star✨

“Dearest, I beg of you, sleep properly and go for walks. Remain calm, calm.” 22, she/her

[asahicore]

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied. 

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade. 

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face. 

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around. 

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson. 

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice. 

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot. 

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.” 

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves. 

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue. 

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice. 

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone. 

“Y/N-” 

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone. 

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic. 

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.  

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked. 

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

--

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers. 

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe. 

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there? 

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right? 

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist. 

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie. 

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey. 

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other. 

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.” 

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder. 

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else. 

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you. 

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie. 

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

--

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair. 

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class. 

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

--

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile. 

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up. 

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding. 

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

--

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life. 

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom. 

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you. 

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together. 

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

--

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

--

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble. 

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?” 

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

--

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology. 

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

--

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

--

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you. 

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that. 

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight. 

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple. 

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them. 

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

--

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty 

 --

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily. 

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.” 

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.” 

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting. 

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

--

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says. 

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside. 

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.  

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is. 

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely. 

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile. 

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

--

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year. 

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. 

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really. 

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness? 

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you. 

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on… 

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now? 

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement. 

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does. 

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley. 

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence. 

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore. 

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you. 

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

--

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles. 

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this? 

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes. 

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming. 

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks. 

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now. 

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

--

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls. 

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway. 

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2024. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz @enhastolemyheart (ask to be removed/added!)

[moonshinekissesss]

Time for my annual reread of Fast Forward🥹

[mikqkr0smos]

ℰNHYPEN 𝒜S 2000's ℛOMCOMS

a note from alix! — this was so fun to make!!!! i was inspired by one of my asks from @firstdivisiongirl when it came to assigning aus/tropes for enha... now im gonna be so fr im not super a movie person, but this just felt right for enha, especially during their romance:untold era. and honestly these could POTENTIALLY be used as plot ideas for future fics... stay tuned. lmk your thoughts and enjoy!!

𑣲⋆ YANG JUNGWON — 17 AGAIN (2009)

i feel like 17 again fits jungwon really well!! especially with the whole idea of getting a second chance at your younger years and realizing what you actually want out of life. there's also a good balance between the more responsible side of the character and the fact that he's still kind of a dumbass underneath it all, which feels very jungwon to me.

𑣲⋆ LEE HEESEUNG (EVAN) — MUSIC AND LYRICS (2007)

this one was probably the easiest to decide. a musician who has to write a song and ends up working with someone completely outside of his usual world? yeah (pls be me one day). i loveeeee the idea of making heeseung a musician in a story that's actually about music, especially with all the songwriting and creative partnership aspects. there's also something really fun about the two leads slowly getting closer while they're trying to write a song together.

𑣲⋆ PARK JONGSEONG (JAY) — ENCHANTED (2007)

i chose enchanted for jay mostly because he fits robert SO well. he's practical, grounded, a little skeptical when it comes to romance, and then suddenly there's this completely insane fairytale woman barging into his life and turning everything upside down. also single father jay..... mmmmmmm......... i can genuinely see jay having the exact same reaction to giselle that robert does throughout the movie. it's less about the fairytale aspect and more about the "why is this woman in my life and why am i slowly falling in love with her" of it all.

𑣲⋆ SIM JAEYUN (JAKE) — THE NOTEBOOK (2004)

yes i know. the notebook. but i genuinely think it fits jake. i wanted his to be more of a sweeping, emotional romance where the relationship actually has to survive time and circumstances. there's something about the devotion in this movie that feels right for him, and i think he could pull off that very sincere, almost old-fashioned kind of romance.

𑣲⋆ PARK SUNGHOON — SERENDIPITY (2001)

this one is mostly because of the whole fate (see what i did there?) and missed connections aspect. two people meet by chance, go their separate ways, and spend years wondering if they're actually supposed to find each other again. it's a little more quiet and bittersweet than some of the other movies on this list, which is why i think it suits sunghoon.

𑣲⋆ KIM SUNOO — A CINDERELLA STORY (2004)

i originally had she's all that for sunoo, but then i started thinking about a cinderella story and honestly... yeah!!! this fits him sooooo much better. the anonymous messages, the masked ball, the secret identity, the awful stepfamily, the whole fairytale thing. it's sweet and a little cheesy in exactly the way i imagine this au to be.

𑣲⋆ NISHIMURA RIKI (NI-KI) — JUST LIKE HEAVEN (2005)

this one took me a little longer to figure out, but i really like just like heaven for ni-ki. it's a little weird, sarcastic, supernatural, and still genuinely sweet underneath all of that. i also like that it isn't just a straightforward romance. there's a lot of bickering and confusion at the beginning before the relationship actually develops, which i think would be fun to write with him!!

credits : @strangergraphics & @angeliicide [dividers] taglist — dm or ask to be added ! perm : @beomtomie, @andnevertheless, @firstdivisiongirl, @firstclassjaylee, @luvhee-hoon, @mailovesreading

© mikqkr0smos 2026 — all rights reserved.

[moonshinekissesss]

AND I’VE ALWAYS SAID THAT JAY REMINDS ME OF THE ROBERT TO MY GISELLE!!!🩵🩷

I need to rewatch everything on this list STAT because I lowkey feel like hoons and Jake’s could be swapped.

HEESEUNG’S ROMCOM IS ON POINT OMFGHSKDJSKESJSK ESPECIALLY SINCE HE SAID THAT DEATH TO HIM IS WHEN NO ONE REMEMBERS HIS MUSIC AND VOILA SONGWRITER LOVER IS HERE TO FIX THAT!!!✨💞

[moonshinekissesss]

My chest genuinely hurts (in a good way) whenever I think about Jay cause my heart is just brimming with so much love, pride, and adoration for him and I don’t know where to put it because I am just a fan and he’s far away across the sea

[sahlesummerhill]

[heesroses]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀᴇ 愛 ᴘ.ᴊꜱ

WHEREIN after a difficult day, jay finally allows someone else to take care of him.

(𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢). p.js x reader. wc: 2.2k. angst. hurt/comfort. mental breakdown. crying. post-march 10th.

──── ୨୧ ──── #32 🪽

elle’s thoughts ❀ hi! this is the third piece i’ve written for my “echoes of you” writing event, and it was based off of prompt 5. it was also written for the loml @jjongbat, so i hope you enjoy :) the only thing i have to say is that this one is going to hurt and i’m sorry.

You knew something was wrong the second Jay stepped through the door.

If you were being honest with yourself, “stepped” wasn’t even the right word to describe the way he moved. He grasped the door handle tightly in one hand, limping worse than you had ever seen before as he worked to get through the doorway of your flat.

ᝰ.ᐟ read more

“Jay? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” you exclaimed, jumping off the leather couch and rushing toward him. You quickly took his bag and set it down before grasping his shoulder to help him shift the weight off of his injured leg. You scanned his body quickly to see where the pain was coming from, but his sweatpants and loose-fitting jacket concealed his limbs.

“‘m fine,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. “Just my old knee injury flaring up.”

His knee. Something that had been bothering him for years, yet it was never dealt with—just swept under the rug and treated with painkillers any time it became too much. Treating the root cause instead of the symptoms would most likely take Jay away from his busy schedule as a member of ENHYPEN, and you knew his company would never allow that to happen.

“Did you tweak it during practice?” You scanned Jay’s face for any hint of emotion, but your search came back empty. He was simply staring at the ground, still not placing any weight on his left leg. “Here, you need to sit. Let me help you get to the couch, okay?”

“No,” he said, his voice flat. “I need to shower.”

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

“No. Just let me do it.”

