing it away, but you couldn’t. You tucked it deeper into your luggage instead. Then you wrote one last letter to Jake before leaving the city. You folded it neatly, placed it into an envelope, and dropped it into the mailbox even though you knew you wouldn’t get a reply. But you wrote it anyway. A goodbye of some sort, your own version of a closure.

Because your last goodbye didn’t come with a closure.

Moving to a new state felt like stepping into cold water. Shocking at first, but then you eventually adjust to it. The city welcomed you with hustle and bustle. Your new apartment was small but bright, and the first night you lay in bed listening to unfamiliar traffic outside your window, you felt both lonely and proud.

You called Leila often. “Send me your location so I can track you,” she’d say every day and her concern made it easier to breathe.

Your new job came with its own mayhem. Long hours, demanding clients, supervisors who pushed you harder than any professor ever had. But you loved it. You loved the challenge, the late nights sketching revisions, the thrill of seeing your ideas approved. Your college résumé opened doors quickly, and your passion kept you running through them.

You met people—talented, sharp, funny people. Some became friends. One coworker in particular seemed intent on becoming something more. He’d linger by your desk, bring you coffee, throw soft compliments your way.

One day after work he walked you to the train and said, “If you’re free this weekend… maybe we could grab dinner?”

You froze then, surprised though you already saw this coming. “I—um—I appreciate it,” you said, managing a smile, “but I’m not really… dating. Right now.”

He nodded, gracious and understanding, but the disappointment was there.

Jake was still in your heart like a stubborn tenant who refused to move out.

Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on the past. You built routines, morning coffee from the shop downstairs, Sunday grocery runs, long nights drafting designs or reorganizing your bookshelf for no reason except that it was calming for you. You picked up sketching again, filling your notebook with facades and tiny corners of the city that caught your eye.

Months passed. Then a year. Then another. Some nights the silence felt cruel. Other nights it felt peaceful.

By the time your second anniversary at the firm rolled around, you handed in your resignation letter. You’d learned what you came here to learn. You’d grown, stretched yourself thin and then whole again. And now it was time to move forward with the plans you originally had for yourself.

When your coworkers found out, the office buzzed with farewells. People from different departments dropped by your desk, sad to see you go, shaking their heads like they couldn’t believe it. Your supervisor clapped you on the shoulder and said, “You’re going to do great things. Keep proving people wrong.”

The coworker who once asked you out handed you a small sketchbook. “For your ideas,” he said quietly. “You’ve got a lot of them.” You smiled, grateful in a way words couldn’t cover.

“Thanks,” you told him, genuinely grateful. “But I’m not officially gone yet. I still have like, two weeks to render.”

“I know. I just thought I’d give it to you in advance.”

That evening you came home after a long day, dropped your bag by the couch, and just stood there. Looking around. Your apartment was quiet and warm. The plants by the window were alive. Your framed certification hung straight on the wall. A stack of sketches sat on your desk. A half-finished project glowed on your tablet.

You built this. All of it. You survived something that once felt impossible. You built a life that didn’t rely on someone else showing up.

You sat down, breathed in slowly, and whispered into the silence—not to Jake, not to the past, but to yourself: “I’m okay.”

And for the first time, you truly were.

Leila was getting married. The news came through a late-night call, her voice practically vibrating through the speaker. “Kevin finally proposed,” she announced, breathless with excitement. You sat up straight in bed, heart swelling with happiness for her.

“Leila, oh my god. Congratulations!” you laughed, pressing a hand to your chest. “I’m so happy for you guys!”

“I’m not done,” she said, dragging out the suspense like she always did. “I want you as my maid of honor.”

Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Seriously. Thank you for choosing me.”

“Who else would I choose?” she scoffed. “You’re my best friend since middle school.”

You told her you’d come, of course you would. Even though you’d resigned and were technically in between life chapters, you still had a project at the firm that you were determined to finish before officially letting go. You explained all that to her—how you might miss the preparations, how you’d try your best to clear your schedule.

“It’s okay. Just be there on the wedding day,” she said. “Oh, and… one more thing,” she added, pausing.

You could almost picture her hesitating, thumb pressed against her lips. Then finally, she said, “Jake’s coming.”

