ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ @olympianknightwing - Tumblr Blog

IS LOVE EVER ENOUGH?

⋆˙⟡ synopsis: falling in love is never a choice, but trying to keep your relationship intact with the person you fell for is. love is supposed to make you feel like that the person you care for and want to create a family with feels like home…but when did your fairytale with him turn so bitter.

warnings: 18+ this story DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING I AM VERY SORRY. female reader. (she’s in college, he’s an idol with a revenge plot and absolutely no business looking like that). smut: fingering, shower sex, kitchen counter sex, multiple rounds because james lee does not know the meaning of done, dirty talk, praising, rough sex, soft sex that will genuinely ruin you, he says your name like it’s the only word he knows and you will never recover). reader is super understanding. james has the emotional availability of a closed door in a locked room in a house that’s on fire. no spoilers.

an: this is way too long!! mb 😭

"yah! come on we are so late already are you genuinely gonna prioritise sleep over our exam today," said your bestfriend, who quite literally screamed at the top of her lungs, "girl i am being so for real right now if you don’t wake up we miss the bus and you friggin know the next bus won’t arrive until the next 2 hours GET THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW." she was fuming at your laziness now. and you? well. you scoffed pretending to be asleep, "first of all never ever wake me up like a piece of paper is going to decide my future.. i couldn’t give less fucks. oh wait i give zero fucks about this shitty ass exam. i just wanna disappear dear god." so not only did you miss your exam but you made your poor friend miss it along with you too, also you might assume what is the first thing that a person should do after waking up? getting fresh right? brushing their teeth right? “oi. take this” you gave your poor friend who was already sulking like she done ruined her life some cash. “get coffee for me, one oat milk cappuccino. GRANDE. okay?” she looked at you like you just made the most heinous mistake of your life. “bitch…you better be jok- “oh yeah get one for yourself too whichever one you want. i feel generous today.” hey now see getting education sure was important for you but you were too stubborn to let it get in the way of your sleeping schedule.

when you finally decided to get up from your so called snow white curse you picked up your phone which was continuously ringing on snooze for the alarm you set for studying late at night…useless alarm… you wouldn’t have woken up anyway, after turning it off you glanced at your notifications…wait what? ZERO FUCKING NOTIFICATIONS?? made you felt like your entire existence was pointless, what is even the point of existing somewhere where an exam is supposed to decide what you’re going to be able do with yourself in the future, and that’s when you decided things were going to change you’d go for your tuitions, study harder, lock in?

“mom please just a few more minutes i’ll wake up i promise…” only if you did not tell your mom to force you to wake up early morning for the classes you don’t even give a shit about you wouldn’t have to bear with this bullshit. you woke upto the cooling sensation of water slipping from your face to your hair, “i paid for your classes don’t you dare argue with me on this.” there was no winning in this situation, so you did what you obviously wouldn’t do. get up, take a bath and get ready for your first class. you were already on your way, you decided to take a shortcut because you were too lazy to walk on the main road early 7 am in the morning, suddenly you bumped into this solid chest and as you were about to fall you sensed big arms around your waist…looking up at his face you realised god had finally decided to bless you after ages, “hot damn… oh shit i mean i am sorry i didn’t see where i was going.” “are you usually this visually challenged or this is the day you decided to act like one.” his tone was dripping with mockery.

oh wow to top off the fabulous fiasco. he is rude. “are men like you usually this rude?” "men like me you say...and how exactly are men like me?" he says crossing his arms. god he sure was big and beefy and "rude. extremely conceited. annoying and hot- he cuts you off mid sentence "so you believe i am hot, aren't you super easy eh?" who does this man thinks he is, acting like he is incharge of the whole world, he is so egoistical and smug... you just wanted to be invisible right now. "okay first of all its bold of you to assume that i can see properly at 7 am in the morning" you said clearly shooting daggers at him through your eyes, "hah. you okay? or should i call an ambulance for that bruised ego of yours?"

you let out a small laugh. "i'm good. thanks for the catch stranger." "it's james. james lee." he mutters. "oh? james lee. right and i'm- you extend an hand towards him offering a handshake "late," he finished the sentence for you looking at the silver watch on his wrist. "and so am i try not to knock anyone else out on your way to wherever you're goin, yeah?" he walked past you like the conversation was already over but some part of you did not wanna let it end there. girl get a fuckin grip. "james lee. wait- you called out before you could even stop yourself. he turned around with the same annoying expression he kept on during the whole argument between the two of you. "so uh-thanks for not letting me eat concrete." you swallowed. "its whatever. try keeping your eyes open the next time wouldn't want you missing out on such pretty faces." he winked. shit. he actually winked. you stood there for a solid twenty seconds, not being able to put your finger over what his wink just did to you. "what the fuck was that," you mumbled to yourself pressing a hand to your warm face. completely forgetting about the fact that you were terribly late for your tuition. very very late but for the first time in forever, you didn't even care.

it was supposed to be a normal tuesday. you were supposed to be studying. you had your notes open, three highlighters lined up by color like that was going to make you retain any of it, a cup of tea that had gone cold forty minutes ago, and your laptop open to approximately zero academic resources because somehow you had ended up on youtube, which led to twitter, which led to you lying completely horizontal on your bed doing absolutely nothing productive with your life. your roommate had the tv on in the background. some variety show. loud. obnoxious. you had mentally blocked it out the same way you block out your 7am alarm, your mother’s life advice, and the voice in your head that tells you to drink water. and then you heard it. “— and of course, everyone’s been talking about SUNGCHEONENT’s newest act, james lee, who has been absolutely dominating the charts this week with-

you didn’t even look up at first. and then your brain did that thing. that awful, delayed, mortifying thing where it replays a voice it recognizes and goes: wait. you looked up. and there he was. on the television. in HD. looking completely unbothered in a way that should be illegal, wearing an outfit that probably cost more than your entire semester’s tuition, his jaw sharp enough to cut something, his eyes doing that exact thing they did when he looked at you like you were mildly beneath him and somehow also the most interesting thing he’d seen all morning. your highlighter fell off the bed. you didn’t pick it up. “…yah.” you said. to no one. to the universe. to whatever higher power had decided your life was a comedy sketch. your roommate glanced over. “what?”“nothing.” you said. very calmly. extremely calmly. with the energy of someone whose soul had just quietly packed its bags and left the building. because that was him. that was the rude, infuriating, criminally attractive stranger from the shortcut. the one who caught you before you hit the pavement. the one who called you visually challenged at seven in the morning. the one who winked. actually winked and then walked away like he hadn’t just short circuited something fundamental in your brain. that was james lee. who was apparently. an idol. a famous one. a very, very famous one judging by the way the hosts were giggling and falling over themselves and the studio audience was screaming like he had personally cured something. “are you okay?” your roommate asked. “yes.” you said. you were not okay. you picked up your phone with the energy of a person about to do something they would not be proud of and you searched his name. and then you sat there for the next forty five minutes going through every single result like a completely normal and well adjusted individual. he had a whole discography. he had fans. millions of them. with matching profile pictures and dedicated update accounts and entire threads breaking down the way he breathed during live performances. he had a wikipedia page.

you had asked this man if he was usually this rude and he had looked at you like you were an interesting insect and said men like me you say and HOW EXACTLY ARE MEN LIKE ME and you had said rude, extremely conceited, annoying and hot and he had USED IT AGAINST YOU and this whole time he was– you put your phone face down on your chest and stared at the ceiling. “i need to transfer universities.” you announced. your roommate didn’t even look up from her laptop. “what did you do.” “nothing.” you said. “nothing. everything is fine. i am fine.” you were so normal about it for the rest of the evening. completely fine. absolutely not thinking about it. you went to bed at a reasonable hour and you did not lie awake replaying the way he said its whatever. try keeping your eyes open the next time. wouldn’t want you missing out on such pretty faces. you did not do that. (you did that.)

you saw him again on a thursday. you weren’t even taking the shortcut this time. you had learned from your past mistakes, you were on the main road, you were minding your business, you had your earphones in and everything. a whole system designed specifically to avoid unexpected human interaction before 9am. and then someone fell into step beside you. not bumping into you. not stopping you. just. appearing. the way a weather event appears. suddenly and without your consent. “you’re on the main road today.” WHAT THE? you did not scream. you want credit for that. you pulled one earphone out and looked up and there he was. james lee. in a black cap pulled low and a jacket that probably cost a genuinely offensive amount of money, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same expression he always seemed to have around you. like he found you amusing in a way he wasn’t fully willing to admit. “i–” you started. and then you remembered the tv. the wikipedia page. the forty five minutes. the fans with the matching profile pictures. “hi.” you said. very normally. “you remember me.” he said. not a question. “you caught me before i ate concrete. heh.” you said. “hard to forget.” something shifted at the corner of his mouth. not quite a smile. almost. “you looked like you were going to run.” “i wasn’t.” “you went a little pale.” he muttered. “that’s my natural color.” he looked at you for a second like he was deciding something. then he fell into step with you again, which was not something you had invited but apparently james lee did not require invitations.