You pursed your lips together, slowly pulling your arm back so that Jay could get to the bathroom on his own. As you watched him stumble across the hardwood, his long flingers gripping the wall with each step to keep himself upright, it took everything in you to not rush over and help him.

Once he had disappeared inside the small bathroom at the end of the hallway, you had barely settled down on the couch before you heard a loud clattering noise echo down the hallway. However, what concerned you even more was that you didn’t hear a smattering of curse words fill the air like normal when Jay knocked something over. It was… silent.

“Jay? Are you okay?”

No response.

You stood, rushing toward the door that served as the barrier between you and your boyfriend.

“Jay? What happened?”

Still, nothing.

You placed your hand on the doorknob, wondering how upset Jay would be with you for barging into the bathroom. You pressed your eyes closed for just a second to steel your nerves before pushing down the handle and slowly opening the door, careful to not hit him in case he was near the door.

“Babe? Are you okay?”

Your eyes widened when you took in the sight in front of you. Jay was on the ground, his leg stretched out in front of him, sitting amongst a pile of destroyed drywall and scattered towels. The metal towel rack was grasped tightly in his hand, and he was staring at it blankly. The only movement he made was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I… I tried to grab the towel rack to stop myself from falling. I pulled it out of the wall.”

“I see that,” you soothed, crouching in front of him and gently pulling the metal bar from his tight grasp. You set it to the side before cupping his cheek with your hand. “It’s okay. I can have someone come fix it tomorrow. Are you okay?”

Jay shook his head so imperceptibly you almost didn’t see it, and could’ve sworn you saw an unfamiliar wetness gathering along his lashline.

“Maybe you’ll feel better after a shower,” you suggested. “Jay, I know you don’t want any help right now, but please let me take care of you. Just this once.”

He seemed to deflate as the utter exhaustion mixed with defeat that he had been trying to conceal finally spread through his body. “Alright.”

Slowly, you began by peeling Jay’s sweaty clothes off of his trembling frame. You took extra care when removing his sweatpants, as every time you went near his injured knee, he flinched. He tried to school his face into nonchalance as you worked, but even he couldn’t conceal just how much pain he was in.

Once Jay was fully undressed, you helped him to his feet and draped his arm over your shoulder, allowing him to place most of his weight on you. Although he didn’t speak, you could feel him wince every time his injured leg made even the slightest bit of contact with the ground. You snuck a few glances up at him, but his solemn face revealed no hint of emotion. You bit the inside of your cheek and looked away.

It was at that moment you were grateful that the shower in your flat had a small stone bench built into it, as you couldn’t fathom what it would be like for Jay to try to stand in his current state. Once he had lowered himself onto the bench, you stepped back and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was the way you knew he liked it. The gentle patter of droplets hitting the floor filled the air, and you inhaled deeply as the earthy scent of damp slate tiles filled your nose.

After allowing the water to heat up, you took the removable shower head in your hand and shifted your gaze to your boyfriend. “Tilt your head back for me, please.”

He did as you commanded, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as the hot water soaked the soft black strands of his hair before cascading down his muscular back. You made quick work of shampooing and rinsing his hair, doing your best to rub his scalp in the way you knew he loved. And as you worked, you realized that you couldn’t tell if the water running down his face was from the showerhead or his tears.

For the duration of the shower, the only issue you encountered was trying to clean his legs. You had no idea how to even get near his swollen knee without hurting him, and you knew after a moment that he could sense your hesitation.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” You grasped the showerhead tightly in your hand. You were still fully clothed, your sweater and jeans now soaked through to your skin, but it didn’t phase you. The only thing you could focus on was taking care of Jay when he needed you most. “I just… I don't wanna hurt you.”

“It’s fine. Promise.”

At these words, you lowered your hands to your side slowly. “I guess we’re done, then. Let me get you a towel.”

After Jay had been wrapped in a towel and escorted to bed, you leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss. You allowed your lips to linger on his for just a moment before you pulled away. “I’m gonna go get you some food and pain meds. I’ll be back in a sec.”

As you turned on your heel, Jay reached his hand out and caught your wrist. You looked over your shoulder to find his eyes lingering on your body. “Your clothes are soaked.”

You glanced down, noticing the small puddle of water gathering at your feet. “Oh, I guess they are. But it’s okay.”

“You should change.”

“I will, but you shouldn’t worry about me. That’s not important right now.”

Jay looked like he wanted to say more, but he clamped his lips shut and dropped your wrist. You made your way to the closet first, changing into a simple t-shirt and shorts before heading to the kitchen. After putting together a small tray of snacks, pain medicine, and a glass of water, you stepped back into your shared bedroom to find Jay staring down at his legs.

“Jay?”

He didn’t look up at you.

As you stepped closer, the tray still gripped tightly in your hand, you noticed that Jay’s eyes were swimming with tears and his jaw was clenched unusually tight. You quickly set the tray down on the bedside table before climbing into bed next to him, being careful so as not to jostle his leg.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you rushed, wrapping your arms around him. At your touch, he shook his head and pressed his eyes closed. The tears he had been holding back all day finally spilled over onto his cheeks. “Does your knee hurt?”

Jay didn’t speak immediately—he simply sat in your embrace, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. However, after a moment, he took a shaky breath and whispered, “It’s not just my knee.”

“What happened?”

“It’s everything.” He paused, lifting a shaky hand to his cheeks to try wiping his tears away. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and attempted to take a deep breath. “It’s just… everything.”

Suddenly, the dam broke, the words rushing out of him so fast that you could barely understand what he was saying. “The schedules are too much, and I feel like we never get the chance to take a fucking break. I’m so tired all the time, and hurting my knee was the last thing I needed right now with all the concerts and our album coming out soon. And the worst part? I have to look after the younger members on my own because someone has to help Jungwon hold this group together now that Heeseung is gone.”

As these words left his lips, the last semblance of Jay’s self-control finally shattered. His lip wobbled and he inhaled sharply, his face contorting as a ragged sob finally tore from his throat. Before he could completely close himself off from you, you wrapped your arms even tighter around him in an attempt to ground him. The last five months had been a never-ending battle for ENHYPEN, and the crushing weight of all the responsibilities that had now fallen onto Jay’s shoulders had finally pushed him to his breaking point.

The sobs racking Jay’s body were unlike any you had ever heard from him before. He shook violently with each gasp, the tears pouring down his cheeks and dripping from his collarbone onto his chest. He was a man completely undone, and you were powerless to stop it. The only thing you could do was hold him as he fell apart.

“How am I supposed to be the strong older brother when I can’t do anything right?” he keened, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t even fucking walk properly.”

In moments like these, you didn’t bother to offer meaningless platitudes. The reality of the situation was that it was uncharted territory for all of the boys, and there was nothing you could do to ease the heartbreak or patch the gaping hole that Heeseung’s absence had left. The only thing you could do was be there, acting as an anchor for the boy breaking open in front of you after months of holding himself together for the sake of everyone else.

“Jay, baby, I’m sorry,” you murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he continued to tremble in your arms. “I’m so, so sorry. I really wish I could make everything better—I hate seeing you like this. But thank you for telling me. And thank you for letting me take care of you.” You felt tears well up in your own eyes, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he sniffled, leaning his head on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you said, running your fingers through his still damp hair. “You’re allowed to not be okay. You don’t always have to stay strong for everyone else.”

A look of deep-seated fear filled his eyes. “But if I don’t, who will?”

“I think you need to let the other boys take care of you sometimes. They want to—you just don’t let them.”

“I just… I don’t know how.” His voice cracked, a fresh set of tears rolling down his splotchy cheeks.

“You do it like this,” you whispered, rubbing your thumb along the curve of his bicep slowly. “You tell them how you feel, and you let them be there for you.”