You froze, heart stuttering. For a moment, the world didn’t move. Your heartbeat clawed up your throat, the phone nearly slipping from your hand.

“What?” you whispered.

“Jake’s home,” Leila repeated, softer this time. “He’s back in town, living in their house again.”

Leila kept speaking, but you weren’t listening. Two words just kept echoing in your ears, again and again—Jake’s home.

“I’m coming,” you said immediately, almost cutting her off.

“What?”

“I’m coming,” you repeated, hanging up.

Impulse took the wheel the second you heard his name, and there was no stopping it. You opened your laptop with trembling hands and booked the earliest flight you could find.

The next day, you were in the air, anxiously hoping the plane would go faster.

When you landed, Leila was waiting for you outside baggage claim, her arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between relief and guilt. You rushed into her hug anyway, and she squeezed you tight.

“Okay,” she started as she pulled away, “before you yell at me—which I know you want to—I need to explain.”

“I’m not yelling,” you said, though you absolutely were about to. “I just… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She winced. “Because I know you. And look what happened the moment I did tell you. You booked a ticket within ten minutes of hanging up.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, realizing she was right.

“It’s been over a month since he came back,” she continued gently. “I didn’t know until like, two weeks ago. I just saw him stepping out of their house to fetch some delivery.”

Your stomach twisted. “And? How is he?”

Leila’s silence made you nervous. She reached to squeeze your hand, her expression apologetic. “You should just see for yourself.”

You nodded, jaw tightening as a thousand emotions clawed up your chest—shock, anger, fear, hope, heartbreak

Leila warned you while on the ride to Jake’s. She said he was at a low point, that he was thinner, quieter, shut away from the world. His family went bankrupt, and his parents got divorced. All that he had left was his childhood home. She said you should hear the rest from Jake, but you should know what to expect. You felt a strange feeling of dread and relief as the car pulled over to Leila’s house and you spotted Jake’s next door. You’d been waiting three years for this, and now you were here.

Without hesitation, you walked over to their house and pressed the doorbell, arms crossed, finger tapping on your elbow as you waited for the door to open. Jake appeared not two minutes later.

He froze mid-step, eyes widening as if he couldn’t trust what he was seeing. He looked different, just as Leila had said. Thinner. A little ragged. Worn out from everything life had thrown at him these past few years. His hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled, and yet, somehow, he still had that familiar air about him that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You simply stood there in the quiet while his gaze landed over you—taking in how much you’d changed, how much you’d grown. Then, with a small, almost breathless smile, you said, “Hi, Jake.”

He blinked, shook his head, and muttered something you couldn’t catch. The words weren’t important—the fact that his lips moved at all was enough. Your chest ached, and before you could overthink it, you stepped past him and into the house.

The door creaked shut behind you. You stopped, breath hitching at the sight. Dust-coated white sheets draped over furniture. The counters were littered with instant ramen packets and empty beer cans. Dishes piled high in the sink. The air smelled faintly of mildew and neglect.

Your heart twisted, but you forced a smile as you turned to him. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see the surprise, the shame, the something that wasn’t quite an apology but wasn’t anger either, flickering across his face. He looked away, muttering, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you,” you replied, scoffing like the answer should have been obvious.

Jake’s jaw tensed. Still avoiding your eyes. “I’m not… in the right headspace for visitors right now.”

“I can see that.”

“Right, so please leave.”

You smirked, “Good to see you too,” you said and without waiting, you started picking up a stray packet of noodles, putting it in a bag.

“I’m serious, please leave.” Jake stood just inside the living room, hands at his sides, shoulders sagging.

You ignored him. You always had a knack for ignoring resistance. Instead, you smiled and continued tidying. Stacking cans. Wiping the counter. Folding a dish towel over a chair. He called your name, making you pause by the sink. God—you hated and loved how hearing him say it made your heart skip.

“Are you gonna help?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder with a gentle grin. “If not, you can go rest for a bit. Take a shower, perhaps?”

Jake’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, then stopped. You could feel his hesitation, the shame, the grief. You kept moving, sweeping the floor, stacking more beer cans neatly in the trash bag.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“And you should eat something,” you countered lightly, “but all you have is ramen."