“you’re taking the long way.” he said “i like the long way.” “you’re going to be late.” right yeah that’s what he’s reminding you about isn’t he? “i like being late.” he made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. low. quiet. it settled somewhere in your chest in a way you immediately decided to never think about again. you walked in silence for a moment. which should have been awkward. it wasn’t, somehow. he had this way of existing in quiet that didn’t demand you fill it, like he was completely comfortable taking up space without explanation. which made somewhat sense, you thought. when you had an entire wikipedia page you probably got comfortable with taking up space. you were ABSOLUTELY NOT going to bring up the wikipedia page. “james lee.” you said, instead. he glanced at you. “that’s a pretty simple name.” you said. “for someone so– you gestured vaguely at him. all of him. the jawline. the jacket. the general unfair construction of his entire face. “for someone so what.” he said. “you know what.” you said. and there it was again. that almost smile. softer this time. like he knew exactly what you meant and had filed it away somewhere you weren’t going to get it back from. “and you are?” he said. you told him your name. he repeated it once, quietly, like he was trying to figure out the exact pronunciation, and something about the way he did it made the back of your neck warm in a way you were NOT going to acknowledge. “you’re still not going to tell me where you’re going.” he said. “you didn’t ask.” he hummed. “i’m asking.” “tuition.” you said. “you?” he was quiet for a second. something crossed his face then. fast, like a cloud moving over water. there and gone before you could name it. “nowhere important.” he said. and you didn’t push. you don’t know why. something about the way he said it made it feel like the kind of answer that had a door behind it, and the door was not open, and knocking on it would be the wrong move. REAL WRONG MOVE. so you didn’t. you walked until your routes split, and when you stopped at the corner he stopped too, looking at you with that unreadable expression he seemed to have patented.

“try not to walk into anyone today.” he said “try not to be so arrogant.” you said. “i’ll consider it.” he said, already turning away. you stood at the corner for four seconds after he left. maybe five. then you took out your phone and texted your best friend.

i saw him again

THE rude hot guy??

yes 😭😭😱😱

WHAT HAPPENED. DETAILS. RIGHT NOW!

we walked together

for how long to be exactttt

hmm for like ten minutes lolll

and????

you stared at your phone. you thought about his smile. the way he said your name once, the thing that crossed his face when you asked where he was going and he said nowhere important like it cost him something to say it.

i don’t know you typed back.

something feels weird

weird how??? ARE U OK GIRL?

you didn’t know how to explain it. not yet. it was too small to name. just a feeling, the kind that sits behind your sternum and doesn’t announce itself, just waits.

i don’t know just weird.

it became a thing. not a planned thing. not a thing either of you discussed or agreed upon or acknowledged out loud in any way. just a thing that happened, the way weather happens, the way you wake up late happens. without your permission and with complete disregard for your schedule. thursdays, mostly. sometimes tuesdays. once on a friday which threw you off so completely you walked past your classroom door and had to double back. he would just. appear. same corner, or close enough to it, hands in his pockets, cap pulled low, like he had nowhere important to be and had simply decided your general direction was as good as any. you stopped being surprised after the third time. you started being something else instead, which you were not going to examine too closely. “you’re early today.” he said one thursday, falling into step beside you like gravity. “you’re always early.” you said. “do you sleep?” he shrugged. “meh. sometimes.”“that’s concerning.” “oh? someone worries about me.” he said. not a question. why would it even be a question? “i worry about public health.” you said. “sleep deprivation affects everyone around you.” he laughed. “is that so.”“scientifically.” he made that sound again. the low quiet one. the one that wasn’t quite a laugh but lived in the same neighborhood. you had started cataloguing them without meaning to. the almost smile or the almost laugh. the way he looked at you sometimes like you were a problem he found interesting rather than inconvenient. “you never told me what you study.” he said. “did you ask james?” “surprise me.” huh? SURPRISE YOU WITH WHAT. silly man. you told him all about the subjects that you absolutely do not enjoy *skeleton emoji* “and you like it.” he said. LOL DO YOU? “i like some of it.” me when i lieee boo hoo. “which parts.” “the parts that don’t involve exams.” you said. “or attendance. or waking up before seven.” he genuinely laughed so hard. wow. “hah. so none of it.” “i didn’t say that.” he breathed. “well that’s what you implied so…”GOD WHY DOES HE ALWAYS HAVE TO BITE BACKKK RAHHH “you’re very good at putting words in my mouth.” you said.

“you’re very good at leaving space for them.” he said. you opened your mouth. closed it. he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and this time the same smirk made it all the way. just barely. just enough. you looked away first. you always looked away first, you were noticing. which was irritating. you were not someone who looked away first. you had a whole personality built on not being the first to blink and yet here you were, repeatedly, losing some unspoken game to a man who hadn’t even told you what he did for a living. which reminded you. “what do you actually do.” you said. a beat. “what do you mean?”

“i mean you’re always out here at seven in the morning with nowhere important to be.” you said. “so what is it? are you a trust fund kid. are you in witness protection. are you a ghost?” “a ghost.” he repeated. “rigghtt it would explain the appearing out of nowhere thing.” he was quiet for a second. something shifted in his expression. that thing again, the cloud over water, there and gone. “work.” he said finally. “i have work.” “what kind of work??” he took a deep breath. “the kind that keeps me busy.” he said. which was not an answer. you both knew it wasn’t an answer. and yet something in his tone made it very clear that was all he was giving you, so you let it go the same way you always let it go. you walked in comfortable silence for a while. the city was extra loud around you but somehow it felt distant, the sound, the footsteps. like the two of you were in a slightly different frequency than everything else. “you’re doing it again.” he said.“doing what.” “thinking too loud.” you stared at him. “i’m not doing anything.” you said.“your face does this thing.” he said. “when you’re overthinking.” EXCUSE ME!!! he cannot be noticing the things your face does. how did he even know? “my face DOES NOT do a thing.” “it does.” he said. completely calm. completely certain. “right here.” he gestured near his own brow. you resisted the urge to touch your face. “i’m not overthinking.” you said. “i’m just thinking.” “about? what?”

“none of your business.” “probably me.” he said. oh… OH. he knew what he was doing but that did not stop him from making you flustered. “absolutely not.” “probably.” he said again, and there was something in his voice now, lower, gentle, that made the word land differently than it should have. you did not respond to that. you decided, on a deep fundamental level, that responding to that was not something you were going to do today. you walked until the corner. you stopped. he stopped. this had become the rhythm of it. ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and then the corner, and then he would look at you for a moment with that unreadable expression and say something that stayed with you longer than it had any right to, and then he would leave. you were starting to hate the corner. “james.” you said. he looked at you. you weren’t sure what you were going to say. something had been sitting in your chest for a few weeks now, small and formless, and you kept almost reaching for it and then pulling back. “are you okay?” you said finally. something moved across his face. fast. complicated. gone before you could catch it. “why.” he said. “i don’t know.” you said honestly. “you just. sometimes you go somewhere. in your head. and wherever it is doesn’t look very nice.” he looked at you for a long moment. long enough that you started to regret saying it, you already started constructing your apology, your backtrack, your very convincing performance of haha never mind ignore me! “i’m fine.” he said. oh he’s fine. HE IS COMPLETELY FINE. quiet. flat. the kind of fine that meant the opposite and knew you knew it. “okay.” you said. because the door wasn’t open. “okay.” he nodded once. and then he did something he hadn’t done before. he looked at you, really looked at you, for just a second, and there was something in it that made your breath catch. not the amusement. something underneath all of that. something that looked a lot like tired. “same time thursday.” he said. not a question. it never was. “same time thursday.” you said. and he left. and you stood at the corner for longer than usual this time. your phone suddenly buzzed. your best friend.

did you see james lee on tv last night btw?? he performed and i literally passed away 💀💀💀

you stared at the message. you typed back:

yeah

do you think he’s hot??

you looked up at the corner where he had just been standing. the empty space where he had just been tired in a way he didn’t let anyone see, except apparently you, for reasons you couldn’t explain.

yeah

but that’s not the part that scares me.