As Jay continued to weep quietly, you did the only thing you knew would help: you sat there quietly. When the morning came, you would encourage Jay to tell the others how he was feeling, but right now? He just needed someone to hold him while the world he knew shifted beneath his feet. You couldn’t fix anything, but you could stand by him as he weathered the storm. And that was enough.

©️ heesroses 2026. this work is entirely mine and untouched by ai. do not plagiarize or reupload.

perm taglist is open: @fawnwonie @collywobblvs @lawnzzn @thatfeelingwhenn @kristynaaah @rikicoolpuma @hoonguin @ynnii @wonuziex @wonatlas @wonkiipiilled @choicila @strwbysunoo @bluepains @jimineepaboya @simjaeyunslut @xoheedeung @sugarcwtie @xoheedeung @heelvcr @itsnotawrongnumber @jaesim @heevansslut @nishimuresss @gabshees @itsnotawrongnumber @minni-mina @wonnieswife @candidupped @hazyblues12 @waeclr

[wetheurban]

You will heal. You will create again. You will wake up genuinely excited about your life. You will laugh again. You will get out of survival mode. You will trust yourself again. You will get your spark back. You will find your way back to yourself. You will. You will. You will.

[lanvasko]

[heesroses]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ʜᴏᴍᴇ 愛 ᴘ.ᴊꜱ

WHEREIN years of unspoken feelings culminate in you and your childhood best friend, park jongseong, waking up tangled together in a hotel bed after a night spent together that you have no recollection of.

(𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢). p.js x reader. wc: 3.3k. fluff. angst. best friends to lovers. jay yearns for reader. suggestive. making out. crying. drinking.

──── ୨୧ ──── #30 🪽

elle’s thoughts ❀ hi! this is the first piece for my “echoes of you” writing event! it was based off of prompt 2 :) thank you to the lovely @courire for requesting it as well as @moonshinekissesss for requesting and providing thoughts for the plot! i hope you both enjoy <3 also, there are still a few prompts available, so please go to the post if you’d like to claim one!

Park Jongseong, or Jay as you affectionately called him, had never looked better.

You caught his eye from across the art-deco restaurant as soon as you stepped through the mahogany door, but you took no notice of the opulent space surrounding you. All you could focus on was the man who had broken into a wide grin as soon as he saw you. He was dressed simply but in a way that accentuated his best features: a tan suit jacket, crisp matching slacks, and a white button up that was undone just enough to allow a glimpse of his defined collarbones and upper chest.

You couldn’t help but return the smile as you made your way over to where he stood by the bar, and you paid no heed to the patrons wining and dining around you. The only thing you could focus on was Jay, memories from your past together washing over you.

ᝰ.ᐟ read more

Being raised in the same neighborhood in Seattle, you and Jay had been the best of friends growing up. The pair of you did everything together, from chasing the ice cream truck down your street to sneaking to the beach to look for seashells that reminded you of each other. Even after his family had moved to Seoul when you were nine, you and Jay kept in touch effortlessly. It was a rare sort of friendship—one in which the distance between you never really became a barrier that threatened your closeness.

Now, a decade and a half had passed, and you had visited each other a few times over the years, but it became increasingly difficult to find the time after you both became busy with your careers. Finally, though, you found a break in your grueling work schedule to fly to South Korea to visit him.

The moment you reached him, Jay held out his arms, and you found that it was all too easy to fall into his embrace. He pulled you to his chest, and your eyes fluttered closed as you inhaled the familiar scent of him—something earthy and subtle. He smelled like home.

“It’s been too long,” Jay murmured against your hair. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” You pulled back slightly, lifting your eyes to take in the features that you so dearly loved. “Let’s never go that long without seeing each other again.”

A smile cracked across his face. “I agree. Maybe you should just quit your job and move here.”

You snorted with laughter before raising an eyebrow. “Why should I have to quit my job? How about you quit yours and move back to Seattle?”

Of course, a part of you knew how difficult that would be for both of you. Jay had built a career for himself as a clinical psychologist—a job he had dreamt of since he was an introspective child, gazing up at the clouds and discussing his thoughts on the workings of the human mind. You had tried your best to understand, but even then, you knew that his brain was hard-wired for psychology in a way yours wasn’t.

“I suppose we’ll just have to see which one of us is going to move at the end of the week.”

“Guess so.”

After Jay had pulled out a plush patterned barstool for you to sit on and the waiter had been informed of your favorite cocktail, the air between you was immediately filled by easy conversation. Details of your travel, updates on both of your families, and your recent stories from your ever-entertaining job as a children’s librarian. With Jay, no matter how long it had been since you had last talked, it always felt as if you had never been apart.

And, as you and Jay continued sitting at that bar, completely focused on each other’s presence, the drinks flowed almost as easily as the conversation. A small voice in the back of your mind warned you to slow down, to stop throwing back cocktails like your life depended on it, but you paid it no attention. You were with your best friend in the entire world celebrating your reunion after so many years apart. What could possibly go wrong?

For better or for worse, you couldn’t remember a single thing from the previous night.

You came to with a start, immediately noticing that your head was pounding, your tongue was rougher than sandpaper, and you had absolutely no idea where you were.

You cracked your burning eyes open slightly, taking in the sight in front of you. The first thing you noticed was that you were in an upscale hotel room. The French grey curtains had been drawn closed, but a slight gap where the two halves met in the middle allowed a sliver of golden sunlight to filter into the room. The warm glow of the morning sun caught and illuminated the dust floating lazily in the air, creating what looked to be a sheet of light that led your eyes directly to something that immediately chilled your blood. Your clothes from the previous night, folded carefully on a chair, a few inches from an empty bottle of whiskey and two used glasses.

When did you take your clothes off? Why? Had you been drinking? As you pondered these questions, a chilling realization struck you square in the chest. There was a pair of toned arms wrapped loosely around your torso and the unfamiliar cadence of someone snoring softly in your ear.

As you took in your current state of being, you felt an all too familiar panic crescendo through your body—as if someone had lit your nerves ablaze. You suddenly felt too hot and cold at the same time, and your breaths began to leave your cracked lips in ragged bursts. What the hell had you done? And with who?

The longer you stayed there, constricted by the arms of a stranger, your vision began to darken at the edges as your gut twisted violently. You quickly extricated yourself from the stranger’s arms before rolling out of the bed and stumbling to the bathroom. You barely reached the toilet before emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl, tears stinging your eyes.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

That voice. You recognized that voice. How could you not after everything you had been through together?

“Jay?”

As more of your senses awakened, you became acutely aware that a figure was approaching the bathroom. You extended a clammy hand to flush the toilet before trying—and failing—to get back on your feet, your legs completely giving out on you. However, before you could hit the ground, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and swept you off the ground. And there, as you raised your eyes to the person you had spent the night with, was Jay, his eyes flooded with concern.

“Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?” he murmured, being careful with where he placed his hands so as to not cross any of the boundaries you were certain had blurred the previous night. You nodded your head almost imperceptibly, and before you knew it, you had been laid back on the plush mattress with the utmost care.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, your eyes burning as Jay slowly pulled the white duvet over your trembling frame.

“Why are you apologizing?” he responded, grabbing a spare pillow and gently placing it behind your head before reaching forward and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I just can’t remember anything from last night, and I… I honestly couldn’t remember who you were when I woke up.” You paused, still unable to meet Jay’s gaze. Another pang of nausea roiled in your stomach. “I’ve never been that drunk before. I’m so fucking embarrassed."