You spoke as though the years apart didn’t hurt, as though the months of unanswered messages and deactivated socials didn’t crush you, and somehow that display of indifference made him tremble.

Finally, his patience snapped. “I told you to leave!”

The shout startled you. Not because of the volume, but because you’d never heard him yell before, especially not at you. The emotion behind it made your heart ache, but it didn’t make you flinch.

You stopped moving, wiped your hands on a towel, and approached him slowly. When you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The first time in almost five years that you were this close, that you were able to touch him, and hug him again.

He froze at first. Not moving an inch, and looking like he wanted to push you away. You just tightened your embrace, hand rubbing his back worldlessly. Jake relaxed in your arms, his hands hovering, unsure, before finally wrapping around your waist. And then he broke down—his body shuddering as sobs tore through him. He clung to you, shaking, and you held him just as tightly, comforting not only him but yourself too

“Shh… it’s okay,” you murmured, blinking fast, swallowing your own tears. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t talk about the past, didn’t demand apologies or explanations. That can wait. For now, you just held him for as long as he needed. Until his breathing became steadier, until his shoulders stopped trembling. You just hugged him

“You need a shower, Jake Sim,” you teased softly, eventually pulling back just enough to look at him. “Go on. I’ll get dinner ready.”

He hesitated, looking at you like he didn’t deserve the care, and the concern. But then he nodded slowly, disappearing upstairs reluctantly, leaving you in the silence of the neglected house.

The moment he disappeared, your knees gave out. You sank to the floor, letting everything crash into you—the four years of silence, the ache of missing him, the relief of seeing him alive and real and right in front of you again. You pressed your hands to your face and sobbed, swallowing every sound so he wouldn’t hear.

Then you took a deep breath, wiped your face, and rose to your feet. There was work to do.

You moved through the kitchen, surveying the cupboards. Nothing but instant noodles, chips, and more beer. You laughed softly to yourself, ordered pizza, and began clearing every counter. You stacked dishes in the washer, wiped every surface, vacuumed the living room and pulled off all the sheets covering the furniture. Making the space feel like a home again.

As you worked, your heart felt a little lighter. This wasn’t a fix, but it was a start. You were here for him, and you wanted him to know that.

The pizza arrived just as he stepped out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck and droplets still clinging to his hair. You carried the box to the table while he lingered by the doorway, standing there like a guest in his own house. You pretended not to notice, sliding plates across the table, opening the box as if this were any normal evening and not the first dinner you’d shared in years.

He finally sat opposite you, shoulders stiff. You started talking about the most ordinary things—your last day at work, Leila’s upcoming wedding to her high school sweetheart, the delivery guy who recognized you. Your voice stayed light, almost cheerful.

Jake answered in short phrases, nodding too often, eyes drifting everywhere except your face. He kept wiping his palms on his shorts between bites, like he couldn’t get comfortable in his own skin. Every few seconds, he looked like he might say something, but each time, he swallowed it down and took another pointless sip of water.

You reached for him without warning, letting your fingers skim along his cheek. He froze for a half-second, before he exhaled and let himself lean into the touch. Your hand smoothed over his skin like nothing had happened. Like the past four years hadn’t existed.

He’d aged more than you expected. A little thinner, a little paler, the angles of his face drawn sharper. Time hadn’t been kind to him, it seemed. You let your thumb trace the stubble on his face.

“Growing a beard?” you murmured, half teasing, half studying him.

He cleared his throat. “No, not really. I—I just… nevermind.”

“Mmm. It doesn’t suit you,” you said softly, fond rather than critical. “You need to look good for Leila’s wedding or she’ll kill you.”

That made him laugh, though more reflex than amusement. “I know,” he said quietly. “She told me the same thing.”

Silence settled between you, warm on your side, uncomfortable on his. You picked up another slice, acting like the moment wasn’t fragile, like it didn’t matter that he couldn’t look at you for more than two seconds. He copied you because he didn’t know what else to do.

You went back to eating, letting the conversation flow again. But Jake wasn’t touching his slice anymore. He was staring at the table, breathing shallowly, jaw working like he was chewing on something painful.