your best friend sent back seventeen question marks. you put your phone on silent and put it inside your pocket and started walking. you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure you had the words for it yet. the thing that was building. the thing that felt less like a crush and more like standing at the edge of something very deep, looking down, knowing you were going to step forward anyway. james lee, you were beginning to understand, was not going to be simple. and the worst part! the absolute worst part!!! was that you already knew that. you had known it since the corner, since the first thursday, since he the first ever smile he ever gave you. you knew. and you were going to walk toward it anyway. the thing about james lee was that he was very good at being fine. you noticed this slowly, not all at once, not dramatically, just a gradual shift in pressure that your body registers before your brain catches up. he was always composed. always that same careful distance between charming and untouchable, like he had measured the exact amount of himself he was willing to let out and not a drop more. he was funny in a dry, understated way that caught you off guard every time. he remembered things. smallest things, things you mentioned once in passing that you had already forgotten you said. and brought them up later with the casual ease of someone who was paying much closer attention than they let on. and underneath all of it, something that had no name yet. something you kept almost seeing and then losing again, like trying to catch your own reflection in moving water. it was a tuesday when things shifted. you almost didn’t go. you had an assignment due and approximately four hours of sleep and your best friend had been texting you increasingly unhinged theories about james lee’s personal life based on his recent instagram activity, which you were reading with the focused energy of someone who definitely did not have feelings about this and was simply staying informed. but you went. he was already at the corner. which was normal. except he was leaning against the wall instead of standing, head tilted back slightly, eyes closed, and for a second before he heard you coming you saw him without the composure on. just for a second. he looked exhausted. not the tired that comes from a bad night’s sleep. the other kind. the kind that lives in your bones. then he heard your footsteps and his eyes opened and it was back. all of it. the carefully measured distance, the almost-amusement, the version of james lee that was fine. “you’re late.” he said. okay so what hmph?? she is not not your girl. “by two minutes.” you said. “i was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” you scoffed a little. “you would’ve survived.” you said. “probably.” he said. and then, quieter, muttering it again. “probably.” you fell into step beside him. the morning was grey, the kind of overcast tuesday that couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain, and the city felt muted around you, like someone had turned the volume down on everything. he was quieter than usual. not uncomfortable at all don’t get me wronggg now. james was never uncomfortable, that seemed to be a feeling he had simply opted out of. but distant. further inside himself than normal. you let it be for a while. “long night?” you said eventually. “they’re all long.” he said. “that doesn’t sound sustainable.” “a lot of things aren’t sustainable.” he said. very even. very calm. you glanced at him. he was looking straight ahead, jaw set, something working behind his eyes that he wasn’t letting anywhere near his face. “james.” you said. “don’t.” he said. “i didn’t even say anything.” “you were going to ask if i’m okay again.” he said. “i wasn’t.” you said. you were absolutely going to do that. “i was going to ask if you’d eaten.” a pause. “…no.” he said. like he was only just remembering. “james.” as if you were scolding him. did you care? that much? “i was busy.” “it’s eight in the morning.” you said. “what were you busy with at eight in the morning that prevented you from eating.”

he didn’t answer. which was an answer. you stopped walking. he took two more steps before he noticed and stopped too, turning to look at you with an expression that was somewhere between irritated and something softer that he was clearly trying to cover up.“what.” he said. you reached into your bag. pulled out the cereal bar you had shoved in there three days ago and never eaten. held it out to him. he looked at it. looked at you. looked back at it. “that’s not food.” he said. “it has oats in it.” you said. “take it.” “i’m not taking your cereal bar.” “james lee i will stand on this pavement for the rest of my natural life.” something flickered across his face. not a smile but something more unguarded than that. he took the cereal bar. he didn’t say thank you. but he opened it and ate it while you walked, which felt like something. “you don’t have to do that.” he said after a while. “do what?” “worry about me.” he said. “i don’t need it.” he was right you clearly shouldn’t worry about him, but everytime you looked at him. how could you ever deny that your heart did skip a beat? “i know you don’t need it.” you said. “i’m doing it anyway.” he was quiet. “why.” he said finally. and you thought about it. actually thought about it, standing there and james lee looking at you like he had asked a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. “because you look like someone who’s been fine for a really long time.” you said. “and i think that’s exhausting.” the silence that followed was different from the other silences. heavier. he didn’t look at you and you watched something move through him that he didn’t let out, something he caught and held somewhere below his sternum and didn’t release.

“you don’t know me.” he said. quiet. not mean. just honest. “no.” you agreed. “but i’m starting to.” another silence. “that’s not a good idea.” he said. “probably not.” you said. “i’m serious.”“so am i.” you said. and you were. you knew you were. you had known since the first corner, since the first thursday, and you were saying it out loud now because it was true and you were tired of not saying true things. “i know it’s probably not a good idea. but here i am anyway. so.” he stopped walking. you stopped too. looked up at him. he was looking at you with an expression you hadn’t seen on him before. not the composure, not the amusement, something underneath all of that. raw in a way that lasted only a second before he pulled it back. “you should be careful.” he said. very quiet. “of what?” you said. he looked at you for a long moment. and in that moment you had the distinct and specific feeling of standing at the edge of something, of the ground being less solid than it looked, of something opening up beneath the ordinary surface. “me.” he said. just that. just the one word, and then he looked away, and the composure was back, smooth and immediate like it had never left, and he started walking again like he hadn’t just said something that settled into your chest like a stone dropped in still water. you stood there for three seconds. then you followed him. because of course you did. you didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk. when you reached the corner he stopped and you stopped and he looked at you with that unreadable expression.

“hey.” you said. he paused. didn’t turn around.“eat something.” you said. “an actual meal. not just a cereal bar from someone’s bag.” a big beat. “…i’ll consider it.” he said. he turned around then. and he was looking at you with that expression again. the one that lasted only a second before he pulled it back – and then he held out his hand. “phone.” he said. you blinked. “what?” “your phone.” he said. same tone. like it was obvious. like he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes telling you to be careful of him and was now standing there with his hand out waiting. “why.” you said. “so i can give you my number.” he said. “obviously.” obviously. like it was the most natural thing in the world. like he hadn’t just said "me" like a warning two minutes ago and was now casually dismantling every boundary he had just tried to put up, completely unbothered about the contradiction. you stared at him for a second. then you unlocked your phone and put it in his hand. he typed his number in. no name, you noticed, when he handed it back. just the digits, no contact name, like even that was something he wasn’t ready to give you yet. or maybe he just assumed you knew. probably he just assumed you knew. “you could’ve asked for mine.” you said. “i know.” he said. “so why didn’t you.” he looked at you. “because then i’d have to wait for you to use it.” he said. “and you’d overthink it for three days.” your mouth opened. he turned and walked away before you could close it. you saved his number anyway you named it: rude lee. and then you stood there on the pavement like an idiot, smiling at your own phone, which was a new low, genuinely, and you were going to have to sit with that one lol.

months had passed. you were slowly falling for him and maybe he was too, there was no hiding it. you saw it on twitter first. which was somehow worse than seeing it on the news, because twitter meant it was already everywhere, already being dissected and shared and screenshotted, already out of anyone’s hands by the time you even registered what you were reading. BREAKING: idol james lee reportedly involved in violent altercation – sustained injuries, currently– you didn’t finish the sentence. you were already grabbing your jacket. you don’t remember the walk to the corner. you don’t remember if you took the shortcut or the main road or walked directly through traffic like a person with no survival instinct. you just remember the cold air hitting your face and your heart doing something loud and irregular in your chest the whole way there, and the specific, nauseating feeling of not knowing. he was there. of course he was there. leaning against the wall like always, except this time there was a cut above his eyebrow that hadn’t been there three days ago, and his knuckles were wrapped, and he had that look on his face – the composed one, the fine one – except it was thinner than usual. stretched. like it was working harder than it normally had to. he saw you coming and something moved across his face. “hey–” he started. “are you insane.” you said. he blinked. “what.” “are you actually insane.” you were pissed SO PISSED. and your voice came out steadier than you felt which was impressive considering your hands were shaking. “i saw it on twitter. ON TWITTER, james, like everyone else, like a complete stranger, because you didn’t- you never– he cut you off. “i’m fine.” he said. “you have a cut on your face.” “i’ve had worse.”“that is genuinely the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said to me.” your voice cracked on the last word and you hated it, hated how much it gave away, hated that he could see it happening in real time and was just standing there, composed, like this was all very reasonable. “why didn’t you tell me?” “because it’s not your problem.” flat. immediate. like he’d had it ready. you went quiet. he looked at you and his jaw was tight and his eyes were doing that thing. seventeen different things happening behind them and none of it reaching his face. “not my problem.” you repeated. “you didn’t have to come here.” he said. “i didn’t ask you to.”