You pressed your eyes closed, ignoring the tears that welled up along your lashline. Jay had seen you cry hundreds of times throughout the years, so why did it suddenly feel so humiliating for him to see you this way?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his soft voice came. As he took in the sight of you—the wetness on your cheeks, the mess of hair atop your head, the dark purple circles extending under your eyes—you felt a dip in the mattress before he scooted toward you and pulled you into his arms. As horrified as you were to be seen this way, you allowed yourself to settle against his warm chest. You found comfort in the thought that the if anyone had to see how much of a mess you were at the moment, you were glad it was Jay.

You allowed Jay to hold on to you for a moment as you worked on drying your tears. You listened to the even thump, thump of his heartbeat, allowing it to calm you down and remind you that Jay would never judge you for whatever you had done the previous night. However, the thought of not knowing what had happened between you kept weighing on your mind.

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened last night?”

You heard Jay inhale deeply, and you could’ve sworn you felt his arms and chest tense around you.

“Jay? Was it bad?”

He shook his head slightly, rubbing his thumb over your upper arm as you watched him internally debate what he wanted to say and how. For as long as you had known Jay, you had never seen him at a loss for words, which only worried you more that something had happened between you.

“Were you drunk, too? Do you remember it?”

Another head shake. “I wasn’t drunk. Tipsy, but not drunk.”

“Not like me?”

Jay chuckled under his breath and looked down at you, the utmost affection accompanied by a sadness in his amber eyes. “No, not like you.”

You continued to look up at Jay expectantly before finally asking the question that had been weighing on your mind. “Last night, did we…?”

Jay’s cheeks reddened, and he immediately looked away from you. “No, we didn’t. I knew you wouldn’t want that.”

You lifted your eyes to the face of your best friend and took in the warmth there. The way he cared for you so tenderly without a second thought, the way he looked at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars…

“Then how… how did we end up here? I mean, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t wearing your clothes at the restaurant last night, and this doesn’t look like my hotel room.”

Yet again, Jay avoided your eyes. As if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. “Y/n, you were drunker than I’ve ever seen you. At some point, you tried to stand up to go to the bathroom, but you ended up falling over after, like, three steps. You hadn’t told me where you were staying when you were sober, and you definitely had no clue where you were staying after seven drinks, so I made the decision that I couldn’t just leave you there. I went to the lobby, got a room, and took you upstairs.”

“And when did you take my clothes off, you perv?” You hoped he could pick up on the joking tone in your voice, but from the clench of his jaw and the way he pursed his lips together, you could tell something was wrong. “I’m just kidding. I trust you more than anyone, you know. But seriously, what happened after we got up here?”

Jay huffed a humorless laugh. “Thanks.” He then looked down again, still not meeting your gaze. “You had nothing to change into, so I helped you get out of your dress and put you in a spare pair of shorts and a t-shirt I had packed. I tried to brush your teeth, but that didn’t go very well.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing. You fell asleep as soon as I helped you get into bed.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then why are you acting like a puppy who got kicked?”

Jay’s wide eyes finally turned to yours. “What?”

“You’re not telling me everything. I know you better than anyone, and I know when something is wrong. The way you’re acting right now isn’t you. Something else obviously happened, and I don’t know why you won’t tell me. You’ve always told me everything.”

Jay lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes briefly before running his fingers through his hair. “Nothing, it was stupid. I just let myself get upset by some stuff you said when you were drunk, but that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t even bring it up because it really doesn’t matter.”

Your heart sank.

That had been your worst fear. When you drank, it often loosened your tongue, but you could usually remember what you said so that you could apologize for it as soon as possible. However, if you had said something to Jay that hurt him and didn’t remember it, how the hell were you going to apologize enough to make him forgive you?

“Oh God,” you stammered, searching Jay’s face for any indication of where you had misstepped. “I’m so sorry. Can you please tell me?”

Jay shook his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the duvet. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to get over it and move on.”

“Jay, tell me. Please.” You felt tears sting your eyes again, an overwhelming wave of guilt crashing over you. “The thought that I said something that hurt you is killing me.”

“It was just… some stuff about an ex. That’s all. I’m just being sensitive. Really, you shouldn’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

Oh.

Your ex.

“I talked about Heeseung last night?”

A muscle in his sharp jaw flicked. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“Jay, I swear to God. I need you to tell me what I said or I will be beating myself up for this until the day I die.”

At the sudden firmness in your voice, Jay finally turned his eyes to you, and you could’ve sworn they were slightly more damp than they had been a moment ago.

“You were talking about how badly he hurt you. About how he left you on some random Tuesday, gave you no explanation, and left you to pick up the pieces of your life on your own. You were so upset, and I knew nothing about it until last night. All night, I kept wondering why you never told me that you were dating someone or that you went through a breakup like that. I’m your best friend, and I’m supposed to be the one who’s there for you when the shit hits the fan, but you didn’t let me do that for you.”

You were now certain that Jay’s eyes were wet. You opened your mouth to speak, but something in you told you to stop and listen.

“And God, on top of that, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would never treat you that way. About how he’s so fucking stupid for letting go of you when you’re the best thing that’ll ever happen to him. About how—” he choked on his words, his face scrunching as if he were in pain as the tears finally spilled onto his cheeks. “About how you’re all I’ve ever wanted, but I’ve never been able to have you because I’m so scared of ruining things between us. I drank half a bottle of whiskey last night because it was the only way I could forget how much this all fucking hurts.”

Jay pressed his eyes closed and bowed his head so that it was resting on your shoulder. He was trembling, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if you would disappear the second he let you go. At that moment, you caught sight of the empty bottle of whiskey again, and you felt a pang in your heart that made you feel sick. You knew he only drank heavily when he was trying to forget. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t connected the dots sooner.

Slowly, you raised a hand and gently cupped Jay’s cheek. With your thumb, you wiped away the tears staining his cool skin. “Look at me.”

His only response was a shaky breath as he gripped you tighter still.

“Jay, please.”

After a long moment, Jay finally lifted his eyes to yours. They were swollen, rimmed with red, and swimming with the ghost of all his fears that he had spilled from the depths of his soul.

“It’s taken me a long time to realize this, but if I’ve learned anything in the last few months, it’s that it’s always been you. You’ve seen the men I’ve dated, and while most of them were great guys, they all had one problem that I couldn’t look past: they weren’t you. Living far away from you all these years has been horrible, but I knew it was all worth it as long as I could keep you in my life. And I’m so tired of acting like I don’t feel this way, or like I didn’t feel like I was gonna throw up from the excitement of being able to see you last night.”

At last, a wide grin broke across Jay’s face as a loud sob forced its way from his throat, and he tenderly placed a hand on the back of your neck as he gazed at you. “Do you really feel that way? You’re not fucking with me because you feel bad?”

You laughed too, ignoring the tears now streaming down your own face. “That would be the worst joke ever, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it really would.”

“I mean it. Every single word of it, and more. You’re all I want now and forever. Hell, you were all I wanted as a kid, but I didn’t know what to do with those feelings, so I ignored them.”

“Very introspective of you considering how much you hate self-reflection.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

At these words, your lips crashed against Jay’s, and it finally felt as if the missing puzzle piece of your life had been placed. He immediately kissed you back with a fervor you had never experienced, his lips soft yet insistent. One hand tangled in your tousled hair as the other found its way to the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jay murmured against your lips. “You’re everything to me.”

When Jay pulled back a bit later to catch his breath, you shifted your weight so that you were straddling his hips. He looked confused for a moment, but when he realized what you were doing, he gave you a hungry look before pulling you back towards him.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“You’re… on top of me.”

“Oh, you don’t like it? I can get off then.”

You began to shift your weight off of him, but Jay quickly wrapped his arms around your torso and rooted you to the spot. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled.

You gave Jay a coy smile before leaning in and brushing your lips against his ear. “I adore you, you know that?”