Finally, he dropped his slice and pushed his plate slightly away, hands curling into fists.

“Can you please just yell at me already?” he burst out, voice thin and cracking. “Or slap me. Anything. Do something. Say something. This part where you’re nice to me like I didn’t hurt you is worse.”

Your hand paused mid-air. Slowly, you set your slice down and looked at him fully. For the first time that night, you let him see the exhaustion in your expression.

“I don’t want to,” you said with conviction. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Jake. II’m not wasting any more of it fighting. It’s pointless.”

His gaze softened. For a moment, the guilt in his eyes was overwhelming—like he’d been bracing himself for a storm and instead found a tenderness he didn’t know what to do with.

You stayed at Jake’s that whole week, though you rarely saw him during the day. You were always out helping Leila with wedding preparations—shopping, rehearsals, fittings—only returning in the evenings to a house that still didn’t feel like a home.

Jake hovered quietly around you that first night, flustered and apologetic as he cleaned out the old guest room you and Leila used back in high school. The memory should’ve felt sweet, but it only left your chest aching. He refused to let you sleep anywhere else.

And so the days passed in a fragile routine. You came home tired, sometimes carrying takeout, sometimes bringing groceries. You made sure he ate. You reminded him to shower. You once got him outside the house for a short walk around the block.

He did his best to keep a polite distance. You did your best not to force anything more than simple kindness.

On Friday evening, after a long conference with the wedding planner, you got home and didn’t find Jake anywhere downstairs.

“Jake?” you called, kicking off your heels. “You alive in here?”

There was no answer. You checked the backyard, the laundry room, even the garage. But he was nowhere. Finally, you walked upstairs. His bedroom door was slightly open, just enough to suggest he had been there recently. You hesitated. The two of you had been careful about boundaries all week.

But you had something to say to him, so you walked in. His room was surprisingly neat. The bed is made, the floor clean, and curtains pulled open to let the evening light spill across the space. Every part of the room was clean, except for the desk.

The desk was cluttered. Stacks of envelopes. Photographs spread across the surface. Pens without caps. Scraps of torn paper. You stepped closer, intending to tidy up a little while waiting for him.

But the second you got a good look of the clutter, your breath hitched.

Your letters. All the ones you mailed him through college. The ones you thought he never received. Every single one. Worn edges, creased folds, smudged ink as if someone had held them too tightly. You picked one up, recognizing your handwriting instantly, and feeling your heart clench.

You reached for the next stack of photographs. You and Jake in Aruba. You and him at prom in senior year. One from a school festival where you were both sweaty and sunburned, grinning like idiots.

On the back of each photo, scribbled in different pens, were notes. Replies. Entire paragraphs responding to things you’d written in your letters. Thoughts he never sent. Feelings he never said out loud.

“I kept this in my wallet the whole time. That way, I could look at it every day. Aruba really was a fever dream. If I could, I’d go back in time to when we were there. And I’d stay there forever with you.” “I thought I saw you today, even heard your voice. Spent thirty minutes running around the grocery store only to find out it was just someone who sounded like you. I miss you. So much so, I think I’m going insane.”“Congratulations on graduating. I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

Each photo, each note made your heart ache, so much that you had to clutch your chest. Tears were rolling from your eyes, blurring the words but you kept reading, picking up the photos one by one.

You picked up another. A cutout from an old high school group shot, jagged at the edges where Jake had trimmed everyone else out. Just the two of you left, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. The note at the back was new, written the day you showed up at his doorstep.

“I dreamed about seeing you again last night. Like I do most nights. But nothing prepared me for seeing you for real today.”

Your heart squeezed painfully, hand flying over your mouth when a sob almost slipped out.

Jake’s voice called behind you so suddenly you jumped. You spun around to find him frozen in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand, horror, guilt, grief all flickering across his face at once.

He rushed toward the desk, grabbing the letters, shoving photographs into drawers. “Don’t—please don’t look at those—just—just get out.”

You shook your head. “Jake.”

“Get out,” he repeated, voice rising. “Just get the fuck out!”

You flinched, startled. He snatched the photos from your hand, turning to shove them into the drawers of his desk. You didn’t say anything and just stared at his back.