“and yet.” you said. “here i am. same place i always am, james, because apparently i am physically incapable of staying away from you, which is your fault by the way, so don’t stand there acting like i’m the unreasonable one– “go home.” he said. “this isn’t something you should be in the middle of.” “i’m already in the middle of it.” your voice rose before you could stop it. “i’ve been in the middle of it since the first thursday. you made sure of that. you and your phone number and your midnight texts and your– you stopped. exhaled hard. “you don’t get to let me in and then act like i’m a stranger the second it gets complicated.” “i’m trying to protect you.” he said. tight. frustrated. “from what.” he gestured at himself. the cut. the wrapped knuckles. all of it. “from this. from whatever i’m turning into. i told you at the beginning–” “you told me to be careful.” you said. “i remember. and i’m still here. so clearly that ship has sailed.”

“because you don’t listen– “because i was scared.” the word came out louder than you meant it to and it landed between you like something irreversible. “i saw it on my phone and i didn’t think, i just came, because i needed to see you were okay. that’s it. that’s the whole embarrassing truth of it. so you can stop trying to push me away and just– your throat tightened. “just let me be here. for you.” the silence that followed was the loudest one yet. he was looking at you the way he almost never let himself. no distance, no careful measurement. just him. tired and hurt and something underneath both of those things that had been building. he crossed the distance in two steps. “fuck it.” and kissed you. not soft. not tentative. nothing like the way you’d let yourself imagine it in the two seconds before you forced your brain somewhere else. it was immediate and certain, his hand finding your jaw like he’d thought about it longer than either of you had said out loud, and you kissed him back with everything you’d been holding since the beginning because there was nothing else to do, there had never been anything else to do. when you broke apart you were both breathing differently. he pressed his forehead to yours. eyes closed. “i told you.” rough. barely above a whisper. “i know.” you said. “i meant it.” “i know.” you said. “i’m here anyway.” something in him gave. you felt it. the moment the last of it came down. he pulled back just enough to take a look at you, and whatever he found made something shift in his eyes, darker and certain, and he took your hand. wrapped knuckles and all .and said voice low “come with me.”

by the time he kicked the penthouse door shut behind you both, your jacket was already on the floor. he walked you backwards towards the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours. “been wanting this for so fucking long didn’t you dream about me?” he muttered against your lips, voice low and rough. “every time you showed up at that corner looking at me like that… you have no idea what you do to me.”you tugged at his hoodie. “then show me.” he pulled it off in one motion, revealing the bruises and that cut above his eyebrow. you reached for it but he caught your wrist gently. “don’t. not right now,” he said, pushing you down onto the huge bed. “right now i just want you.” he took his time with the foreplay, stripping you naked slowly, mouth dragging over every inch of your skin. he paused at your chest, eyes dark as he looked up at you. then he leaned down and took one of your tits into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue swirling around your nipple. he groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting straight wetness between your legs. “fuck, these are perfect,” he murmured, switching sides, sucking and biting gently until you were arching into his mouth, moaning his name. when he finally settled between your thighs, tongue and fingers working you open, you were already gasping his name, fingers twisted tight in his pink hair. “james— fuck!! haa- right there,” you moaned. he hummed against you, the vibration making your back arch. “that’s it. let me hear you. been dying to hear you sound like this.” you were shaking by the time he finally moved up your body, hovering over you, hard and flushed. he braced one arm beside your head, the other hand guiding himself against your entrance. his jaw was clenched, breathing ragged, clearly trying to stay in control. he pushed in slow, so fucking slow, stretching you open inch by inch. his eyes stayed locked on your face the whole time, watching every reaction. “you okay baby?” he asked, voice tight. “tell me if it’s too much.” you cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones and the edge of the cut. his eyes met yours, dark and hungry. “james,” you whispered, “you don’t have to be so gentle. i want you. all of you. you can move faster if you want.” something in him snapped. “fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours for a second. “you sure?” “yes. please— i need you.” he kissed you hard and thrust the rest of the way in, burying himself deep. you both moaned into each other’s mouths. “shit— you feel so good right baby?” he rasped, starting to move, hips snapping forward harder, faster. “so fucking tight. you wanted me to fuck you just like this hmm?”you nodded crying out, nails digging into his shoulders. “james— oh god— harder please don’t stop.” he growled low in his throat, one hand gripping your thigh and spreading you wider as he fucked you deeper. the headboard started slamming against the wall with every thrust. “like this?” he asked, voice dark and dominant. “this what you wanted?” “yes— fuck yes— mphhh don’t stop,” you gasped, legs wrapping around his waist. he leaned down, mouth on your neck, teeth scraping as he pounded into you. “you’re mine. say it.” “i’m yours— james— i’m yours,” you moaned, clenching around him.

“good girl,” he breathed, hand sliding between you to rub tight circles on your clit. “want to feel you come around me. come on, baby. let go.” the pressure built fast and overwhelming. you shattered hard, back arching, thighs shaking as you came with his name on your lips. “that’s it— fuck. fuuuck just like that,” he groaned, fucking you through it, hips stuttering. “you’re squeezing me so fucking good.” he buried his face in your neck as his own release hit, thrusting deep one last time and coming with a rough moan of your name, body trembling against yours. for a minute the only sounds were both of you breathing hard. he stayed inside you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand still cradling your jaw. “i told you to be careful,” he rasped, voice hoarse. you smiled, still catching your breath, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “i know. i don’t care.” he let out a quiet, breathless laugh and kissed you again, slower this time. “we’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips. “i’m nowhere near done with you tonight baby.” “james lee,” you said, “we’ve barely started.”

you woke up before him. which felt significant somehow. like the universe had given you a few minutes alone with the fact of it before you had to figure out what to do with your face. the penthouse looked different in daylight. softer. the metropolis outside was looking extra gorgeous and still carrying last night rain's essence and the light coming through was the kind that made everything feel slightly unreal, slightly outside of normal time. you lay there for a moment without moving. james lee’s bed. james lee’s sheets. james lee’s arm heavy across your waist. you looked at the ceiling and had a very quiet, very internal crisis about this for approximately forty five seconds. then you carefully, slowly, with the precision of someone defusing something, started to move. his arm instantly tightened around you. not dramatically. not even consciously, probably. just. tightened. the way someone holds onto something in their sleep when they feel it trying to leave. you stopped moving. you looked at him. he was still asleep, face slack, all the composure gone the way it only went when he wasn’t awake to maintain it. the cut above his eyebrow looked worse in the morning light. the bruises on his ribs too. you had the very strong urge to do something about that and absolutely no idea what. you stayed where you were. eventually his breathing changed and his eyes opened, slow, finding you immediately like he knew exactly where you were before he was fully awake. he looked at you for a moment without saying anything. “hi.” you said. very normal. very calm. “hi.” he said. voice rough with sleep in a way that did A LOT OF things to you that you were not going to acknowledge right now. silence. “so.” you said. “so.” he said. “i was going to leave.” you said. “earlier. i was going to be very cool about this and be gone before you woke up.” “why.” “because that felt like the less terrifying option.” something moved at the corner of his mouth. “and then.”“and then your arm.” you said. he looked down at his arm, still across your waist, like he was only just noticing it. he didn’t move it. “james.” you said. “mm.” “what is this.” he was quiet for a moment. looked at you with that expression. the one you had spent months learning, the one that meant something important was working its way to the surface. “what do you want it to be.” he said. “i asked first.” “i’m asking second.” you stared at him. he looked back at you, steady, unbothered, giving nothing away except for the arm that was still across your waist and the fact that he had asked at all. “i want–” you stopped. started again. “i’m not interested in nothing. i want you to know that upfront. if that’s what this is i need you to tell me now so i can go be embarrassed somewhere else.” “it’s not nothing.” he said. immediately. no hesitation. “okay.” you said. your heart was doing something loud. “okay. so what is it.” he looked at you. “mine.” he said quietly. “if you want.” you blinked. “yours.” you repeated. “and i’m yours.” he said. like it was simple. like it hadn’t taken him months and one very heated argument in the rain and a kiss against a wall to get here. “that’s what it is.” you looked at him for three full seconds. then you put your face in his chest because you didn’t know what to do with your expression and you refused to let him see you smiling like an idiot, not first thing in the morning, not when he was already insufferably calm about all of this. he made that sound. the low quiet one that lived next to laughing. his hand came up and settled in your hair. “you’re staying for breakfast.” he said. “you can’t cook.” you said into his chest. “i’ll order something.”