Jay shuddered under your featherlight touch, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I adore you more.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

And as you dove back in for more, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you and Jay would be debating who loved who more for years to come. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

©️ heesroses 2026.

perm taglist is open: @fawnwonie @collywobblvs @lawnzzn @thatfeelingwhenn @kristynaaah @rikicoolpuma @hoonguin @ynnii @wonuziex @wonatlas @wonkiipiilled @choicila @strwbysunoo @bluepains @jimineepaboya @bitemhoon @simjaeyunslut @xoheedeung @sugarcwtie @xoheedeung @heelvcr @itsnotawrongnumber @jaesim @heevansslut @nishimuresss @gabshees @itsnotawrongnumber @heevanleem @minni-mina @wonnieswife @hevxnsgurl

[moonshinekissesss]

I can’t settle for anyone else till THIS MAN finds me, please and thank you.

[levitonin]

Bicep trend with gojo

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

hey, I was just at "things got better" island and everyone there is talking about how excited they are to meet you

[sentrybites]

i saw someone saying on twitter about a woman who said that her boyfriend was so nervous when propose her that he forgot everything and ended up just getting on his knees saying “please”.

i hope every writer who reads this makes the best of it

[moonshinekissesss]

Jay core🎀 someone write the down bad Jay proposal and wedding fic please😭😭😭😭

[glimmeringtulips]

Pick a card: what does the universe want to tell you? 𐙚⋆.˚

Take a deep breath and pick a calico critter:

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

ᢉ𐭩 I offer cheap readings if you want to check them out I will really appreciate it!: Tarot services

౨ৎ Pile 1:

The universe is telling you that you have a such a sweet heart, you need to tap into your emotions more and make sure to spread that deep love you have inside you. You might be very empathetic and sensitive and it’s an amazing quality about you, it heals others and it heals you. You’re a healer and the universe wants you to know that. Water is an important theme here, maybe try spending time in the ocean, a lake, a river, or even the pool. Water will help you heal and connect with your heart and that deep soul of yours. Make sure that when you shower you imagine the water removing everything that does belong to you. Your intuition and subconscious are powerful and they will help guide you, listen to your inner voice. You might be a very nurturing person and it’s time to nourish yourself too, be vulnerable and spread some of that love you have for you too.

౨ৎ Pile 2:

I see that you might have gone through a lot, you have gone through enough lessons and you’re feeling tired. your may be frustrated, annoyed, anxious, sad, and feeling like giving up but the universe is telling you that you’re extremely resilient and that these hard times will soon pass. You’re may be feeling wounded, guarded and even paranoid, but the worst is over. Lately maybe you felt like things weren’t going your way, like you constantly had to fight for things or try too hard, like the obstacles were never ending, it was one thing after the other but you’re moving into calmer waters. Trust the process because a new opportunity is brewing. Good things are on the horizon. Opportunities are brewing behind the scenes and abundance is right around the corner!! You may feel exhausted but these lessons will help you in the future and they will teach you about boundaries. Stability is coming 💕

౨ৎ Pile 3-

The universe is telling you that something new and exciting is coming, this is a gift from the divine. Accept any opportunities to travel, and do something fun because these are gifts from the divine to you for your hard work and for what you have gone through. You will have to rest and recharge, lately maybe you have been overworking yourself, you will be asked to rest so you can be ready for this new spark. I know sometimes we want to keep going forward and take control but the universe is asking you to sit back and relax, things will unfold how they need to unfold. Pay attention because your spirit guides and angels will give you signs to let you know they’re there for you :) Right now you’re on a rest period so you can let yourself get insipired and work on things you been putting off. You should also try to spend time on your hobbies, and spirituality, spend time working on your intuition and spiritual gifts, the universe is giving you this time to strengthen these gifts.

[crimswon]

박종성 ─ texts with guitarist!jay pt.2

how exactly do you go about your favourite member of your favourite band giving you his number?

content: smau ˑ jay x reader ˑ profanity/mature language ˑ fluff ˑ niki and jake are readers bsfs ˑ idk lol

a/n: here is the awaited pt.2... sorry if this is actually so bad i was having such bad writers block i had no idea what to do LMFAOAO. i wanted to get something out before i leave for vacation bc i prob wont be as active 🤕 sorry if this is lowk disappointing... i tried my best🥀

pt. 1 ➺ here

check out my ➺ masterlist! ˑ taglist!

taglist: @wonscapes , @tojiworshipper , @wonderikii , @evansfangz @lilyhaslowiron , @strwbysunoo , @riki2swaggy ꨄ︎

@ crimswon, est. 2006

[mournfulroses]

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written in 1913, featured in Letters To Felice

[its3amincolombo]

As a final act of love to you, I'll become everything I told you I would

[evans-xo]

Park Jongseong Love Reading 🔮

How would he be as a boyfriend and what kind of person would be suitable for him? A tarot reading

Disclaimer: Everything said is alleged and for entertainment purposes only. Idk this man irl so take everything with a grain of salt and use your own discernment <3

How would Jay be/act as a boyfriend? 6oW rx, 6oS, PoW rx, AoC rx, 4oS rx, (bottom of deck: The Sun rx)

I genuinely wasn't expecting the spread to look like this, but it's quite telling. The cards suggest that Jay is still recovering from a relationship turned sour and because of that, he seems to just have a negative outlook on anything that has to do with romance rn. He's not looking to start anything new, or invest his feelings into another person. And before I say what I'm about to say, I just need to emphasise again that this is alleged, ok, but whoever he was previously with (or just the entire situation leading up to to their breakup) really knocked his confidence big time. To the point where even thinking about being in a relationship makes him feel a bit restless or anxious. I don't think they ended on the best of terms, it seems very messy tbh. He's definitely trying to move past it though, but there's still a bit of lingering pessimism and resentment there.

What kind of person would be suitable or a good match for Jay? The Devil rx, 3oC rx clarified by The Magician rx, 7oP, 5oC, Page of Pentacles rx

Jay wants someone who's willing to put in the work. He needs someone that's ready to build something solid with him and mean it. He's not looking to be in a relationship with anyone who's flaky or can't commit. That being said, his current desire for someone who'll be 110% invested in him likely spurs from the drama and toxicity that occurred in his previous relationship. I'll leave it there.

[moonshinekissesss]

I check tarot (for my own life) on tumblr every now and then for fun and sometimes readings for enha comes up on my timeline. Tell me why this poor boy Jay is almost always recovering from a past heartache😭 he needs someone to heal his heart with the help of a healthy, devoted lover !!! ♥️

[restlessmaknae]

your heart is the target // jay

The last thing Jay expected when striking a fake dating deal with you was to get jealous (and ultimately, to fall head over heels for you).

➳ Characters: rich business student!Jay x professional archer!female reader/you

➳ Genre: fake dating au, high society au, olympics au, fluff, comedy

➳ Words: 5.5k

➳ Warning: mentions of food & drinks; vocab related to archery such as the usage of the words 'shooting' 'aim' and 'target'; my knowledge regarding archery comes from watching the Olympics, online research and this archery glossary, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong! Jay is big time jealous in the first scene and big time in denial in the third one, so excuse him, he's just hiding his big heart!

➳ A/N: This story was heavily inspired by the Olympics, ISAC, 'Brought the heat back' aka the perfect jealousy song and this short on Youtube.

➳ Check out the college series for Enhypen’s 02z line: ‘our beginning together’

Apparently, Jay didn’t think through what kind of consequences the fake dating would bring about, and how he would react to them. To be precise, to boys around you.