“Go home,” he said, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “You’ve had your fun, so just go.”

“Why?” you asked softly. “Why did you keep all of this? Why did you choose to live like this instead of just… coming to me?”

He swallowed hard. His throat worked as he searched for something to say. He couldn’t look at you. You stepped closer, placing a hand on his back. “Why did you let me think you didn’t love me, Jake?”

He tensed under your touch. “Because you’re better off without me.”

You stared at him—this older version of the boy you once knew, worn down and trembling and convinced he deserved nothing. You saw him try to shrink into himself, as if he feared even being seen. And suddenly everything made sense.

He didn’t abandon you. He had abandoned himself.

You let out a shaky exhale. “Do you love me? Still?”

Jake lowered his head, sighing out your name. “What does it matter?”

“Answer me, Jake,” you demanded, reaching to touch his back. He tensed under your touch. “Please.”

“There’s no use asking,” he muttered, head sinking lower when you tried to peek at his face. “You already know.”

You reached to touch his face, but he was quick to move away. Taking a deep breath, you stepped away from him, giving him space.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” you declared, making his head snap to your direction.

“What? No. No. You have to go home.”

“What am I, crazy?” you smirked. “You think I’ll just leave after seeing all this? After knowing what I know now?”

He stared at you, exhausted and overwhelmed, like he was fighting a battle he’d already lost. He stepped aside, raising the white flag. Maybe it was because he was too tired to challenge your stubbornness. Or maybe because he didn’t really mean it when he told you leave. Either way didn’t matter to you.

That night, he slept on the far side of the bed. You slept on the other. Carefully separated, careful not to touch.

Two people, years of history and hurt between them, lying in the same bed again.

You and Jake still danced around the unresolved thing between you, but you were sharing a bed now. The first few nights, you stayed on your side, back turned the same way he was. You never said anything about it, and neither did he.

But then one night, you’d settled under the blanket, pretending to fall asleep before your thoughts could spiral. Jake moved behind you, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight. You thought it was just another night of him tossing and turning. Instead, you felt his fingers on your shoulder. Careful and trembling, like he’d been fighting the urge for days.

You held your breath. For a moment, you were so sure he’d pull you into him and your chest tightened in anticipation. But he didn’t. He withdrew just as quickly, hand curling back against himself as if he’d burned it.

So you made the choice he couldn’t.

You turned around slowly, and Jake froze instantly, like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t. Before he could retreat, you scooted closer until you slipped into the space against his chest, your forehead brushing his collarbone. His body went rigid, shocked, as though he truly couldn’t believe you wanted to be held by him.

You slipped an arm around his waist and nudged your nose into the warmth of his neck. It took him a full three seconds to breathe again. Then another to exhale. Then, finally, he gathered you in his arms. Hesitant at first, then tightly, like he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

Neither of you mentioned it the next morning.

But after that, things got better. You were still awkward. Painfully so at times, but you were talking more. The silences didn’t feel like walls anymore, just pauses you’d eventually fill. You found yourselves sitting closer on the couch, shoulders brushing without either of you moving away. Jake stopped flinching whenever your hands accidentally touched; sometimes, he even did it intentionally.

He hovered in the kitchen when you came home from Leila’s wedding prep, listening as you rambled about vendors and flower arrangements. Sometimes he teased you under his breath. Sometimes he laughed.

At night, you slid into the same bed. He held you without waiting for permission. His arm would find your waist automatically, your face tucked under his chin. He slept deeper like that. You felt it in the way he stopped tossing and turning.

For a few days, it felt like you were both crawling out of the darkness—slowly, carefully, but together.

The wedding day soon arrived. You spent the entire morning getting ready with Leila and the rest of the bridesmaids. You were the Maid of Honor, which meant you were everywhere at once—zipping dresses, fixing centerpieces, hunting down missing relatives, reminding the photographer that yes, Leila did want those candids, even if she said she didn’t.

By the time the ceremony started, you were exhausted but glowing with pride, watching someone you love step into a new life.

Jake showed up just five minutes before the procession started—something the old him would’ve done on purpose, but now it felt like he had genuinely tried. And he looked good. Better than he had this past week. His suit fit, his hair was neat, and he actually looked like he had slept the night before.