“it’s seven in the morning.” “places are open.”you thought about your notes at home. your highlighters lined up by color. the assignment you were supposed to finish two days ago. your entire life, waiting for you on the other side of this penthouse door. “okay.” you said. he ordered from three different places because he couldn’t remember what you liked and refused to ask, so he just got everything. you sat on his kitchen counter while he stood leaning against the opposite one, both of you eating out of containers. he had put a hoodie on. one of his, soft and dark, sleeves pushed up. and at some point between the second container and the third he reached over without looking and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear so casuallyyyy like he had been doing it for years. you looked at him. he was already looking somewhere else. completely unbothered. like he hadn’t just done the most devastating thing imaginable with zero acknowledgment. james lee, you thought. you absolute menace. “what.” he said, still not looking at you. lol wait did he hear your thoughts??? “nothing.” you said. “you’re staring again.” “i’m allowed to stare.” you said. “you’re my boyfriend.” the word landed in the kitchen like something new. neither of you had said it yet so you decided to test the waters. then. that damn smile. the real one. rare and devastating, exactly like always. he looked down at his food and said nothing. but he was still smiling when he took the next bite. and you decided that was enough. that was everything, actually “indeed.” he mumbled it so softly you couldn’t even hear it.

i saw someone who walked like you today and my heart did something embarrassing 🤤🤤🤤

Embarrassing How

like OH and then i realized it wasn’t you and then i was sad for a full minute 😔😔☹️☹️

A full minute

maybe two

I’ll be done by Seven 🙂

james lee that is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me 🤩🤩🤩

You have very Low Standards

i’m dating you so clearly ☺️

….Seven o’clock. Don’t be Late.

the first week of being james lee’s girlfriend was mostly the same as before, except everything felt different in a way you couldn’t quite explain to anyone, mostly because you weren’t explaining it to anyone, because who were you going to tell your best friend would COMBUST. literally COMBUSTTT. you would be picking pieces of her off the ceiling for weeks. so you kept it quiet and warm and yours, like something too new to expose to air yet. he texted you more now. not dramatically more. james was never going to be the person flooding your notifications – but consistently. deliberately. like he had decided this was something he was going to show up for and showing up was the only way he knew how to say that.

Where R U

class why?

You left your Charger

JAMES i’ve been looking for that for three days

I know

you KNEW and you didn’t tell me????

Its been on my nightstand

I assumed u would notice.

i hate you

No u don’t

he dropped it off later. didn’t come inside, didn’t make a thing of it . just appeared at your door, handed it over, looked at you for a second with that expression, and left. you stood in your doorway holding your charger for a full thirty seconds after he was gone. your roommate appeared behind you. looked at the empty hallway. looked at you. looked at the charger. “who was that.” “nobody.” you said. “that was not nobody.” she said. “nobody doesn’t look like that.” “please go back to whatever you were doing.” “he looked at you like– “goodbye.” you said, closing the door. you went to your room and lay face down on the pillow for three minutes. then your phone buzzed.

What are U doing tonight?

studying theoretically

actually probably nothing 😭😭

why

Come Over

damn old man got stamina. just like that?

Don’t test me. I am 22 also yeah Just like that.

what are we doing?

Nothing

I just want u here

ughhh

Are u Coming or Not

give me twenty

Take Thirty and Drive Safe.

And when u get here I am not waiting.

Want u dripping for me before i even get your Clothes off

you stared at the message, heat flooding your face instantly. your thumbs hovered for a second before you typed back.

james

Yeah?

you can’t just say that while i’m supposed to be leaving the house 😭😭😭😭

Y not. Tell me how wet you are Right Now.

…very. fuck you.

Good. I Want U thinking about my mouth on your Tits and my Cock buried Deep the Whole way here. Hurry up baby.

i’m leaving now. you’re actually evil 😡😡😡

you barely remembered the drive. your heart was hammering the entire way and when you finally stepped into his penthouse he was already waiting. the second the door clicked shut behind you he had you against it, mouth crashing into yours, hands sliding under your shirt like he’d been starving for hours instead of minutes. “took you long enough,” he muttered against your lips, voice already rough. he pulled your shirt over your head in one motion and leaned down, sucking hard on one of your tits, “j-james s-shit.” you moaned, fingers threading through his pink hair as he groaned against your skin. “i-ngh” he didn’t give you time to catch your breath. he stripped you quickly, then himself, when he pushed you down he was on you immediately. mouth back on your tits, sucking and biting until you were arching and gasping. then he moved lower, tongue and fingers working you open until you were shaking. “james-s please— “please what baby. tell me what you want,” he said as he looked up at you. “you. inside me. now.” he moved back up, braced one arm beside your head, and pushed in slow at first, stretching you open. you cupped his face like last time. you whispered in his ear. “i want all of you.” well if you want everything. he will give you all of it. he thrust deep, hips snapping forward hard and fast, fucking you like he’d been holding back the entire day. the headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. his mouth stayed on your neck, your tits, anywhere he could reach while he pounded into you. “so fucking good,” he groaned, one hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “this pussy’s mine. say it.” “y-yours-james— shit. it’s yours,” you moaned, barely being able to contain yourself. he rubbed fast circles on your clit, never slowing down as his hand gripped your ass tight. you shattered hard, back arching, thighs shaking around him as you came with his name on your lips. he fucked you through it, hips stuttering only when his own release hit. he kissed you once. “you okay baby?” he asked, voice low and satisfied. you laughed breathlessly and kissed him refusing to let your grip on his face go at all. “i am great actually.” he smirked, that dangerous little smile you were starting to love. “are you sore yet?” you breathed. “n-no…”

“alright then.” this time he turned you around. you genuinely lost all the count. about how many times he did make you cum. in his penthouse, on the bed. over the kitchen counter. the shower. and god he fingers you so good, the soft sound of your pussy squelching everytime turns him on so bad. “your friend might be wondering where you are since you’re not home yet… and here you are riding my cock like a little slut… hmm? aren’t you? FUCK. he definitely said that intentionally fuck you james lee. and the way he said it makes you wetter. “s-shut up.” when you said that he stopped thrusting into you, and pushed you face down on the bed just to turn you and and push your legs all the way up and folding you half. “careful. darling. talking in that tone might land in for some punishment.” you softly scoffed. “you’re such an assh-aah!- he started pounding into you from that angle. the same angle that was hitting your core so deep that you were on cloud 9. “what did i tell you? be careful with that mouth of yours my baby.” “mphhh- fuck you…”

he left a ticket at the door. just one. your name at the box office, a wristband, zero explanation. very james, no buildup, no warning, just an address and a time and you standing outside the venue at 7:58pm having a small private crisis about what this means while thousands of people filed past you like you weren’t actively falling apart on the pavement. you almost didn’t go in. you stood there for a full three minutes. three minutes. just. existing. with the bass bleeding through the walls and the crowd noise and the very specific realization that you were about to watch your boyfriend perform in front of all of this, which – okay. okay that’s a sentence. james lee. your boyfriend. performing. in a stadium. and you’re standing outside it in the outfit you changed into four times holding a wristband he left for you without even texting to say he’d done it. normal. this is all very normal. you went in. the scale of it hit you before your eyes even adjusted – the stage massive and lit up like something from a different world entirely, screens everywhere, the crowd so thick and warm and loud it became its own living thing pressing against you from every direction. you found your spot and just. stood there. taking it in. this is his life. this exact thing – the lights and the noise and thousands of people holding their breath – this existed before you showed up at that corner. will keep existing. belongs to every single person in this building in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with you or thursday mornings or cereal bars. it was a lot to hold. and then the lights went down. and the crowd lost its mind. and james walked out. and you – you just. oh. okay so here’s the thing. you had seen the fancams. you had done your research, embarrassingly thorough research, in the weeks after your roommate’s tv accidentally ruined your life. you thought you were prepared. you had accounted for variables. you had a whole internal speech ready about staying calm and normal and not making it weird in your own head. you had not accounted for this. for the way he owned every inch of that stage like it had been built specifically for him and he was simply returning to it. for the lights, for the screens catching his face up close. jaw sharp, pink hair, that expression he wore up there that you had genuinely never seen anywhere else, not in the penthouse or the corridor or at seven in the morning at a corner, something fully open, fully present, like the stage was the one place he didn’t have to measure anything out on or decide how much of himself was safe – and the crowd surged around you and you surged with it because what else were you going to do. the first few songs you spent mostly just trying to remember your own name. and then the stage went quiet. not fully. just. a shift. a change in the air that the crowd felt before it happened, that collective held breath thing that meant something was different about what came next. james stood at the center of the stage, single spotlight, and when the music started it was slow and soft and nothing like what came before it and something in the back of your throat tightened immediately because this song felt like – it felt like – oh no. you caught fragments. just pieces of it bleeding through the noise of thousands of people. something about mornings. something about a corner. something about a person who showed up and didn’t leave even after being told not to, and your brain went very quiet and very still in the specific way it goes quiet when it’s about to hand you information you’re not sure you’re ready for. and then he looked up.