But it did save him time, money, and let’s be honest, mental energy to not spend so much of his time going on blind dates his mother used to send him off to. Even though he would have plenty of time to meet girls at university, most of them only talked to him because he was 1) a rugby player for the college team 2) he had a lot of money and 3) he was handsome. He wanted more than that, but he didn’t seem to have too much luck, and it didn’t help that both of his university friends - Jake and Sunghoon - already had girlfriends, so whenever they spent time together, he felt like he was fifth wheeling.

So really, it was a sensible deal between you and him, even more so because you were a professional archer, training for the Olympics, so you had even less time to focus on dating than he did. So realising that both of you were fed up with the unfruitful blind dates you had to attend when you two had been set up, you had struck a deal. You would pretend to date for the sake of your families and yourselves, but if either of you found someone they actually liked in the meantime, you would call it off. Otherwise, you could take advantage of the other as a plus one at events, further minimising the chances of shallow-minded boys or girls coming up to you two in hopes of seducing you.

However, sitting through the opening ceremony of a music hall that Jay’s parents built where most people knew who you were wasn’t the same as accompanying you to your birthday party where all kinds of boys showed up he hadn’t seen before. Even the sight of them around you angered him, but the way they mistook him for someone else was truly dancing on his nerves.

At first, there was this tall, broad-shouldered boy who seemed younger than him, but multiple heads turned his way when he walked by, probably because of his handsome looks. Though Jay would never think of growing his hair long, he had to admit that he had a majestic feel to him because of his shoulder-length chestnut brown locks.

“Oh, noona!” The boy hollered when he caught sight of you, and Jay immediately stiffened beside you, but didn’t move when the other boy halted in front of you. As if he didn’t even see Jay, he boasted a wide grin as he handed you a gift box. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you so much, Leehan! I’m glad you could make it,” you reciprocated his wide smile, visibly comfortable even with the close proximity of the boy. Or maybe it seemed close only because Jay was also by your side.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Though we had a bit of an emergency because Jaehyun managed to spill coffee on my suit, but alas, I look dazzling in any suit,” he blabbered joyfully, and only after you asked a few more questions about his day and silence settled on you three, did the boy turn his head towards Jay.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me that you had a bodyguard,” he noted with curiously widening eyes, and Jay’s eyebrows immediately shot up.

“Pardon?”

“Who are you then if not her bodyguard? You look so serious,” he pointed out, shrugging his shoulders casually. Jay felt like he could combust from both the embarrassment and the fury he felt, but held himself back because he was better than that. Besides, he might have stood too stiff beside you, but every approaching boy was a target in his eyes.

“Oh yeah, Leehan, I didn’t tell you. He’s my boyfriend, Jay. Jay Park.”

Leehan let out a little giggle before mentioning that it was funny that he had the same name as the singer. It wasn’t the first time he heard it, but it didn’t seem to get old no matter how much he hated it. It was just a name after all. It was like joking to every Kitty about Hello Kitty.

“Leehan and I used to be neighbours when I was living in Busan,” you explained as you turned towards him, and despite the fact that he didn’t even know you used to live in Busan, he appreciated the fact that you shared it with him. The explanation soothed his nerves a bit, but he was relieved only when Leehan left to say hello to your parents.

It was crazy, he was crazy, Jay thought to himself. He wasn’t usually like this. In fact, he was never like this. You weren’t even his real girlfriend, yet he was acting like a real jealous boyfriend. Did he even have the right to act this way? After all, Leehan was right. He was standing there beside you like a stuck up person, waiting to judge the next person that came up to you.

You took note of his behaviour as well, and asked if he was alright.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Jay sulked like a little kid, hoping that the tone of voice was as close to neutral as possible, but judged by the way you let out a resigned sigh, he had a feeling that he wasn’t very convincing.

“I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. Maybe it was a bit too soon to have you here today,” you mused out loud, biting on your lower lip as you looked around, at the hustle-bustle of the guests. He knew exactly what you meant by ‘too soon’; a month into your fake dating deal, but it was what he had signed up for, so it wasn’t your fault, and he didn’t get why you felt this way.

“I’m fine, really. I just hardly know anyone, and it seems that people think I’m either your brother or your bodyguard, not your boyfriend.”

Your lips curled upwards when he mentioned this, referring both to Leehan’s bravado and Mark’s who was a childhood friend of yours, but went to the States to study, and totally forgot how your brother looked, and mistook Jay for your brother, Heeseung. In Mark’s defence, he supposedly had not only horrible eyesight but a poor face memory, too.

Coming to think of it, these were pretty amusing conversations, but Jay didn’t feel like laughing even though the bell-like sound of your laughter did awaken something inside of him. He didn’t have a lot of time to ponder what this unfamiliar feeling was though because the next guest came up to you, and you immediately welcomed him with a tight hug.

A hug.

From a boy he didn’t know.

What on Earth was going on? Why did you know so many people? Why did you know so many boys? He met like six of your acquaintances who were boys, and there was only one girl. Just why?

“... and this is Jay,” he faintly heard your voice, and when you called his name, he perked up, looking at you. He was so lost in thought that he barely registered that you and the jet-black haired boy had already started talking. He seemed kind with his big brown eyes and lips that curled naturally into a genuine smile, and even his tone was friendly when he spoke up.

“Your boyfriend, Jay, right?” He asked in a casual, conversational way as he reached his hand out for a handshake.

Now, this boy… he was a keeper. Jay liked him.

“Yes, that’s me,” Jay greeted him with a relieved sigh and shook his hand. He had a firm grip, but his kind smile wouldn’t have made him think so.

“My name is Sung Hanbin. We are archery partners with Y/N,” he explained after he let go of his hand, and now Jay didn’t know what to say. Seeing his confused face, you rushed to explain that you and Hanbin were training together as a mixed team for the Olympics.

“I thought that only same sex teams were competing.”

“There are actually 3 different archery categories. Individual, team and mixed team. We’re in the mixed team with Hanbin. It’s only us two, it’s not like fencing when there could be 4 people in a team,” you answered him in detail, and you were patient with him even though he had no idea about archery as a sport, let alone how the Olympics worked. On the other hand, he would definitely look things up after this because he didn’t want to embarrass himself like he did so.

Not like Hanbin seemed bothered by his lack of knowledge regarding the field. Instead, he asked about his side, and was super eager to learn about all the business things Jay studied at university. He was even more curious when he got to know that Jay did rugby, and asked him to show him some moves one day, he would be looking forward to it.

“You should also come to one of our practices. Y/N is seriously so amazing on the field,” Hanbin suggested, awe lacing his words. There was something in the way he said it, but he wouldn’t think that it was because Hanbin harboured feelings for you. It seemed more like respect than infatuation.

“Ah please, I’m just…”

“I’ll make sure to come by. If you don’t mind,” Jay made up his mind about it quickly, and searched for your eyes. This was the first time you wouldn’t bring the other as a plus one to an event, you would do it simply because you wanted to. It could be seen that you were taken aback by the suggestion, but you composed your features within mere seconds, and directed a smile at him.

“Sure. I’d love that.”

There was a moment when you just gazed at each other, and he forgot about everything else around you. He simply focused on the way the shiny peach-coloured lipstick sat on your lips as they curled into a smile, and the way the lights from the grand chandelier above reflected in your ocean deep eyes. The way the foundation couldn’t hide your beautiful moles, and the way you radiated confidence and chicness in your feminine pink and white body suit.

“Okay, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to have some time to yourself. I might check out the drinks instead,” Hanbin announced, pulling you two back to reality. A hue of pink crept onto your cheeks at the reminder that you were not alone, but your smile didn’t waver as you bid your archery partner goodbye.

“I’ve also brought you a gift, but I left at the table where I saw people leaving them,” Jay announced when he looked down at the gift boxes in your hand. You thanked him, and told him that you would definitely check it out and let him know what you thought about his gift.