He scanned the crowd until he found you. And then he froze, eyes widening, breath catching, like seeing you in that dress knocked the air straight out of him. He tried to recover—cleared his throat, looked away, smoothed a hand over his hair—but it was too late. Anyone watching would’ve seen the way he stared.

You pretended to roll your eyes when one of the bridesmaids gave you a teasing nudge.

The ceremony flowed beautifully. Leila cried at that predictable-but-still-cute part of her vows. Her groom cried harder. Jake nudged you during the kiss, smirking under his breath, like you were in high school again teasing your best friend for being overly dramatic.

At the reception, you fulfilled your Maid of Honor duties, giving a speech that had half the guests laughing and the other half misty-eyed. You told stories Leila would pretend to be embarrassed by later, and ended with something heartfelt enough to make her wipe her eyes again.

Then it was Jake’s turn, not as Best Man—because he wasn’t, but as Leila’s other best friend with whom she spent more than half of her life with. He stood at the mic, awkward at first, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did.

He congratulated Leila, teased her about being a sore loser when they were kids, and said he was proud of the woman she’d become. It was short—Jake never did like crowds—but it was sweet. And the smile Leila gave him was unmistakably warm, the look you give someone who has been a constant in your life.

Jake behaved throughout the event. He smiled for photos. He clapped at the right moments. You caught glimpses of him laughing with old high school friends, gesturing as he told stories, even dancing—badly—with a flower girl who dragged him onto the dance floor. He looked alive and carefree. Almost like the man you used to know.

It made you weirdly happy. Proud, even. You left him alone to enjoy himself, hovering near Leila when she needed something, drifting around to greet guests, savoring the warmth of the evening.

Soon, it was time to leave. The honeymoon sendoff for the newlyweds was done. Your other duties were fulfilled. You were exhausted now, and Jake agreed to go home together without hesitation.

But something was odd about him now. He was quiet the whole ride home, eyes fixed on the road and not even a glance your way. Whatever carefree warmth he carried at the wedding had been drained out of him and you couldn’t pinpoint exactly when or how or what had happened.

At his house, he opened the door and walked inside without waiting for you. You were kicking your heels off when you finally asked, “Are you okay?”

Jake paused by the staircase, reaching for the balustrade in what you assumed was an attempt to keep it together. Coldy, he said, “You should leave.”

You sighed. Not this again. “Jake, we’ve been over this.”

He spun around and started talking too fast. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice rising. “You—you deserve better than this. Better than me.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Wait, where is this coming from? We were fine just an hour ago.”

“No. Listen to me.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, pacing toward you, hand reaching out but stopping just as he was near enough to touch you. He clenched his fist, as if to physically stop himself from touching you.

“You should be with someone who has their shit together. Someone with a future. A real career. I don’t have any of that,” he ranted, stepping back. “Fuck’s sake, I didn’t even finish college!”

You tried to counter. “Jake, it’s fine. You’re a little lost right now, but you still have time to turn things around. Nothing about this is permanent.”

“It’s not fine!” He turned back to you, eyes wild with self-loathing. “I’m hopeless, okay? I’m fucking incompetent. I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m just holding you back.”

“You are not holding me back,” you insisted, getting exasperated now. “Why would you ever think that?”

Jake scoffed like he didn’t believe that for one second. “Then why are you here? Huh?”

You looked at him like he’d spoken in riddles. “I’m here for you.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “You heard I was back so you left everything behind and came running to me. You left your nice home, and abandoned an amazing career. How is that not holding you back?”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“So it’s true then?”

“That’s ridiculous—”

“Okay, enough.” His voice cracked. “Can’t you see? You have no future with me. You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you. Not when I’m like—” He gestured vaguely. “---this!”

Your chest tightened. There it was. The line you’d heard a dozen times already, the excuse he clung to like it was salvation. It made something hot and sharp twist in your chest.

“You know what? You’re right,” you said quietly, “You don’t deserve me.”

Jake’s head snapped up, startled. It was as if hearing the same thing from your mouth somehow made it real to him.

“But here’s the thing,” you continued, stepping toward him. “You know that much. You know you’re not doing enough. But you’re not doing a damn thing to fix it.”