his eyes moved through the crowd. through the lights and the distance and the thousands of people between you, and found you. immediately. like he had known exactly where you were standing the whole time. like there was no crowd. like it was just the corner and the two of you and seven in the morning and he was looking at you the way he looked at you then, except now there were screens the size of buildings catching his face and thousands of people screaming his name and he was…well. still looking. at you. and he kept singing. and you understood then. all at once, the way you understand things that rearrange something fundamental, this song had a face. it had always had a face. every single word of it had been built around one specific person who handed him a cereal bar once and said i’m here anyway and refused, categorically, to look away first. that’s you. it’s you. james lee wrote a song about you and is singing it in a stadium in front of thousands of people who will never know and he’s looking directly at you while he does it like you are the only person in this building. your eyes stung. you pressed your lips together. looked down at your shoes for a second. looked back up at the screen showing his face, then across to the stage where he was still. still looking. don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry – you cried. obviously you cried. what were you going to do, not cry? he was looking at you like that, like the whole song was just an elaborate method of saying something he didn’t have words for otherwise, and you were supposed to stand there dry eyed and normal? please. you’re only human. the tears came and you let them because fighting it at this point felt genuinely beside the point. the crowd around you was losing its mind. and you were standing in the middle of all of it, completely silent, completely wrecked, crying at a concert like the main character of something you haven’t figured out the genre of yet. get it together, you told yourself. you did not get it together. you found him after. backstage, through a door, into a corridor that smelled like concrete and equipment and was blessedly quiet after the noise of everything else. he saw you coming from a distance and said something to whoever he was with and crossed toward you and stopped. looked at your face. his jaw shifted. almost imperceptibly. almost.

“you cried.” quiet. not a question. “i didn’t.” you said. his thumb came up and brushed just under your eye, slow, catching nothing because there was nothing left but doing it anyway – and that. that specifically. that’s what finished you off completely, the fact that he checked, that he knew to check, that he did it so quietly like it was just a thing he did now, taking care of you, like he’d decided that somewhere along the way and never mentioned it – “james.” your voice came out embarrassingly unsteady. he looked at you. “that song.” nothing. just that expression. the one underneath all the others. the one that costs him something every time he lets it out. he cupped your face in both hands and leaned down and kissed where the tears had been. once. then the other side. slow and deliberate and completely unbothered by the corridor or the venue or the thousands of people on the other side of the wall who had just spent two hours screaming his name. pulled back just enough to look at you. still said nothing. didn’t have to. “you’re not supposed to make me cry at your concert,” you managed. voice completely wrecked. “i didn’t make you do anything.” and there – there – the real smile. the one that was only ever just for you. “you figured it out yourself. i just sang the song.” you laughed, wet and a little broken, and he pulled you in and you pressed your face into his chest and his hand came up to the back of your head and the corridor was quiet and outside the crowd was still going, still chanting his name, thousands of people who would never know. you still had time.

it happened on a wednesday night and you almost missed it entirely. you were half asleep on his couch, legs thrown over his lap, some show playing on the tv that neither of you were actually watching because james had been on his phone for the last twenty minutes and you had been in that specific comfortable state that only existed in warm rooms with the right person, the kind where you’re not quite gone but not quite present either, just floating somewhere in between. and then he went still. not dramatically. not in a way that would register to anyone who didn’t know him. just. still. the particular quality of stillness that james had when something had his full attention, when the rest of the world had stopped existing because one thing had taken up all the space. you noticed it the way you noticed everything about him. quietly. before you could name it. you opened your eyes a little. not enough for him to know you were watching. just enough to see his face in the blue light of his phone screen, jaw set, eyes focused on something with an expression you didn’t recognize. not the composure. not the tired. something else entirely. something that had no name in the vocabulary you’d built for him over these months. colder than that. he was more focused. you shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his screen without being obvious about it, and you saw – a name. just a name, in a message thread, nothing else visible before he tilted the phone away. two words. charles choi. you didn’t know who that was. you filed it away anyway. in that part of your chest where the things you couldn’t name yet lived, quietly, without announcement, the way james did everything that mattered. “hey.” you said. he looked over. and the expression was gone, just like that. smooth and immediate, the composure back in place like it had never left. “hey.” voice normal. completely normal. “thought you were asleep.” “almost.” you said. “who’s charles choi.” something moved across his face. fast. very fast. there and gone before you could catch the shape of it. “nobody.” he said. which was the first time james lee had ever lied to you. you didn’t know that yet. you just looked at him for a second, at the carefully neutral expression, at the phone now face down on the cushion beside him, at the hand that had been resting on your ankle and had gone very slightly tense without him seeming to notice. “okay.” you said. and you let it go. because the door wasn’t open and you knew by now what it meant when a door wasn’t open with james. you let it go and closed your eyes again and the show kept playing and after a moment his hand relaxed back onto your ankle, warm and certain, like always. but something had changed in the room. nobody, he’d said. yeah sure nobody.. you thought about the quality of his voice when he went still. the specific focused coldness of it, the way it didn’t look like his regular quiet – his comfortable quiet, his tired quiet, his i’m thinking about something quiet. it looked like something else. like a door not just closed but locked. like something that had been there long before you showed up at that corner, waiting.

you stayed until the show ended and he walked you to the door and kissed you slow and said text me when you’re home the way he always did. and you did. and he replied immediately. and everything was normal. nobody, you thought, lying in your bed staring at the ceiling. the way he’d gone still though. nobody didn’t make you go still like that. next tuesday. just the two of you on the kitchen floor at midnight because you’d started making ramyeon and somehow ended up sitting against the cabinets eating it straight out of the pot because neither of you could be bothered to find bowls, which was embarrassing honestly, you were dating someone with an entire set of very expensive kitchenware and here you were on the floor like two people who had given up on the concept of furniture. james had his back against the cabinet, legs stretched out, stealing noodles directly from your side of the pot with zero remorse. “you have your own side.” you said. “this side is better.” he mumbled. “it’s the same pot james.” “yours tastes different.” “that is genuinely insane.” you said. “you are genuinely insane.” he ate another string of noodle from your side, unbothered, and you looked at him – at his face, at the pink hair that needed a trim, at the way he looked right now with the composure completely off and just him underneath it, relaxed in the specific way he was only ever relaxed with you, like you were the one place he didn’t have to hold anything in place – and something moved through your chest so suddenly it almost hurt. i love you, you thought. i love you so much it’s actually a problem.

“you’re staring.” he said, without looking up. “i know.” you said. he glanced over. caught whatever was on your face. and something shifted in his expression, soft and unguarded, the way it got sometimes when he forgot to protect himself from you. he looked back at the pot. he was quiet for a moment. “i’ve been thinking.” he said. “about stealing my noodles?” you laughed softly. “about you.” he said. flat. completely serious. and the tone of it made you put your chopsticks down. “…okay.” you said carefully. he was still looking at the pot. jaw working slightly, the way it did when something was making its way to the surface and he was deciding whether to let it out. “is everything okay jam- he cut you off. “i want to marry you.” he said. the kitchen went very quiet. what. WAIT WHAT. “someday.” he added. still not looking at you. “not – i’m not saying tomorrow. i’m just saying.” he paused. “i know what i want. and it’s you. that’s not something i’m confused about.” you stared at the side of his face. james lee is sitting on his kitchen floor at midnight eating ramyeon and telling you he wants to marry you. james lee. the man who took three months to say i love you and said it mid-sentence like it had slipped out by accident. “and kids.” he said, quieter now. almost to himself. “i think about that too. having that. with you.” you didn’t say anything for a second. you couldn’t. something had happened to your voice, something had happened to your entire chest cavity, everything felt very full and very fragile all at once like if you moved too fast it would spill everywhere. “james.” you said finally. barely above a whisper. he looked at you then. and his expression was so open it almost hurt to look at directly – just him. certain and a little scared and completely, devastatingly honest. “i’m telling you because you should know.” he said. “not because i need you to say anything back. just – you should know where i stand.” you looked at him for a long moment. then you took his face in both hands, the way you always did, thumbs on his cheekbones, and you kissed him slow and certain and when you pulled back his eyes were still closed for a second. “i want that too.” you said. “all of it. with you.” he exhaled. slow. like he’d been holding something and finally didn’t have to anymore. his hand came up and covered yours against his face. “okay.” he said quietly. “okay.” you said. and you sat on his kitchen floor until the ramyeon went cold and the city outside went quiet and he pulled you into him and you stayed there thinking – this. this is the thing i will remember. this specific tuesday. this floor. this man. this is the one i want to keep.