Not like you had a lot of time to open gifts because your birthday party was more than packed with conversations with familiar and not so familiar figures, and by the end of the night, Jay had no idea how you still had the energy to greet everyone as energetically as in the beginning. Thankfully, there were no more people who assumed that he was your brother or bodyguard, but some found it surprising to see you as a couple. Like the ever so talkative Keeho who analysed the future of your relationship based on your music taste, MBTI and star sign (whatever he meant by that), or one of your mother’s friend’s daughters - Giselle - who was convinced that Jay was Hanbin because she thought that you were dating your archery partner because that would be so YA book-like.

Nevertheless, Jay truly hoped that after this night, everyone would know that you two were dating, so he wouldn’t have to go through this again. He wasn’t sure he could take that.

You didn’t know what got into Jay when he gave in to Hanbin’s suggestion because he was usually reserved when it came to such events. You would think that he didn’t want to bother with it since he hated blind dates just as much as you did, and you weren’t even dating for real, so it could have been just another nuisance in his eyes.

Nevertheless, he didn’t go back on his word, but asked when he could come by, and so you settled on a date. He made sure to ask if you were comfortable by the idea of him coming to your practice, but you reassured him that you were totally fine with it. Even though you didn’t interact that much in person, you rather texted the other, your impression of him was quite positive. He was a just person, someone who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, but he was also very attentive, noticing when the screw of your earring let go and fixing it for you at the business event you had attended, or how he had gone around to find a blanket for you when you had been sitting outside in the garden at your birthday party. Even his gift was thoughtful: he bought an Avalon archery bag for you which was a good quality bag for professional athletes. You were in need of a new one anyway, so you brought it with you to practise ever since, something that Hanbin couldn’t not notice.

Ever since the two boys had met at your birthday party, Hanbin had been asking about how you had met and whether it was difficult to keep up a relationship with your training schedule and Jay’s university classes. To be honest, you didn’t decide on such details with Jay, so you spoke the truth, and told him that you had met on a blind date, and you had made it work through texts and calls because you wanted to. Which was actually true because you and Jay were getting to know each other, and sometimes it felt like it wasn’t just for the sake of the fake dating deal, but because you really did want to know more about the other. At least, you wanted to know more about him.

The indoor archery range had a security system in place, so only the athletes and the staff could enter who had a card to use the building, so you went out to let Jay inside when he texted you that he arrived. You inquired if he found it easy to get here, and he said that it was fine, and he found a decent parking place not far, so it was alright. Because of course, he knew how to drive and he had his own car. Jay was every girl’s dream after all, no wonder that title followed him around like second skin.

“So it’s just you practising today, or will there be others?”

“We’ve booked a range for us, so it’ll be me, Hanbin and our two coaches. I let the coaches know that we would have a visitor, but it’s alright. A lot of archers visit each other’s practice to learn about techniques, so you won’t stand out too much. Or maybe just a bit,” you pointed at his sleek black cotton pants, dress shoes and white shirt that he tucked into his pants, highlighting his slender waist.

Jay seemed a tad bit coy at your playful call-out, his lips slightly puckering as he looked down at his - probably usual - attire, but he went back to his usual self immediately.

“I hope I won’t be too distracting,” he mentioned with an unbothered look, but you couldn’t help but nudge him in the side.

“What was that? Were you flirting with me?”

“I-” He was about to protest, probably not thinking too much into his words, but then, it dawned on him why you teased him. “I’m your boyfriend after all, aren’t I?” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you could see a hint of amusement prompting his lips to curl upwards.

No matter how many times you said the words ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ out loud, it still seemed unfamiliar. Yet, there was a certain thrill to it too, something that you had never experienced before. Not since you had broken up with your boyfriend of three months in high school, at least.

After pulling yourself together, you guided Jay to the right room, and told him that he could sit in the spectators’ stand, you also put your bag there. So he took a seat in the front row beside your bag after greeting the ones who were present. Hanbin gave you a knowing look before he turned towards his coach who gave him some instructions. After warming up, you attached the quiver to your waist, and you held up the bow, testing the limbs and the hand. That’s when you realised that you had left a part of it in your bag, so you jogged up to the slightly confused Jay.

“Could you pass me the kisser from my bag?”

“The what?” The boy’s eyebrows shot up so high, you were afraid that his eyes would pop. That’s when you realised that you had used the jargon that he wasn’t familiar with.

“It’s this little black button in the right pocket of my bag,” you explained to him while you leaned onto the rail separating you two. Jay’s shoulders sagged in relief, and you found it difficult to hold back your laughter seeing his bewildered expression. Well yeah, the button was called kisser because it was attached to the bowstring, and your lips usually touched this part when aiming, to give consistent vertical reference. But he must have thought of something else.

Either way, Jay found the button, and handed it to you which you accepted with a grateful smile. Your fingers lightly grazed his hand in the meantime, and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks. No matter how many accidental touches you shared, it was still unfamiliar to you, the effect he had on you.

“Are you sure you will be able to concentrate with him here?” Hanbin teased once you jogged back to him, and you gave him a long stare.

“It’s not like it wasn’t your idea to invite him here.”

“Well, let’s just say I knew what I was doing,” he shrugged, a teasing little grin stretching on his lips. You nudged his shoulder in return and told him to focus on hitting the gold target face.

Despite Hanbin’s warning, the practice went well. What’s more, it went exceptionally well. You both scored high, and even if you didn’t perform that well in a set, you made up for it in the next one. One thing about mixed archery that you liked was that you could cheer on your partner without fearing for your own ranking, and it was easy to shoot beside Hanbin because he was very supportive, and even if he took archery seriously, he knew when to be silly to ease the tension. He was determined and hard-working just like you, and your coaches often said that you seemed like you were made to be each other’s partners.

Once your coaches left and it was nearing the end of your time slot, Hanbin inquired from Jay if he wanted to try it out himself. He objected vehemently, saying that after your practice, he didn’t want to embarrass himself. You didn’t force him either, but thanked him for coming by.

“I will give you a lift,” he offered gently when you walked up to him to get your bag.

“You really don’t have to. It might take about half an hour before I will get ready.”

“It’s alright. I don’t have other plans,” he protested firmly, and you didn’t have the heart to go against him when he offered it himself. He really wouldn’t say it out loud, but you had a feeling that he was offering to give you a ride because it was getting dark outside, and he didn’t want you to go home alone.

“Thanks. I will be quick,” you promised beamingly, and off you went.

After taking a quick shower, getting changed and putting your hair up into a high ponytail, you were fresh and clean, ready to head out. Jay was standing on the other side of the security gate, leaning against the wall while scrolling through his phone. You had a feeling someone let him out - maybe the security guard or Hanbin because he always finished earlier than you -, but still, it was nice to see him standing there even though he really did stand out in his business outfit while you had sweatpants and a knitted sweater on.

Jay’s nonchalant expression turned lighter when he caught sight of you, and he immediately reached for your bag, holding it for you without saying a word. Your face flushed when your hands touched again, but you looked the other way to hide your embarrassment.

You let silence fall over the two of you as you were walking towards his car, and when you stepped inside the vehicle, you felt like you were the one who stood out in your casual, sporty outfit. Alas, you preferred comfort over style when you were off to practise or coming from practise, and you were thankful that you didn’t need to wear high heels or dresses during these times. Plus, it’s not like Jay made a comment on it, instead, he inquired if the temperature was alright in the car, and if you preferred to have the radio on or not.

“So how did you like the practice? I hope it wasn’t too boring,” you inquired when the boy started the engine and drove out from the parking lot.

“It wasn’t boring at all. I didn’t know the distance for archery is 70 metres, so I was impressed that you could control the arrow from such a distance.”