He blinked, stunned. He uttered your name, but you cut him off.

“So, yes, Jake. You don’t deserve me,” you said, a single tear rolling down your cheek. “And I’m done tiptoeing around your feelings. I’m done comforting you when you should’ve been at my feet, groveling and begging me to take you back.”

“Baby…” His voice wavered, soft and desperate.

“So what now?” you said, eyes burning. “You love me but you’re telling me to leave you alone? Fine. I’m leaving.”

You turned toward the door, and Jake broke instantly.

“Wait—wait, no—” His voice cracked as he lunged forward, grabbing you from behind. His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, his breath shaking against your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just—I can’t—please don’t leave me.”

A sob tore out of you, but you swallowed the rest, one hand aggressively wiping the tears on your face. “You can’t tell me to leave and then beg me to stay, Jake,” you said, your voice shaky. “You have to pick one. And you have to stick to it.”

His arms loosened a little. You felt the hesitation. The fear. The indecision that had been running his life for years. And with that, it was clear to you that he still didn’t know what to do about this situation. He still didn’t know how to choose you.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’m not coming back unless you figure your life out, Jake.”

You pulled away from his hold, turning to face him. “You said so yourself, I deserve someone who got their shit together. So figure it out, and maybe I’ll come back. Or maybe you’ll find it in you to love yourself. Because that’s the only way you can love someone completely.”

And you walked out the door.

You didn’t come back.

Not after the wedding. Not after the awkward goodbye. Not after the weeks of waiting that stretched into months and then hardened into resolve.

You built your own firm—just like you said you would. Practicing architecture as art, not just a career step or a way to impress clients. It was exhausting, thrilling, and completely consuming. It kept you busy. Kept your mind off things that would only steer you off your path.

Jake became a memory you shoved to the very back of your mind. You didn’t hate him. You just let him go.

A year and a half passed, and your firm was making waves in the industry. Life was looking up. Your path was toward the future, fast and steady.

But of course, the universe had a sick sense of humor. On an early Monday morning, you walked into your conference room and found your past sitting there—hair longer, shoulders broader, eyes clearer. He looked healthy. He looked good. He looked like someone who finally had his life together.

“Jake?” you blurted.

He turned immediately. “Hey,” he said, standing up at once.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled as he adjusted his glasses. “I’m here for the interview.”

Your brain short-circuited. Before you could say anything, the door swung open and your HR head—Julie, a friend from college—walked in.

“Oooh, good morning, boss. You’re here early,” she chirped, breezing past you as she sat across from Jake. “This is Jake Sim. One of the applicants we shortlisted.”

“Mr. Sim, this is—”

“Oh, I know her,” he replied, smiling. “I’ve heard a lot about her.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty popular these days,” Julie said, grinning with pride. She motioned to the empty seat beside her. “Shall we?”

You sat, keeping your face neutral and professional despite the chaos in your head.

You prided yourself on staying unshakeable at work—especially now, with your own firm, your own team, your own reputation. But nothing prepared you for the sight of Jake Sim in your conference room, sitting across from you, portfolio in hand, applying for a job under you like he wasn’t one of the first people who ever heard about your dream of building this very firm.

“Mr. Sim,” Julie began, scanning his resume. “Your internship supervisor had nothing but praise for you.”

“I worked hard,” he said, confidence glowing in his posture. “I wanted to prove I could handle responsibility.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the internship or everything else he’d dropped years ago. You cleared your throat, nodding at Julie to continue.

“You graduated with distinction. That’s impressive considering you had to take time off from school,” said Julie, poring over his resume.

“Thank you.” His gaze softened. “I tried my best. And I was deeply inspired. Still am.”

You ignored the meaning buried under that. “Why this firm?” you asked, cutting Julie off.

He took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “Because it’s well-run. It has a clear direction. Strong leadership. And,” he paused, looking straight into your eyes. “And I would love to work here… for you… if you’ll have me.”

Julie nodded eagerly, completely unaware that this was painfully layered. “So, you’re saying you wanna work here because of our boss?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. Jake laughed softly. “If you put it like that…”

“Oh, relax,” Julie teased. “You’re not the first engineer who applied here just because the boss is gorgeous.” She nudged you.