you noticed it soon, way too soon but one degree at a time until one morning you realize it’s cold and you can’t remember exactly when it stopped being warm. it started small. the way things that matter always start small, quietly, without announcing themselves so you can’t prepare. he was on his phone more. that was the first thing. james had never been a big phone person around you. he was present in a way that felt deliberate, like he’d decided that when he was with you he was with you, and you had loved that about him, had felt it like something specific and rare. but now there were moments where he’d go somewhere. mid conversation, mid meal, mid nothing – just drift. eyes dropping to the screen with that focused quality you’d first seen the night you caught the name charles choi, that cold specific stillness that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with something you couldn’t see. you didn’t say anything the first time. or the second. you told yourself james had bad days just like anyone else, told yourself you were overthinking it, which was possible, you were a known overthinker, you had a long and documented history of making problems out of nothing. except you knew james. you knew all his versions. the tired one and the guarded one and the one that was only ever just for you. and this wasn’t any of those. this was something new. something that had moved into him quietly and was taking up space you didn’t know how to reach. he cancelled on you once. just once, with a perfectly reasonable explanation, a meeting that ran late, nothing suspicious about it. but it was the first time. in all the months of thursdays and tuesdays and midnight ramyeon on kitchen floors, he had never cancelled. and you lay in your bed that night staring at the ceiling and told yourself it was fine, it was one time, it meant nothing. it meant nothing, you thought. you thought about it for two hours. he was shorter sometimes. not mean – james was never mean to you, not really, not intentionally. but clipped. like his patience had somewhere else to be. like whatever was living in the back of his head was louder than usual and you were somewhere in the middle distance of it, not quite in focus. and the worst part. the part that sat in your chest the heaviest. was that he clearly didn’t know he was doing it. he’d look at you sometimes, after, with something in his expression that looked a lot like sorry without him saying it, and he’d reach for your hand or say your name in that specific way and you’d think okay. okay he’s still here. it’s fine. but it kept happening. and one night, three weeks into the slow strangeness of it, lying in his bed in the dark with his arm around you and his breathing evening out toward sleep – you said it.

“james.” “mm.” half asleep. “what’s going on with you.” a pause. not long. but you felt it, the slight change in his breathing, the way he came back from the edge of sleep. “nothing.” he said. “go to sleep.” “it’s not nothing.” you said. quiet. careful. “you’ve been – somewhere else. for weeks. and i’ve been waiting for you to tell me but you haven’t and i just– you stopped. started again. “i’m not asking you to fix it. i just want to know what it is.” he was quiet for a moment. then he sat up. you sat up too, watching him in the dark, he had his elbows on his knees and he was looking at the floor and his jaw was set in that way that meant something was happening inside him that he didn’t know how to let out without it coming out wrong. “i’m fine.” he said. “i told you.”“you’re not.” you said. “don’t– he stopped. exhaled. “don’t do that.” “do what.” “tell me how i am.” his voice had an edge now. not sharp. not cruel. just – there. “i said i’m fine.”“james– “i heard you the first time.” he said. flat. and then quieter and somehow worse – “i don’t need you to manage me.” oh. you felt it land somewhere behind your sternum, that specific hurt that comes not from cruelty but from misdirection, from being the nearest thing when someone’s anger needs somewhere to go. “i’m not managing you.” you said. voice very steady for someone whose eyes were suddenly very warm. “i’m asking because i love you and something is wrong and you keep shutting me out and i don’t know what to do with that.” “there’s nothing to do with it.” he said. “that’s the point.” “so what – i’m just supposed to watch you disappear and say nothing?”

“i’m right here.” “no you’re not.” and your voice broke on it, just slightly, just enough. and you hated it, hated that you were crying, hated that he could see it, but there it was. “you’re right here and you’re somewhere else entirely and i don’t know how to reach you anymore and that – that scares me james.” he looked at you then. and you watched something move through him – the edge dropping, the composure dropping, all of it, at the sight of the tears you were trying very hard not to let fall. “hey– baby,” his voice came out different now. lower. like it cost him something. “hey, don’t–” “i’m not crying.” you said. “you are.” he said. “i’m not o-okay?” “you are, darling.” he said, and he reached out and his thumb brushed under your eye and you exhaled shakily and looked away from him, jaw tight, furious at yourself for letting it get here, for crying in front of him when you’d been trying so hard to be patient, to give him space, to not be the person who made everything harder. “i hate this.” you said, voice thick. “i hate that you shut down and i can’t get through and then i end up being the one who cries about it which is so–” you made a frustrated sound. “it’s not fair james.” “i know, my baby.” he said quietly. “then talk to me.” “i don’t know how to explain it.” he said. and it came out so raw and so honest that you looked at him again despite yourself. he was looking at his hands. “there are things – things i need to do. things i’ve needed to do for a long time. and i didn’t want them to touch this. i didn’t want them anywhere near you.” “but they already are.” you said. “you’re already bringing them in. you just won’t tell me what they are.” he looked at you for a long moment. something working behind his eyes that you couldn’t read. and then he reached for you. not roughly at all. just – reached. his hand finding your face the way it always did, thumb on your cheekbone, and he looked at you with that expression, the one underneath all the others, the one that cost him everything every time he let it out. “i’m sorry.” he said. low and certain. “i’m sorry i made you feel like that, baby.” you looked at him. jaw still tight. eyes still warm. “you’re still not telling me anything.” you said.

“i know.” he said. “james– he kissed you. not to stop the conversation. or maybe partly to stop the conversation. but mostly. you could feel it in the way his hands moved to your face, in the way he kissed you like he was sorry and certain and a little desperate all at once. mostly because he didn’t have words for what was happening inside him and this was the only language he was fluent in when everything else failed. you kissed him back. because you were still angry. because you were still scared. because you loved him anyway, completely. and because sometimes loving james lee meant accepting the things he couldn’t give you yet and taking what he could. his forehead dropped to yours. “i’ve got you, my baby.” he said against your mouth. rough and quiet. “okay? i’ve got you.” you’re the one i’m worried about, you thought. but you didn’t say it. that night he made love to you. kissing your tears away, holding you close to his chest like you would vanish. “i love you baby.” you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d ever hear that. “i love you too james… we will make it i promise…” he smiled and kissed the tip of your nose while you fell asleep on his chest.

you woke up in the middle of the night for water… or so you thought before checking the time on your phone. it was 05:47am in the morning. strangely james wasn’t there. you called out for him instantly. “honey?” “james?” no answer. you walked to the kitchen hoping to find him there. only to be greeted by a note. you almost missed it. you almost walked right past it in that specific half asleep morning way you had, reaching for the kettle, not registering anything that wasn’t coffee-shaped. and then your eyes caught the handwriting and your whole body stopped. just a folded piece of paper. his handwriting, which you knew the way you knew everything about him, the particular slant of it, the way certain letters were almost architectural, precise in a way that was very james – you stood there for a second before you picked it up.

i have to go. i’m sorry i couldn’t say it to your face – i wouldn’t have been able to leave if i did. you know that darling.

you are the best thing. you have always been the best thing. and that’s why. please don’t wait for me. i love you. i love you. i love you. - your rude ( lee )

you read it three times. then you sat down on the kitchen floor – his kitchen floor, the one where he’d told you he wanted to marry you, the one where you’d eaten ramyeon out of the pot at midnight like two people who had forgotten furniture existed – and you pressed the note to your chest and you cried in the specific awful way you cry when something is over and you knew it was coming and it still somehow feels like a wall you walked into at full speed. please don’t wait for me. you cried until you couldn’t anymore. and then you cried a little more after that. and then you went home.

THREE YEARS LATER

three years is a long time. long enough to finish grieving someone. long enough to put the pieces of yourself back in some kind of order, not the original order, not exactly, but close enough that you could recognize yourself in the mirror again. long enough to stop reaching for your phone every time something happened that you wanted to tell him. long enough to stop doing that thing where you heard a song or saw something funny and thought. james would. long enough, mostly. not entirely. you had a life. a good one, genuinely – a job you cared about, friends who made you laugh until your face hurt, a small apartment with good light that you had filled carefully with things that were only yours. you had rebuilt, quietly, the way you did everything that mattered. and most days you were okay. most days. yeah.. it was a tuesday when you saw him again. of course it was a tuesday. you were at your friend’s place, half listening to whatever she had on in the background, scrolling through your phone with the specific vacant energy of someone who had finished everything they needed to do and hadn’t figured out what to do with themselves yet. and then your friend said oh, isn’t that. and you looked up. and there he was. on the television screen. james lee. except, not james lee the idol. not the pink hair and the stage and the spotlight and the thousands of people losing their minds. not the james from the concert or the corner or the kitchen floor. this james was in a suit. dark, perfectly fitted, a blue-grey that caught the light in a way that made your chest hurt for reasons you couldn’t immediately name. black hair now, grown out slightly, and he was standing at what looked like a press conference, composed and certain in front of a room full of cameras, and the ticker running across the bottom of the screen said.