“How did you know it was 70 metres?”

Jay’s Adam’s apple bobbed hearing your question as if he didn’t want to acknowledge that he clearly made his research. You definitely didn’t tell him about that.

“Well, I read it somewhere before,” he mumbled under his nose, but you couldn’t help this warm, embracing feeling bubbling up inside of you. He might have looked cold and composed, but you seemed to shake up his demeanour lately.

You talked a bit more about archery during the car ride because he was curious about the type of arrows you used, how you controlled the draw length and the aim, and whether you enjoyed individual, team or mixed archery the most. You found it heart-warming that he asked you about this because archery meant so much to you, but when you went to high society events with your parents, oftentimes the people there only asked about whether you had a boyfriend and when you would join your father’s company. Your parents never forced you to choose a different path, but these kinds of interactions came with the type of life they had chosen for themselves when you moved from Busan to Seoul, and your father set up his company that has since become one of the most important AI consulting companies in not just Seoul but the whole country.

Time passed by in a blink of an eye while you were talking, and you found yourself at home in no time. Yet, as his car drove out of your driveway, you realised that you wouldn’t mind if he gave you a ride back home more often.

Bit by bit, you and Jay got closer, and there was no denying it anymore. He went to your practices a few more times, you showed up at business events beside him other times, and in the meantime, you continued texting and calling each other. Jay also made it a habit to pick you up after practice when he didn’t have anything else to do, and sometimes Hanbin joined you, too. Jay liked him because he could see that he was a genuine, kind guy who would want nothing bad for you, and your archery partner also gave him his phone number, so Jay could reach out to him in case you didn’t pick up your phone or anything like that. Which was really attentive of him, and despite not saying it out loud, Jay grew fond of the other boy, too.

Alas, his fondness towards you could not be contained that easily, and it didn’t take long for his friends to pick up on his antics. Jake and Sunghoon teased him ever since Jay admitted that he “wasn’t feeling neutral towards you” which, in his dictionary, meant that he liked you, and they kept bombarding him with dating advice. He would never force you to date him though, and you had enough on your plate with the Olympics coming up, so he didn’t want to complicate things even further.

However, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t be supportive of you and your dreams.

“So… are you going to the Olympics with Y/N?” Jake inquired once when they were having lunch together between classes. Jay almost choked on his food, he was so surprised.

“Why would I go with her to the Olympics? She didn’t tell me that she wants me there,” he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at his puppy-like friend. Jake and Sunghoon shared a glance, and there was a knowing smile in the corner of Sunghoon’s lips when he spoke up.

“Jay, my dear friend, you really don’t know a thing about relationships, do you?”

“It’s not like you have that much experience,” Jay snorted, pointing out the fact that he and Chaerin had only been dating for half a year. To be precise, dating officially because they also had their fake dating period when Sunghoon had tried to keep Chaerin’s douchebag ex away by pretending to be her boyfriend. But he had already had a crush on the cheerleader, so his feelings had been genuine when they had started fake dating.

“Well, it’s still more than your experience which is close to zero,” he shrugged and reached for his bottle of water. Jake found the conversation amusing as he kept smiling while shoving kimchi fried rice into his mouth.

“Well then, enlighten me. Why should I go?” Jay gave up on trying to argue with them because as much as he wanted to deny it, the thought had crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too bad if he went to the Olympics to watch your competitions. Then again, you had never asked if he wanted to come or if he was willing to come, so he didn’t bother asking either.

“To support her. I’m pretty sure she’s all nerves, especially because she had a bronze medal in the last Olympics, so she must be feeling a lot of pressure. Not to mention that she and Hanbin are said to be the most promising duo for the team archery.”

“It’s mixed archery,” Jay corrected Jake’s choice of words, and his two friends immediately shared a glance. Oh well, he had really become a bit of an expert in archery, but could they blame him? He was trying not to be too nosy during practices, so he did his own research and watched your previous matches to gain more knowledge regarding your field.

Jay didn’t need to ask how they knew about your rankings because they pulled up your Wikipedia page the moment he told them that you were his fake girlfriend, and besides, he might have been dropping hints here and there. However, he had to give it to them that they were right, and despite the fact that you wouldn’t want to show it, he could see the dark circles under your eyes, and you had even managed to fall asleep once while he had been driving you home after practice. You seemed to lose a bit of your smile too, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it, except trying to be extra comforting and supportive.

He didn’t even need to be told twice. After asking Hanbin about your Olympics schedule, he booked himself a hotel and a plane ticket, and arrived the day before your first official match. He didn’t want you to worry about his safety while you were supposed to focus on your performance, so he only told you that he arrived when he got the green light from Hanbin that you finished with your last practice before your first day of competing.

Locks still stuck to your forehead when you rushed out of the stadium after a shower and changing clothes, and you hugged him so tightly upon seeing him that he immediately knew that coming here was the best decision that he had ever made.

“Thank you so much for coming! I can’t believe that you’re here,” you exclaimed giddily, and despite the fact that it was your first hug, somehow it felt so good, so right. You didn’t even seem embarrassed as you kept babbling afterwards about literally everything: the food in the Olympic village, how your room looked and how practise went that day.

He listened to you attentively, his heart a lot lighter that he could see you smile, and because you must have been hungry and tired, he treated you to a meal. You didn’t even want to talk him out of it, and enjoyed dinner with him to the last moment. He didn’t even want to let you go so soon, so he offered to walk you back to your accommodation.

“This morning, I was so nervous that I thought I’m coming down with something. I was also not performing as well during practice as I wanted to, but I feel like I’m a lot lighter now that you’re here. The fact that you carved time out of your day to come here willingly means so much to me,” you admitted coyly as he was walking beside you. He couldn’t go with you all the way because outsiders weren’t allowed in the Olympic village, but you still had some time as it was on the other side of the park you were currently strolling in.

“Even just the fact that you are here means that you’re doing great. I know you might feel the pressure to do better than four years ago, but know that you’re already a winner. You’re already one of the most excellent archers in the whole world,” he mused out loud, and if it wouldn’t have been for the bright lights in your deep dark eyes, he might have wanted to dig a hole for himself because that was quite cheesy. It came from his heart though, and you seemed to appreciate it so much that you were visibly touched.

“Don’t cry…” he shushed you when he noticed you tearing up, and reached out to wipe the first teardrop away that was racing down your cheeks. You looked up at him with those beautiful eyes, and he felt like time stopped around you as you two were standing still in the middle of the walking path, surrounded by the shushing of the trees and the watching eyes of the street lamps. To him, you looked vulnerable yet strong, someone who wasn’t afraid to face her feelings and though the sight of you with tears in your eyes churned his heart, he was also thankful that he could be there for you.

“I’m just… I’m just so happy that you’re here,” you choked up, hidden away emotions surfacing as you let it out. Jay let you cry as much as you wanted, handing you tissues and letting you hug him as long as you wanted. Before, he might have thought that you would be better off without him because you had a lot on your plate already, but now more than ever, he was sure that you needed him just as much as he needed you.

But he didn’t ask the question until you were finished with all of your competitions, until you were finished with all the celebrations for your gold medal in individual female archery and mixed archery alike and 4th in team archery, and until you were leaving behind the country.

Only as the stewardesses signalled that the plane was ready to depart in Seoul, did he dare to ask the question:

“Would you like to go on a date with me? A real one?”

The smile that you gave him was enough of an answer by itself, but when you confirmed that yes, you would be more than thrilled to go, he was the happiest person on Earth. Even if you managed to confuse Hanbin who was sitting on the other side of the aisle (after giving up his seat for Jay) by what you meant by a real date.

But he didn’t have to know that.

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