You shot her a warning look before turning back to Jake. “You’ll be on probation. Performance-based. Regularization isn’t guaranteed.”

“Of course.” His eyes never left yours. “I expected that.”

You clicked your pen. Needed something, anything, to do with your hands. “How soon can you start?”

“Anytime.” His expression brightened. “Today, if you want.”

You scoffed. “You can’t spring this on me on a Monday.”

Jake blinked. Julie blinked. You prayed for the floor to swallow you whole.

“I mean—well… you can start tomorrow, after I—err—we’ve had time to figure things out.” You cleared your throat. “We need to review your application first.”

Julie raised a brow. “Do we? Boss, he’s already shortlisted. We reviewed him. And we need an engineer ASAP.”

You turned to Julie with a knowing look. “We will review the application.

Julie stared at you, bewildered. Then at Jake. Then back at you. “…Right. We will.” She turned to him. “We’ll be in touch once we’ve processed everything.”

Jake stood and gathered his papers. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Julie walked him to the door. Before stepping out, Jake paused and glanced at you. “It’s good to see you again,” he said with a smile, one that reached his eyes, one that melted your heart.

As soon as he was out of sight, Julie sat back on the chair beside you, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “That’s him? Jake Sim? Your first love?”

You pushed your chair back and stood. “I better not hear people gossiping about this in the office, Jules.”

Her eyes widened, hands flying to her mouth. “So it’s true!”

You ignored her and walked out of the room. You headed straight to the hallway and boarded an elevator. You pressed the button harder than necessary, heels tapping impatiently on the floor. You felt hot all over—shock, confusion, anger, something frighteningly close to excitement. The elevator doors opened and you rushed out, thinking he’d be long gone.

But Jake was still there. Sitting on one of the lobby chairs, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He stood up the moment he saw you, his face lighting up.

You crossed the lobby, stopping just a few feet away. “Why are you still here?” you asked, more breathless than you intended.

He swallowed, eyes never leaving yours. “I was hoping you’d follow me out.”

You let out a short, involuntary huff. Of course he was. And of course you did. A bitter part of you noted how neatly that aligned with what he once told you—that you always came running after him. To this day, despite your efforts to let him go, that fact remains true.

Jake stepped closer, not enough to corner you, but enough to make it clear he wasn’t hiding or retreating this time. “I’m not the person you left,” he said quietly. “I learned how to take care of myself. How to love myself. How to stand on my own two feet.”

Your heartbeat stuttered, but you kept still. “And now,” he continued, voice steady, “I’m taking another shot at happiness.”

“Why come here?” you asked.

He held your eyes as if this entire moment depended on honesty alone. “Because this is where my happiness is.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly at your sides. He noticed. He stepped in gently, easing your hand open, coaxing your knuckles to relax. “And this time,” he murmured, “I came to you.”

You blinked slowly, steadying yourself. Your chest felt uncomfortably tight, like someone had reached inside and tugged at a thread you’d spent a year and a half trying to cut clean. The lobby around you faded. It was just him, standing in front of you with every intention to love you. No excuses, no fear, no pushing you away. He was choosing you, wholeheartedly, for the first time.

Part of you wanted to back away. Another part wanted to fall into him. Instead, you held your ground. You’re not about to forgive him that easily. Leila would kill you if you did.

“Probation,” you muttered, looking down at your joined hands.

Jake laughed under his breath. “I can work with that. I’ll do my best to get a permanent contract.”

“Permanent contract?” you asked, brows knitting. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No—that’s not—I thought we were talking about—wait…” He paused, genuinely considering it. “Would you say yes?”

You scoffed. “You’re taking a mile a minute, Jake Sim.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” he shot back, snorting.

As his laugh faded into the quiet lobby and his fingers laced with yours, you felt the echo of every version of yourself that ever loved him. You looked at him, at the hope in his eyes, at the decisiveness you once begged him to learn, and felt something loosen in your chest.

This was not a love story. It was a story of love—how it found you, shaped you, fractured you, nearly ruined you, and somehow circled back to you once more. And finally, finally, it looked like love was here to stay.

[fin]

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