FORMER IDOL JAMES LEE announces political candidacy– you stopped breathing for a second. just – stopped. completely. like your body needed all available resources to process what your eyes were sending it. politician. james lee was a politician now. your friend was saying something. you could hear her distantly, her voice somewhere in the background of the static in your head, something about wait didn’t you used to – i thought you – isn’t he the one who – and you said yeah the way you said yeah to your roommate three years ago when you first saw him on a screen and pretended you didn’t know him. full circle. except the first time you hadn’t known him yet. this time you knew every version of him that had ever existed. the corner. the cereal bar. the almost-smile that became a real one. the way he said your name like he was keeping it. the kitchen floor. i want to marry you. i love you i love you i love you in handwriting you still knew better than your own. he was speaking now. calm and measured and completely in control of the room the way he was always in control of every room he walked into. and you watched his face on the screen – that face, that face. and you smiled. you didn’t mean to. it just happened. this small helpless thing that broke across your face before you could stop it because even now, even after three years and a goodbye note and a silence so complete it had its own weight – you were proud of him. you were so proud of him it ached. your eyes were warm. of course they were. “are you okay?” your friend asked, quieter now, hand on your arm. “yeah.” you said. voice steady. mostly. “yeah i’m good.” you watched him for another few minutes. watched the way he carried himself, the certainty of him, the composed untouchable quality that had always been there but was different now. less guarded, more deliberate. like he had grown into himself in the years between. like whatever he had gone to do, he had done it.

charles choi, you thought. and you didn’t know the details, had never known the details, but you knew james and you knew what certainty looked like on him and you knew what it looked like when james lee finished something he had decided to finish. he had won. you hoped it was worth it. you hoped he was okay. the press conference ended and the screen moved on to something else and you looked down at your hands in your lap and sat with it for a moment. the specific bittersweet weight of seeing someone you loved living the life they chose, even when that life didn’t have you in it. your dreams. your love. the kitchen floor and the note and please don’t wait for me. you hadn’t waited. but some part of you, some small quiet part that three years hadn’t quite reached. had never fully left that corner.

the last thursday. you had been on your way home from work, same route you always took, nothing remarkable about it, nothing that would make you think – this one. this is the one to pay attention to. just a thursday evening in a city that didn’t stop moving for anything, headphones in, thinking about what you were going to eat when you got home, thinking about nothing, thinking about everything – and then. and then nothing. james found out the way he found out everything about you now. through someone else. his phone rang at 11:25pm and it was the person he called once a month and the voice on the other end was different this time – wrong in a way he felt before he processed it, before the words even arrived. and then the words arrived. accident. hospital. critical. he was already moving before the call ended. he didn’t tell anyone where he was going. didn’t check his schedule, didn’t think about the cameras or the press or the carefully constructed public life that didn’t have you anywhere in it. didn’t think about any of it. just – moved. coat, keys, door, car, go, with the specific focused urgency of someone who has just been reminded what actually matters and cannot believe it took this to remind him. his driver said something. he didn’t hear it. critical. the word sat in his chest like something with weight. like something he couldn’t breathe around. he called for updates three times on the way there. each time the answer was the same – stable, for now, we don’t know yet. and each time he hung up and stared out the window at the city moving past him and thought about a corner at seven in the morning. a cereal bar. your name said once quietly like he was keeping it. please don’t wait for me, he had written. three years ago he had written that and left while you were sleeping because he knew if he saw your face he wouldn’t be able to go and there were things he needed to do, things that couldn’t wait, things that had existed long before you showed up and rearranged everything – he had done them. charles choi was gone. the thing he had spent years building toward was finished. and he had stood in the aftermath of it thinking – now. now i can go back. now i can figure out how to – and then his phone had rung at 11:47pm. now, he thought, in the back of that car. now i’m going back. the hospital corridors were too white and too loud and too bright and he moved through them like a man who had forgotten how to do anything slowly, past nurses and signs and people who looked at him and clearly recognized him and he did not care, could not have cared less, about any of it. and then he found your room. and he stopped. because there you were.

you were so still. that was the first thing. you who were never still, who talked with your hands and laughed too loud and took up space in the specific chaotic way that had driven him insane in the best possible way for as long as he’d known you. you were so still, and small, and there were tubes and monitors and the soft persistent beeping of machines doing the work your body was struggling to do on its own. james lee, who had stood in front of cameras and stadiums and press conferences without flinching, who had faced down the most powerful man in the country and not looked away – broke. completely. he crossed the room and sat in the chair beside your bed and took your hand so carefully, like you were something that could shatter, like he was terrified of hurting you further, and he pressed his lips to your knuckles once. twice. again. again. his shoulders shaking with something he wasn’t making any attempt to hold in anymore because what was the point. what was the point of holding anything in anymore. “i’m sorry.” he said. voice wrecked. barely above a whisper. “i’m so sorry. i know – i know i don’t get to – i know i left and i know i said don’t wait and i know i have no right to be here saying any of this but i need you to know–” he stopped. pressed his mouth to your hand again. “i never stopped.” he said. “not for a single day. i called every month just to know you were okay, just to know you were – i needed to know you were okay, i couldn’t not know, i couldn’t just – his voice broke. he didn’t try to fix it. “i love you. i love you so much it never went anywhere, it just. it stayed, it’s been staying, for three years it’s been staying right here and i never said it because i thought i was protecting you and maybe i was, maybe i wasn’t, maybe i just. maybe i was a coward who loved you too much to let you in and too much to let you go and i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i should have come back sooner i should have – your fingers moved. barely. just barely. but he felt it. the faintest pressure, so small it could have been nothing, except it wasn’t nothing because he knew your hands, knew them the way he knew everything about you, and this was deliberate. your pinky finger. curling around his. he made a sound he had never made before in his life. something that had no name. he looked at your face. still so still, eyes closed, but your pinky finger curled around his like a corner at seven in the morning, like a thursday, like something small and certain and completely, entirely yours – “i’ve got you.” he said. voice barely there. “okay? i’ve got you. i’m here. i’m right here.” your pinky finger held his. and then it didn’t. the monitor changed its tone. and james lee sat in that chair with your hand in both of his and didn’t move for a very long time.

he went to your apartment because he didn’t know where else to go. your friend let him in. she had been crying and she looked at him with an expression that had too many things in it to name and she didn’t say anything about the three years or the silence or the fact that he had left. just stepped aside and let him in and he stood in the middle of your space, your small apartment with good light that you had filled carefully with things that were only yours, and he breathed it in. you. everything in here was you. he didn’t know how long he stood there. and then he saw it. on the small desk by the window. a diary, worn at the corners, the kind you’d clearly used every day for long enough that the spine had softened and the cover had faded and the pages were thick with everything you’d put in them. he sat down. opened it. the first entry was dated three years ago. the week after he left.

he’s gone. i keep looking at the note. i love you i love you i love you he wrote it three times like once wasn’t enough and it wasn’t, it wasn’t enough, james, it wasn’t –

he turned the page.

saw something today that made me think of him. a cereal bar at the bottom of my bag. i laughed and then i cried and then i laughed again. very normal. i’m very normal.

another page.

i wonder if he’s okay. i wonder if he’s eating. i wonder if he knows that i would have waited. i would have waited forever, you idiot. i love silly. come back james-

another.

saw him on the news today. he looked good. he looked tired. i smiled at the tv like a complete lunatic and cried a little and told myself that counted as closure. it doesn’t count as closure

another.

i love him. i love him i love him i love him. three years and i love him the same way i loved him on the first thursday and the first corner and the first time he caught me before i hit the pavement. i love him and i think i always will and i think i’ve made peace with that.

i hope he’s okay. i hope wherever he is he knows.

james closed the diary. pressed it to his chest the way you had pressed his note to yours three years ago on a kitchen floor. and he sat by your window in your good light and he cried the way he hadn’t cried since he was young enough that the world still had the capacity to surprise him with how cruel it could be. because you had written about him. every day. and he had called every month just to know you were breathing. two people loving each other from opposite sides of a silence neither of them chose. and now – now there was just him. and a diary full of you. and a pinky finger that had held his for the last time on a thursday. of course it was a thursday.

if you made it to the end, just know i adore yall so much. SO SO MUCH. and i know yall wanna throw stones at me i am so sorry. thankyou for supporting me through thick and thin 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

james lee lover: @thepeaklegendoffirstgen

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